#then i forgot i made it until i opened my canvas again

[dovalore]

this is my takeaway from being back on the funny bird site

[parkerslatte]

Big Love || TWO

Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

Part Summary: Y/N shows up for work late and reunites with a familiar face.

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Series Masterlist

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•••

TRACK TWO;

SKIPS A BEAT

…

WARREN ROJAS: After Y/N moved, we tried to keep in contact but eventually we just drifted apart. I was sad about it, but what could we do?

…

Y/N spread blue paint across the canvas, making sure to cover it completely. She had piles of unfinished work scattered around her apartment, nearly making her living area uninhabitable. Sighing, Y/N leant back looking at the canvas, she had only one colour painted but she had no motivation or inspiration to do anything else. When she first sat down, she had an amazing idea in mind but as she was doing it, the idea fell flat and uninteresting. 

Rubbing her hands across her face, Y/N let out a groan. None of her paintings were going right. Getting up from her stool, Y/N headed into her bedroom and slumped down onto her bed, closing her eyes. It was silent, the only sound heard was the sound of the clock ticking. 

Y/N hated silence, she wanted to hear music playing around her apartment but her record player broke that week and she couldn’t afford to pay for a new one, she could barely afford her rent currently. 

Opening her eyes and looking at the clock situated on the wall, Y/N’s eyes widened, “Shit!”

Quickly getting up from the bed, she threw open the doors to her closet and rummaged through it for something appropriate to wear, not something stained with paint.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She muttered, pulling clothes from her closet. 

Peeling off the paint covered clothes from her body, Y/N quickly changed into her clean pair of clothes and quickly put her shoes on and left the house. She walked as fast as she could to the club she worked at. Entering through the back entrance, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Y/N!” Her co-worker, Daniel, said as he approached her, “Where were you? I’ve been covering your ass for an hour now.”

“Sorry,” Y/N says, “I was distracted with my panting and completely forgot the time.”

“Were you distracted with painting or distracted while not painting, you told me you’ve had art block for weeks now.” Daniel says.

“I know,” Y/N says, “I won’t be late again.”

“You better not be,” Daniel says, “Because I can’t keep covering for you.”

Y/N nodded and looked out at the crowd, “What’s up with the crowd? There’s normally not this many people.”

“A new band Teddy Price is producing is performing.” Daniel explains. 

“Hopefully they’re good,” Y/N says, “I would kill to listen to some good music right now.”

As Y/N took the many orders she had for drinks, the band was called to the stage. She didn’t pay any attention as they went up on the stage as she was too busy remembering everyone’s orders. However, as the band began to play, Y/N stopped in her tracks. 

It had been years since she had heard that voice but she would recognise it anywhere. Turning to look at the stage, Y/N’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

“Daniel, I’m going on my break.” Y/N says.

“You can’t, we’ve got loads of people to get through.” Daniel says.

“Please,” Y/N begged, “It will only be for five minutes, I promise.”

Daniel sighed, “Five minutes only.”

“Thanks!” Y/N exclaimed, pressing a kiss to Daniel’s cheek and rushed away, fighting her way through the crowd until she was standing at the front of the stage. 

As her eyes scanned over the band members, she identified them all one by one, the only one she didn’t recognise was the girl on the stage playing the keyboard. As Y/N made eye contact with the drummer her heart skipped a beat, he looked the same as she remembered but older. 

As the song came to a close, Warren looked out at the crowd and he felt like he froze up. There standing front and centre of the audience was the girl he never thought he would see again. 

“Y/N!” Daniel says, appearing at her side, “Come on, I’m the only one behind the bar.”

Y/N spared a final glance at Warren before she disappeared into the crowd and back to the bar. 

The whole time the band played, Y/N was desperately trying to look over the crowd to see the band but it was no use, the crowd was too big and she was too far back to see. As she took people’s orders and began making their drinks, she continuously gave people the wrong drinks altogether, getting the orders mixed up, leaving it to Daniel to correct them.

“Y/N,” Daniel says, “What’s going on with you tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N says, “I think I’m just a little distracted.”

“You can say that,” Daniel says, “Why don’t you leave work early tonight, get home and have some sleep.”

“I can’t leave you here to deal with this crowd.” Y/N says. 

“I’ll be okay,” Daniel says, “I’ve basically been working on my own all night anyways.”

“Sorry.” Y/N says sheepishly. 

“It’s fine,” Daniel says, giving her a smile to reassure her, “Now go home and get some rest.”

Y/N nodded and stepped out from behind the bar and exited the building. Instead of going home, Y/N lingered, waiting for the band to come out. Her arms were folded across her chest to keep herself warm as she stood in the cold night air. As she stood there, her mind began to play tricks on itself, convincing her that she was just hallucinating the band and they weren’t really there. The longer Y/N stood out in the cold, the more she believed it to be true. 

Tapping her foot on the floor impatiently Y/N looked around in case she missed the band leaving the building, there was no one around her. 

“I’m telling you, Eddie,” Warren says, stepping out the building, “It was Y/N.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie says, “I mean it’s been years since we’ve last seen her.”’

“I’m sure,” Warren says, “I can’t forget a face like hers.”

Y/N perked up and her head snapped to the left after overhearing the conversation. Looking at the two band members made her feel like she was fourteen again. A grin spread across her face.

“Warren!” Y/N calls out, approaching the two. 

Warren’s head snaps up and he makes eye contact with Y/N. The whole world stands still as their eyes meet, the sounds around them becoming muffled. Throwing his cigarette down on the floor, he rushed over to her.

“Wait, that’s Y/N?” Eddie says but Warren couldn’t hear him. 

As the two met in the middle, Y/N threw her arms around Warren’s neck, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. Warren held her body tight against him and buried his head into her neck. 

“Oh my god,” Y/N mumbled, “It’s really you.”

Warren didn’t reply, he simply clung onto her tiger, closing his eyes and imagining that they were the only two people around. Her hair still smelt the same as it did when they were younger, and the smell brought back many memories for Warren, memories so specific that he had forgotten over the years they had been apart. 

Y/N didn’t really know what to think, she never thought she would see Warren again let alone hold him in her arms. She gripped tightly onto him, afraid that if she let go, she would realise she would have been imagining it all.

“I missed you.” Warren mumbled into her shoulder. 

“I missed you too.” Y/N whispered. 

As Y/N opened her eyes, she saw the figure of who was standing just behind the pair. Pulling away from Warren, Y/N wrapped her arms around him.

“I missed you too, Eddie.” Y/N says hugging her other friend. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says in surprise, “I missed you too.”

As Y/N pulled away from Eddie and stepped back, Warren’s arm was immediately wrapped around her waist, pulling her lightly into his side.

“What are you guys doing in LA?” Y/N asks, her smile radiant, “Well, obviously the band, but why are you here?”

“Well we were told that if we wanted to make it big, we needed to come here,” Eddie explains, “So, here we are.”

“And you’re signed by Teddy Price?” Y/N says, looking between the two, “Do you realise how big that is? There are so many bands and artists that pass through who only dream of that opportunity.”

Warren didn’t reply to anything Y/N said, he continued to look at her like she held up the moon. 

“When did you even get here?” Y/N questioned, looking at Warren.

Snapping out of his daydream, Warren answered, “About five months ago.”

“I’m so happy to see you guys,” Y/N says, “It’s been years.”

“Seven years.” Warren says.

“That long?” Y/N says, “Wow, I’m surprised how you lived without me.”

“Well Warren-”

“Hey, shouldn’t we head back inside,” Warren says, cutting Eddie off, “We’re probably ready to start another song.”

Eddie raised his eyebrow at Warren but complied with his friend's orders, heading back into the building, leaving Y/N and Warren alone. 

“Do you want to come back in?” Warren questions, “It’s gonna be a good show.”

“I’d love to but I’m technically meant to be working and my coworker sent me home and if he sees me back in there he'll probably blow up on me.” Y/N explained. 

“Right, that’s fine.” Warren says, trying to hide his disappointment. 

“But,” Y/N says, pulling out a pen from her pocket and grabbing Warren’s hand, “After your show, you can come to my apartment.”

Y/N wrote down her address on Warren’s hand and smiled at him. The feeling of Y/N’s hand holding his was a feeling that Warren had missed. 

“Have a great show, Warren,” Y/N says, kissing his cheek, “I’ll see you later.”

Y/N gave one final smile to Warren before leaving down the street. Warren watched her walk away, a dopey smile on his face. 

“I thought you were following me in?” Eddie says, appearing at Warren’s side.

“Yeah, I’m coming now.” Warren says, tearing his eyes away from where Y/N had disappeared. 

Eddie, noticing the change in Warren’s behaviour sighed, “You’re still not over her?”

“Whatever, man, let’s just go in.” Warren says, pushing Eddie back through the doors. 

… WARREN ROJAS: Seeing Y/N again brought back all of the feelings I forgot about in the years we’d been apart. She just didn’t feel the same way.

____________________

[dulcewrites]

I’m in a modern fcc mood, so here’s some funny aemyrah stuff

You Drive Me Crazy

Aemond knew something was off the moment he pulled onto the property, and saw an unfamiliar car sitting in the driveway of his childhood home.

Closer he got, the more the sense of annoyance crept in. The car was not unfamiliar after all. Quite the opposite; he recognized the beat up black Audi, hot pink license plate, and ‘Please let me merge before I cry’ bumper sticker.

She was here.

When he had time, Aemond made it a habit to come visit his mother on the weekends. He knows she has been taken the newly empty house hard. Daeron starting the semester at a new boarding school. Alicent had been trying to find hobbies to past the time. Aemond remembers coming over one weekend to find her reading a book on the history of backgammon. Aemond did not believe his mother when she mentioned wanting to take painting lessons. Chalking up to another idea that would eventually fall through as she moved onto the next idea that briefly stimulated.

As he walked up the door, he could hear music coming from inside. Taking a deep breath before using his key to open the door.

He walks through the large foyer on the home, moving towards the living area as Amy Winehouse fills the space. The first thing he notices is the canvas tarp on the floor. Then two easels and various paints all around. A bottle of wine and a cleared sushi platter.

His mother and Myrah are curled up on the couch giggling over something on Alicent’s phone.

Aemond goes over to turn down the music coming from the turntable, making both of them look up from the phone.

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent’s cheeks are flushed and her smile is warm. She gets up from the couch; Aemond takes in the paint splattered button up and black leggings she had on. He has never seen his mother so… casual. “I forgot you said you were coming over.”

He leans down as she kisses him on the cheek, but his gaze stays trained on Myrah. He has no reason not to be cold towards her, but something about the way his body feels like it is vibrating when she is around makes him want to chalk it up to simple dislike.

“Are these for me,” Alicent smiles at the flowers in Aemond’s hand before turning back to Myrah. “Isn’t he sweet.”

“The sweetest.”

The mirth on her face only made him feel more out of place in his own home. It was something he noticed when she painted the portrait for their mother or when he saw her again at Helaena’s apartment warming party; it feels like she always has a joke running through her head. A joke she makes no effort to let anyone in on. Doe like eyes playful and light.

“I am going to put these in some water.”

Alicent takes the flowers with her to the kitchen.

“Do you think it is appropriate to be drinking with someone paying you,” Aemond waits until Alicent is out of earshot.

Myrah tilts her head to the side in confusion. “Your mom invited me over. She opened the wine, and asked me if I wanted any. I’m teaching her to paint Aemond, not operate heavy machinery. Neither of us even finished our glass.”

“It is still highly unsuitable.”

“Ok, I am sorry,” he can tell by the smile on her face, and the way she brushes a coil back into her ponytail, she does not mean it. A laugh follows to seal a level of nonchalance.

He was rueing the day he even brought up getting a portrait of him and his siblings for his mother’s birthday. If he never brought it up, then Helaena may have never reconnected with Myrah, and he would not get this odd concaving feeling in his chest every time he sees her.

Alicent’s footsteps become closer as she sets the pink tulips on the table in the living area.

“I am so glad you are here,” she beams at Aemond. “Now I can show you one of my drawings. I have not painted it yet”

Aemond’s sight goes from Myrah to the two easels in the room. His brows furrow as he tries to make out what it is on the one his mother is gesturing to. He can see a head and eyes but blinks blankly.

“It is quite an ambitious feat to go for a human portrait on her third try,” Myrah pipes up to help. “But I think she almost has your brother’s likeness down.”

He then looks at the easel next to Alicent’s. On it a faint charcoal drawing of what now is clearly Daeron. His short curls, his freckles, his big dark eyes. Their mom’s eyes.

For everything Myrah may be, she is talented.

Alicent’s sheepishness at Myrah’s compliment makes his heart sting a bit. His mother has never been good at taking praise.

“It is lovely.”

“When I am done, I think I will send it to him.”

Myrah stands off the couch will a soft sigh. “I can help you clean up, and then I have to hit the road.”

Alicent pouts. “So soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you two have your mother-son time,” she gives a small smile. Aemond takes note of the way her shirt dwarfs her when she get up. The yellow, orange, and pink of the tie-dye.

The three of them tiddy up the living room. Aemond tries not focus on when their hands brush when they pick up the paint. He sees the ladybug ring on her finger, the one that matches Helaena’s butterfly one.

“Remember what I said: traveling picture, Pilates picture, then pretend candid with your friends,” Myrah hugs Alicent before turning to Aemond and giving him a simple nod. “Aemond.”

“Myrah.”

Her keychain covered in fuzzy balls and trickers jingle as she leaves. Her foot is barely out the door before Aemond looks at him mom.

“What was that about?”

Alicent’s dark brows shoot up is false confusion. “What was what?”

“The ‘traveling and Pilates’ pictures thing,” he crosses his arms.

“Well,” Alicent sighs, pondering if she should tell him. “I asked Myrah to help me set up a dating profile.”

Aemond blanches, and does nothing to hide it.

Dating. “That is extremely weird for her to agree to.”

“I am lonely, Aemond,” Alicent shrugs truthfully. “I have not been on a date since I was 25.”

His disposition softens. Aemond knows his mother has been through a lot, too much, at the hands of his father. Viserys did not ask for anyone’s permission to date; in fact, he did not even wait till he was single to.

“Fine, but I get full sign off on who you go on date with.”

Alicent rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say sweetheart,” she bites her lips for a moment. “You should be nicer to Myrah. She’s nice and fun.”

Aemond just grunts.

“…. And pretty.”

Alicent gives him a sly smile. “Like really pretty. If I was your age, I’d want to date her.”

Aemond narrows his eyes. “Then why don’t you set her up with Aegon, since she’s so amazing.”

Alicent narrows hers back. “Fine, maybe I will.”

Aemond scoffs. Like hell she will. Not that Aemond cares at all, but Aegon wouldn’t know what to do with someone like Myrah. He already made an ass of himself when she did the portrait. Aemond was sure she only laughed at his jokes to appease an already awkward situation.

“Maybe I will set her up with Jace.”

Aemond can’t help but let out a incredulous laugh.

It doesn’t matter… because Aemond doesn’t care what Myrah does. Let alone who she dates. He really really doesn’t care. It is that no one should be subjected to spending more time with certain members family of his family than need be.

Plus he already has to see Myrah now because of Helaena and his mother. The idea of her being at family events on the arm of his brother or nephew is vommit inducing. If Myrah could dance circles around Aegon, she’d slaughter someone like Jace. Wit does not run in that side of the family he’s afraid.

“Whatever,” is all he can come up with.

He does not care.

[twsted-princess]

[ STARS ] For Melanie and Fennec

[ MORNING ] Eikichi Aldrich

pick one you wanna do

You fool! I'm doing both!!

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-

Eikichi heard a whine with something falling over before the accursed beeping stop, the sunlight peeking through the window causing him to groan. He pulled the covers over his head as another voice chuckled. "And I thought I hated mornings." The feeling of feathers tickling his face caused one green eye to open as the sun was blocked slightly by his pretty bird boyfriend. Aldrich smiled from his position being held up by his elbows, his red wings covering his sides as he looked at the lump in the bed. Eikichi grumbled "Not my fault my boss wanted me to work overtime for four days straight." The birdman patted where his face is as another grumble came out. "I know, but the robotics convention's this week." Right, the company was one of the venues and Eiki was going to be the main presenter. He heard the sheets rustled but he groaned. "Baaaaaaabe don't leave just yeeeeet....." He poked his head out as Alrich sat at the ledge of their bed, taking his glasses. "Sorry but someone has to teach today." The beastman placed his glasses on and stretched, now that he was working as the history teacher at Night Raven College he needed to get up bright and early. But something stopped him from getting up. Looking to the floor he saw it, a small black box. "Honey? What is this?" He asked picking it up as Eiki rose up and watch them hold it up. The tech genius's cheeks turned extremely warm "Oh! Well......it was suppose to be a surprise for later but......" Aldrich then opened the box and gasped as inside was a solid golden ring. 'My one and only' being written into the inside of the band.

From the lands of dreams the maiden heard a code. A series of quick door knocks in pattern before silence. Melanie woke up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she shuffled out of her warm bed. Louise was still asleep in his little homemade bed so she crept past him to escape. Slowly leaving her room before rushing off to the hall, the large windows illuminated the night sky as her bare feet hurried along cold marble to linen rugs until she met him. The towering man with his green hair often tied up was loose as he smiled, she returned the gesture as he took her hand and the two were off. Out of the castle, out of the royal gardens and down into Torrin Hall. The air was cool as little flickers of light coming from the many farms scattered along the green, the town below was still and sleepy. Melanie smiled, the grass soft on her feet as she watched Fennec come up the hill. "It's beautiful......" she said as she looked towards the sky. "Yeah......." The stars twinkled brightly creating a canvas with shades of blue. It had been so long since she saw them so clearly. Wonderland's stars were lovely but these felt right. She sat down, her nightgown pooling into the grass as she took a gentle breath. Fennec sat next to her before falling back into the dark green blanket. The two stayed there with the breeze, watching the stars. It seemed like yesterday when Fennec arrived in Genovia and met her again. After five years apart. They've both grown in features and maturity but they never forgot each other. The traveler looked at the queen, watched as her eyes reflected the little specks of starlight. She was......beautiful. She didn't change at all but time made her more beautiful. His emerald eyes soften as he pondered his thoughts. This has been the longest stay he's had, over a month. He's met her family, her people, watched her rule her kingdom with a loving heart and.....he wanted to stay. His heart longed to explore......but he wanted to be with her. He had the thought for the longest time. From the moment he knew she would be leaving Twisted Wonderland and he left Hourglass Station to travel he had that thought in the back of his mind. Maybe......this was the time. "Melanie?" She looked to him at the sound of her name on his lips. "Yes?" she watched him sit and looked up at the stars. "I've been thinking. I know I'm not the best, I know that at some point I'll leave you. That I'll make you worry and think I've fallen off the face of the world. But.....you've never left me. You've always been with me. Every time I've found somewhere new I wanted you to be by my side. But I also want to settle down, bring my brother here and......." Melanie's face flushed as he turned to look at her. "And......?" she whispered. Fennec then took the ring off his finger. His most precious treasure......and placed it on her finger. "I......want to make you happy. You're my world.....and I want to be with you for as long as possible. Will you marry me?"

[juniminabloom]

I love the way you did my request!! It was so fun to read!

I also had another request, if you don’t mind. Suppose that reader is an artist and loves to paint the landscapes and the wandering bugs.

Could you do HCs of reader trying to paint Grimm and Nightmare King (separate) in secret but they found out? Thank you!

A/N: Of course! I'm so glad you liked it!

And feel free to request whatever else you want! There are no limits, and my inbox is ALWAYS open!

TMG & NKG- Secret Painting HCs

~~~

TMG:

-Every time you were at a performance of his, you always had the urge to paint him.

-So one night, when you had trouble sleeping, you went over to the desk in the room and began to make a base sketch.

-You wanted to capture the emotion he put out during his shows, so you made a basic but dramatic rough sketch.

-After that, you had scavenged for paint around the tent, but there was none, so you took a trip to Iselda & Cornifer's shop to see if they had anything (they did).

-You didn’t know how he’d react to you painting him, so you always did it in secret. Usually when he was in a deep slumber, or when he was rehearsing for a performance.

-But one day, when you were adding finishing details to the painting, you accidentally knocked off a vial of red paint from the table with your elbow, causing it to shatter on the floor.

-Grimm’s eyes shot open from the sudden noise. He looked around for the cause, and his eyes landed on you staring back at him.

-He came down from the ceiling and gently approached you, confused at what was going on. He saw the broken glass and paint on the floor and grew curious. He didn't have paint in the tent, so where did it come from, and why do you have it?

-He was met with a medium canvas on the table, with red paint on it. He walked closer and realized that it was a painting of him! His eyes widened and he picked it up, examining it further.

-A smile grew on his face. He loved it!

-"Y/N, this is wonderful! How come you never told me about this?" He asked.

-You went on to tell him that you wanted to paint him from seeing his performances, but you didn't know how he'd react. So you decided to do it in secret.

-He laughed, and told you that if you do it again he'd love to know and watch.

-<3

NKG:

-You rarely ever saw him, since his other half was in showbiz, so when you did you were always delighted to see the slightly changed features and the more brutish personality. 

-With you being an artist, you decided to paint him so whenever he wasn't around, you could at least see his figure.

-You made a quick sketch of him, making sure to give him a fierce pose to match his personality. 

-After breaking your vial of red paint, you went back over to Iselda & Cornifer's to buy some more.

-You didn't know how well the Troupe Master would take it, since you were painting his worse half, so you did it in secret. Usually at night or during his rehearsals. 

-After a couple of days, it was the Nightmare Kings turn to come out, so you were excited. So excited that you forgot about the painting of him on the table.

-He walked into the bedroom, greeting you in a buddy-buddy style, until he started looking around the place seeing if anything changed. He went over to the desk and his eyes landed on the painting.

-He picked it up and looked at it closely. The fine details, the vibrant colors, he was in sheer awe. "Did you make this?" He asked.

-You nodded and explained to him that you missed him a lot when he was gone, so you wanted to make a painting to capture his character.

-He set it down, and for the first time, he gave you a hug. "That's really sweet, Y/N." He chuckled.

-<3

[btscontentenjoyer]

I'm sorry in advance for the amount of times I'll use capslock to scream about how heartbroken I am. And about how many times I'll repeat the word heartbreak. And how I'll comment on every paragraph because all of them are equally devastating. This has just blown me away completely.

"You [7:19PM]: Are you busy or ghosting me… You [7:28PM]: It’s just… I’ve been thinking of you and wondered if you did too You [7:30PM]: Just once, please…" That last one really breaks my heart 😭😭😭

"Not a single letter in a single message popped up in your notifications in the past two weeks. The man updating you about every hour of his life has become a face that you’ve only been seeing in your dreams these days." It’s really such an abrupt change which probably makes it even more painful.

"Heartbreak develops the character or whatever. But you don’t need any of it; you’ve had enough." 🥺🥺🥺 That’s true, they don't deserve to suffer even more, they've suffered enough 🥺🥺🥺

"As whatever deity that formed humanity had planned for you." THEY'RE SOULMATES!!!!! THEY'RE FATED TO BE TOGETHER!!!! With that thought, I already feel the tears building in my eyes.

"When he paints on his canvas, what does he produce? When he looks at his skin, at the flower, at the blue colour, at you, what does he see?" 😭😭😭 I know we're all wondering how he feels and I'm sure during this chapter we'll ask ourselves that question a lot. But when we get his pov of just how miserable he feels and how much he has to hold back because he thinks it's best for OC to be without him??? That will absolutely rip my heart apart.

"Staying silent, keeping your stress in will backfire harder." !!!!!!!! Jungkook should have gotten this advice too 😔😔😔

"If you’d stayed just a little longer, you would’ve realised that his heart beats in unison with yours. That he felt a glimpse of your presence straight from the hallway, too, opening without you even brushing the cold of the door." Oh, you're so evil for this, Rid. They're so connected and yet they have to be apart, this is heartbreaking.

"A gaping emptiness greets Jungkook when he opens his fridge." WAIT I FORGOT THERE WERE GOING TO BE POV SWITCHES FUCKKKK.

"Yet, the both of you always aligned. Somewhere in the middle, meeting so effortlessly that each of your differences faded. You were easy like that." I literally get goosebumps every time I see how made they are for each other. They!!! are!!!! soulmates!!!!!

"The past tense feels like the cruellest component of language right now." 😭😭😭 Every line hits me straight in the chest.

“Hey.” Taehyung almost whispers the word as Jungkook zips his bag close, letting a hand fall on its fabric. “Take care of yourself. Okay?” I'm glad they both have friends that care about them so much and are trying to be there for them. But that's not enough when they literally complete each other and now they're not together :((

"The scent of his apartment has changed." 😭😭😭

"Less because of the fight; more because the aftermath of it turned out less like the bed of thorns you expected, and more like a vibrant, burgeoning garden. The days you spent on his mattress, breathing him in, seeing stranger towns, kissing in the rain. Who could dwell in past fights when someone was holding you like that?" 🥺🥺🥺 He always distracts her from the bad things with her family, and it seems like just the thought of him is able to still do that now 🥺🥺🥺

"Somewhere inside, you haven’t accepted reality just yet. Still waiting for a single text, a brief meet, a gentle kiss. You paint pictures of him holding you, touching you again, trying to manifest them into actuality." God, I really feel for her, that's exactly what I'm doing right now too. I will be in denial until they're back together 😔😔😔

"Seconds pass as she lets you sulk; and right when you clear your throat, attempting to speak up, she says, “Don’t ever make the mistake of studying law.” Lmaooo. Sometimes grief takes us over and we relate everything to our problems and what makes us sad. And at least for me, it's quite a nice distraction to focus on someone else's problems for a little bit, realise that your personal grief isn't all that the world is.

"So you grant her a smile when she remarks, “Also sucks to study, because I get to see my best friend a lot less these days.” Both OC and Jungkook are closing themselves off 😔😔😔

"What kind of word is that? You didn’t think you’d ever use it to describe him, first and foremost, because you never thought you’d even fall so deep into this mess to enable a break up in the first place." Yeah, I feel like that's also part of the reason why they kept denying their connection and the real nature of their relationship, because once you acknowledge how much you care, you're opening yourself up for heartbreak as well. It really is scary to let yourself be so vulnerable.

"Fingers press harder into your arm. She’s delighted, you know. Loves how she and Taehyung go hand in hand, coming as a pack, a unit." That’s so cuteeee.

"And a birthday you were hoping to not miss. You had something prepared, too…" PAIN. ALL I FEEL IS PAIN.

“Because,” she begins, drawing a deep breath, “he loves you.” So many people have said that to her now and yet he isn't one of them 😭😭😭 Step up Jungkook 😣😣😣

"But then, you repeat, “He doesn’t. He can’t be, not like that, not with me not around, I—” Noooooo, I don't want to see her denying it like that and actually believing what she's saying 😭😭😭

"You don’t know how to get over Jungkook." I know that right now everything is very fresh and so she feels a world of pain. But there also comes a time when you hold on to the grief just because it's the only thing you have left of the person to hold on to, if that makes sense. I hope she doesn't get to that point and they make up before that happens.

"The life that surrounds you, the standards your parents set for you. Everything that your job, your responsibilities and everyone’s expectations of you consist of, they’ll be haunting you for possibly longer than you can endure." AND HE WON'T BE THERE TO MAKE IT BETTER 😭😭😭 My baby OC doesn't deserve all of that pain with no reprieve in the form of Jungkook😭😭😭

"It’s not the worst heartache you’ve been enduring." Every time I see lines like these I think of the fact that Jungkook believes it will be better for her without him. And I just want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he realises how wrong he is. And yet I know that he didn't do it only for her, I know that he was very hurt from everything happening as well and the pressure he put on himself to be brave and strong for her eventually got to him 😔😔😔 It's hard to blame him when I think about all of that.

"And now that Jungkook is gone, they are, too." Only for a little while. And the biggest thing is that the pain still lingers, without the journalists. And it's a whole lot bigger than the pain they bring.

“Because… I confirmed that I could be okay without him, too. And that’s what his stubborn head has held onto since, I’m sure.” That's probably so true 😔😔😔

"And the day that happens… that’s when Jungkook will realise how less his tactic did. That it eased nothing. That he left in vain, that your life doesn’t change permanently just because he sacrifices the future the two of you could’ve had." Oh I really really hope he does realise it then and it's not too late when he does.

"But by then, it might be too late." Noooo, I refuse. (See, that's the fun of taking notes as I'm reading because I haven't gotten to the next line when I type them lmao.)

“A lamp he gave me,” you say. “It… when you turn it on, it casts lights on the ceiling. The colours switch, and there’s also this…” You gesture haphazardly with your hands, blinking in fatigue. “This stars effect. He said… to add to the ones I glued on. Years ago.” 😭😭😭😭😭

"You shrug your shoulders. “My parents didn’t give me one, so he did.” AAAAAAAAAH

"Her eyes remain on the unlit lamp. Like that, it looks unspectacular, faded, colourless. Different from whenever you switched it on; different from the universe that expanded across your ceiling when you used it on lazy nights." The way that her life is colourless now without him 😭😭😭

"But for now, the hold on this harsh rope is too strong — and your hands are bleeding." Your writing is beautiful as always, Rid, and its beauty only enhances the pain.

"And now that the older man is smiling at the sky, both hands in the pockets of his jeans, Jungkook realises just how beige and warm his aesthetic truly is. Reminds him of the approaching season of fall." Namjoon is comfort and wisdom and human kindness personified and I hope he can provide some of that for Jungkook right now. Also, it's been mentioned before how the summer's ending (and Jungkook's birthday is coming :( ) and I just feel like that also relates so well to OC and Jungkook's relationship. The blue skies will be turning grey, just like the world is losing its colour for them. It reminds me a little of some lines from August by Taylor Swift :((

"Jungkook pauses, shuffling his foot as he says, “I think I will participate.” He blinks at the ground, wetting his lips, “In that exhibition you told me about.” Aaaaah what will he submit???

"The few hours Jungkook spends with his employer and mentor are soothing; a soft embrace. He doesn’t know if it’s the art around him, or the half mature, half playful conversations, but he feels at home at the studio. So the smile that emerges on his face is no surprise." I knew from the moment we saw Namjoon in this story that he will be this for Jungkook. And I'm so so glad he has him in his life, especially right now 🥺🥺🥺

"So he’s in no rush to leave, permitting Namjoon one last question, “What are you painting, by the way?” I reeeeally want to know too.

"And then, all he does is smile again." But of course you’re going to tease us and not tell us yet 😔😔😔 It's okay, I can be patient.

"She uncrosses her legs; her high heels clack against the polished floor, and suddenly, she’s intimidating to you. Especially as her firm voice reminds you, “But you can’t do that forever.” I love the parallels we get in this chapter with Jungkook and OC's povs. Like we see Tae being worried about Jungkook and then Eun being worried about OC. And now we saw Kook and his work mentor and OC and hers. I feel like that just shows once again how connected they are.

“Go to a smaller business. A subsidiary. You’d be with us, but also not… and I bet some of them could use some people in management.” I was so relieved when OC actually liked and was good at the job that she felt pressured to do. But even with that, maybe it is too connected to her parents and she needs a change 🤔🤔🤔

“Then do it now. You can’t stay there forever.” There — not your work, but your home… “It’ll just make things harder for…” I definitely do think that it would be better if she moved, especially since her previous safe place - Jungkook’s apartment- isn't available to her anymore :(((

"Her movements and her glance are peculiar. Like she saw something she doesn’t want to mention." What was that about???? 🤨🤨🤨

"Because home doesn’t feel like home right now anyway. It stopped doing so long ago." </3

"Even though it lasted less than a week… it was easier to make yourself home at his place. Or when he made your room a home when he dropped by. Like when he gave you the damn lamp. You wish you didn’t remember it as well as you do." Exactly 😭😭😭 He is her home, not any specific place 😭😭😭

"Soft artist hands held a small box; the picture was reminiscent of the last nearly forgotten Valentine’s Day. Only now, the two of you stood in a different light, with a different spark between you; and the breeze blowing through the open window wasn’t frigid anymore." First of all, soft artist hands 🥺🥺🥺 describes so well how gentle he is or was with her🥺🥺🥺 Also the progression of their relationship!!!! Love to see it!!!! Until I don't :((

“No need. I thought we could just walk around a bit today. And also,” he placed the object on your table, seeking curiosity in your gaze. “I brought this for you. My brother got one of these for his friend’s birthday, and I wanted you to have it, too. It’s pretty cool.” The way he's more open this time about specifically wanting to get her something, unlike when he gave her the rose 🥺🥺🥺

"A tiny glimpse into his eyes." 🥺🥺🥺

"You thought… Whoever came up with the idea had the mind of a dreamer. Of someone bringing a miniscule piece of the sky home, to indulge in the mysteries of the universe whenever the city’s light or starless nights make it impossible." That’s so beautiful, Rid :')

"You don’t know if he loves you. But he truly must have fallen for you at least a little. Just… not enough to keep fighting." Nooooo :( I understand why she would feel like that, and his silence and determination to remain as stoic as possible is even making me consider these things, but I still have hope that it's not like that and I can trust him to make things right again.

"To which he shook his head, clicking his tongue before he said, “Nothing. I just like how easy it is to bring you joy.” Exactly!!!! It's so easy for him to make her happy and the happiness he brings her far outweighs the pain, why can't he see that 😭😭😭

"You’d learned to walk through the world numb. It was easy for him to bring you joy." EXACTLYYYYYYYYY

"And you recall him turning your face back a minute later, seeking your gaze. It wasn’t usual for you to look at each other like this; so it affected you wholly, head to toe. The very first peek into what he makes you feel today." I love seeing these little glimpses of the affection they have blossoming. But now it's so painful any time I remember how happy they make each other and how they're doing the exact opposite now.

"Inch by inch, he pushed into you, telling you, “Take whatever you want, angel. It’s yours.” And you did. His body, his mind, his goddamn heart. You took it all — even though today, you realise that you only borrowed it." This is so heartbreakingly beautiful. He needs to prove to her that he's still hers 😭😭😭

"You want him to call you angel again. Just one more time." I want that too. So bad. 😭😭😭😭😭

"He won’t come back and touch you, or look at you like that again." Noooo, I refuse to believe that's true.

"It suited his entire being. Because he too, ever-so-humble, never tried to be better than what you already had in life, even though he was. But he sure as hell always wanted to bring you happiness in new, varying ways." This is once again making me want to cry, god. The thought of how happy they're able to make each other shouldn't hurt, but right now it really does.

"Because he really did become an immortal echo, reverberating through all of you. Once as colourful as your ceiling, today flashing through your mind in a monochrome grey." Rid, you've once again solidified my opinion that your writing is extremely evocative. Because not only do I feel OC's sadness right now, but I also feel her hopelessness too. It's so hard to feel hope and have faith in Jungkook when all we've seen him do recently is keep his feelings buried deep inside of him. Even when we're in his pov, he pushes all of these thoughts aside so often, that we still don't know how he truly feels about everything. I really hope that he can open up soon to himself at least and let himself experience all of his emotions. And if I have faith in anyone, it's in you, Rid. My belief that you won't make us suffer for nothing is the only hope I have right now 😔😔😔

"You smile at the gift. If you could, would you live through everything in your shared past again, just to feel every little emotion all over again? You would." I understand that too, just like I would reread this beautiful story again and again, despite knowing that there will be pain.

"Loneliness is worse than the fear of running into him." I wonder if she also kind of wants to see him, as much as she knows it will hurt.

"But then again — how high are the chances that you’re hoping for something? Hoping to bump into him, to evoke what his absence evokes in you. To test how he’s feeling, and how he’s faring." Yeah, I figured as much. It's so normal to feel this way. But it's sad that he'll probably act quite cold and she'll lose even more hope seeing that he's not as devastated as her, at least not on the outside.

"When Jimin and Eun paid you a visit after the fallout with Jungkook, he said it to you first. In a much nicer tone, with a hand on your back; the gentle peck on your hair compensated for his harsh method of encouragement." Oh no :( Even if I didn't believe that Jungkook would fix things and they'd get back together, I feel like it's worth it to have tried this out for the amount of happiness he was able to bring her, even before the whole fake dating deal.

"Jimin scolds first; the soft reassurances, the warm hold-handing, and the loving smiles follow later." Aaaaw, that's so sweet tho.

"He can’t look you in the eyes as he digests the gesture. Generally not one to meet someone’s gaze when he gets flustered or receives compliments." Cuuuuteeee. All of them are so precious and such good friends, I've come to love them so much as well.

"Until a body walks over the threshold; the first step reverberates in your ears." Even though I've read this already in the teaser it doesn't make things easier.

"You barely need to look up to feel his presence. Like he’s supposed to breathe side by side with you; like your souls are connected, needing to co-exist in near proximity." SOULMATES!!!!!

"But looking at the pain spreading on his face and the hesitant movements, like he wants to run away, makes you wish for today’s end." I guess you would expect to feel vindicated when you see your ex hurting, but since you still love them, you don't actually want to see them in pain.

"You don’t know what they are to each other, but the affection is clear. The way his lips touched her hair… Jungkook would do the same whenever the two of you met—" 😔😔😔

"Hard to believe he’s the same man who danced with you just a little while ago. Who looked at you like you were the centre of the universe, the oasis to save him from the drought rather than the rain." It's so sad to think about the way things were between them just a few weeks ago. That's the thing with break ups like these, where the people still love each other so much, it's how abrupt everything is, how one day you're together and the next you have to come to terms with the fact that you're not.

"But he? He doesn’t grant you any of that. If anything, you fall deeper into the hole you dug." Of fucking course. I swear, this man…

“But… Maybe it’s good that he’s here, babe. You guys need to talk.” That caught me off guard too. All of this time I've been feeling everything with them and now I feel just as scared as OC of a conversation with Jungkook.

"If your friends are idiots, you’re the biggest fool of them all. Because somewhere, there’s still a teeny tiny spark of hope in you that craves his presence. Hoping for reconciliation at last." Me too, babe 🥺🥺🥺 But I have a feeling the sadness and angst isn't going to end here yet.

"Or the way Eun slammed the steering wheel when you interrupted her, delivering one argument after another why her tactic might work. Stating how Jungkook might see what he’s missing, and finally realise that he’s in the wrong." I wish it was that easy 😔😔😔 But at least it can be the start of him realising all of that maybe?

"Because there he is… a familiar face in a crowd of young adults, sitting behind the counter with a beaming smile on his visage. Truly the last person you expected to see at such a simple place, considering that his lifestyle is usually anything but simple." Hobi???

"Jung Hoseok shrugs his shoulders." Hobi!!!!!

"There wasn’t much left but to strengthen the… bond you already somewhat shared with the latter. In the most tempting way the two of you knew." There are so many beautiful memories in this chapter and they all hurt so much.

"You just wish you could fall in love with the same ease." 😭😭😭😭😭

"Hoseok angles his head… and then says, “Just. I’ve been thinking of you a lot these days.” 🤨🤨🤨🤨 Ooooh, we're really going there huh.

"Somehow, Jungkook is glad that you don’t." Nooooo. He needs to show that he cares at some point before it's too late 😔😔😔

"What are you thinking, Kook? What are you feeling? Does this bother you at all?" With him acting like this, I can see why people would want the OC hoe era tbh.

"You guess you were the only one he could never shut up with. But now, none of you has anything to say to the other." They bring out these different sides to each other and it's so wonderful to witness. But we don't see that anymore 😭😭😭😭

"By now you can’t quite say what she’s doing intentionally, and which words escape out of pure curiosity. She sounds oblivious at least; then again, she knows how to put on an act." It’s interesting how all of them are putting on these acts and doing everything so deliberately. Especially since they all want the same thing, yet they can't outright go for it for one reason or another.

"Perhaps your imagination is getting the best of you — but you don’t miss the snarky undertone in his statement. His voice is calm, as patient as you remember, but if he means the slight hostility crackling between you, you think you’d much rather prefer the silence." Ugh, where does he get off pretending she doesn't exist and then getting angry and jealous when she talks to a different guy lmao. He really needs to start showing his feelings more openly at the right times, instead of them blowing up after being held in too long. Hopefully this will be a push in that direction. Can you tell that I'm getting a little mad lmao?

“Not really,” you interrupt. This is not the conversation you wanted. “And I… I actually don’t really wanna talk about it.” So Hobi liked OC during freshman year and he was the only other person who has given her a gift for Valentine’s day I feel like??? Maybe? Also I think she said that she tried to like someone back in freshman year but couldn't, and to be honest, I'm not really feeling any sparks between them, at least not from OC's side. But maybe she'll try to go out with him just to do something different for a change. I'm actually more scared of Seokjin coming back into the picture and what that would mean. If her parents would put pressure on her again to date him and if she would actually consider it now.

"Not long ago, his arms were the warmest home you knew. Even in the stinging heat, you’d sink into them in relief. You’d kiss him, lift your lips whenever he called you that godforsaken nickname. Skin on skin, hot and tender. He’d look at you, touch you, reciprocate your affection and make you fall in love so hard that it hurt. And now you’re nervous about his presence?" Noooooooo, stop making me hurt like this, Rid 😭😭😭😭

"You dart your head to face him once more; this time, you open your eyes and your soul behind them. You hope he sees the fractures in it, sees his name written on those scars." That’s so devastatingly beautiful and vulnerable 😭😭😭

"Maybe it’ll urge him to rethink his and your source of happiness after all." It’s what I've been hoping for this whole time too.

"And you see it in his eyes even when the relief and tender mood drop: how he looks at you with pain in his countenance. Tilting his head just a little, eyebrows carved just a tiny bit. A chest rising as far as yours." A glimpse of hope 🥺🥺🥺. It's really fortunate that she can read him so well even when he tries to be as nonchalant as possible.

"You know it’s his usual method to hide deep-rooted emotions. To veil his desolation. And now, you’re barely in the position to ask what’s wrong anymore — now, he has an even more plausible reason to not open up." The root of all of their problems right now 😔😔😔

"This is such a stretched and unnecessary evening. Him playing this act even moreso. Frustrates you. Hurts you. Jimin, aware of your habit of talking during movies, starts conversations multiple times, but his words land on deaf ears. Shit, you feel miserable." Oh, this is so sad and frustrating, truly. I'm getting a little angry at mister Jeon.

"Maybe you should let him." See, these thoughts are so inviting with the way Jungkook is acting. I just hope that if this happens, he doesn't try to convince himself that she would be better off with a different man too.

"Somewhere inside, you know he’s still there. The guy you fell for; the one who’d walk through fire for you; the comfort and blanket, the promise and warmth. The one carrying you on his skin." Me every time I see the word comfort or the fact that he has a tattoo for her - 😭😭😭😭

"Because you’re hoping for him to say more. To prove to you that he still cares. That the deep-rooted worry he developed for you throughout those weeks and months didn’t dissipate so fast." 😔😔😔 I WANT THAT TOO.

“Yeah, but I—” He cards his fingers through his dark locks, though they fall back into his face again anyway. “I worry about you. All the time, okay? I… I still do.” But here's the problem, OC knows that he feels this way already, and him saying these things out loud won't change his mind about his decision yet. And that's why it hurts so much.

“You can’t ghost me like this. You— you said we’d talk later. And I really did think we’d meet later, that we… don’t know, that we’d make up and turn things alright the way we always do.” Yeah :((

“You promised I’m yours,” you say, “and that you’re mine. You kissed me and looked at me, and told me things in the pouring rain that I’d been hoping for. You said… Do you even remember all the things you said to me, Jungkook? The day before?” And here come the tears again 😭😭😭

“But it worked. They’re not— no, listen,” he says, lifting your face when you let it sink, “I want you to be happy. You can’t be that with me.” That's just completely not true. I wonder why he thinks so lowly of himself and why he can't see the impact he has on her, the benefits their relationship has.

“I was. I was happy with you,” you tell him, every other word broken. “You just don’t understand. You don’t want to.” God, I don't think I've ever felt a character's emotions so deeply. I can just see exactly how she feels and why she feels that way and it's heartbreaking.

“H-how—” you sigh at your own weak attempt, and gulp. Then try again, “How much it hurts to see you toss it all away. You were kissing me. You have me on your fucking skin, I’m,” you grab his arm, removing his hand from your cheek, fingers around the flowers, “I’m on there. Fucking here.” All of this raw emotion… I'm truly speechless…

“Because if I do,” he cuts you off, caging you in with both palms against the wall, “I’ll break.” Of course he's just trying to stand by his choice but all of those efforts are preventing him from seeing that that choice is the wrong one.

"So you whisper, “Do it…” You move your hands to the hem of his loose shirt. Up his torso, and then put the fabric between your fingers. “Please break. Just once.” Wow, I feel like I've been holding my breath this entire scene, this is so intense.

"You shatter into a billion petite pieces when he repeats, “Fuck, angel.” My chest hurts now 😭😭😭

"But your focus resides elsewhere; and you keep whispering, “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Kook, I—” It almost feels unfair to see her saying this instead of him, when we've seen her breaking like this the whole time and he's been the one keeping everything in, and he's doing it again now, even after the kiss.

"He catches himself, quiet for a moment, and then echoes once more, “I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is free of panic, entirely neutral; he’s in control of his feelings, holding onto the wrong ones. Neglecting those that’d save the two of you. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this to you.” We were all rooting for you, Jungkook 😭😭😭 You better fix all of this soon.

“This,” you begin, interrupting yourself with a tiny, forged laugh, “sounds exactly like the reason why you broke up with Nara.” Oooooh OC coming in with the real harsh statements. He really does feel like he's not good enough huh? I wonder what it will take for him to change that mindset.

"For now, he only warns again, “Fucking stop. I— I would’ve done anything for you.” Except for let her decide what's good for her on her own, it seems. I'm mad at him right now ngl 😔😔😔

"You remain silent for just a minute; and then, you say, “You’re a jerk for this. For touching me, and kissing me, and for following me at all. It would’ve been easier if you hadn’t.” Nooo, he's a jerk for stopping himself when he did.

“I should’ve fucking agreed to whatever the deal with Seokjin was,” you snarl; your voice isn’t as steady as you want it to be." Yeah, she's really hurt now. They both are, because they would not be acting like this if they weren't. It hurts too much to see them deliberately trying to bring each other pain right now. This is the pain that they should be avoiding, not the one caused by the paparazzi 😭😭😭

"…He’s right. It must help." Nooooo I don't want her convinced that it's for the better too 😭😭😭😭😭

"He might not be done breaking your heart yet, but you’re done having it broken." 😭😭😭😭😭 Now she's giving up too, why does everything feel so hopeless 😭😭😭😭😭

"He looks at you as you walk away, fingers curling, uncurling; digits of hands you used to hold for the comfort he provided. The lips you used to kiss, the ones you touched just minutes ago, are dry, his breathing irregular. Eyes blank as much as yours. The same exact ones you used to stare into until you drifted into a dreamless sleep. Tonight, tomorrow — and maybe forever, you’ll be dreaming of them." RIIIIID 😭😭😭😭 You've completely broken me, it's official.

The way Jungkook was in this chapter… it's really hard not to be mad at him. Especially when we were seeing just how much OC is suffering not only because of his decision, but also because of how he's been acting after it. I'm sure that in his pov chapter we'll find out a lot of legitimate reasons for his behaviour. We can tell how hurt he is and I really wonder why he thinks he can't ever be good enough. But what's the hardest for me to figure out is exactly what is going to be powerful enough to break him out of his destructive thoughts and habits. I'm really looking forward to all of this hurt being soothed one day, but until then, I'll keep my tissues close.

With every chapter I feel like these rambles get longer and longer, but I think that just represents the way my feelings for these two get deeper and deeper with every chapter too. You also just never miss with your writing, Rid, it never fails to provoke so many thoughts and emotions. So many, in fact, that rambling on here wasn't even enough and I had to ramble to my sister about it too lmaooo.

This story means so much to me and I don't think I've ever been this emotionally invested in something before 🥺🥺🥺

colour me in: monochrome | jjk (m)

Summary: The sky and the flowers, and even your heart and your mind, have turned oddly colourless since you left the warmth he used to wrap you in.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: lovesickness, crying, coping, tension, a hospital scene but nothing too major, mention of a small accident, MORE tension, pov changes, a Guest Appearance, a flashback, the Guest Appearance flirts with oc 🤷‍♀️, jk’s attitude is painful… heartache makes him mean, kissing… 🤐, arguments, pining/yearning, explicit sexual content: masturbation…, fingering, groping, mention of unprotected sex, soft sex… the ending x100 ➳ wc: 21.6k ➳ a/n: HI AGAIN. so. cmi7, finally; beta’d and fixed by my kitty @missgeniality​ ily !! <3 you guys… thank you so much for supporting me and loving cmi so far; please never stop and keep talking to me, it means so so much 🥺🤍 and don’t forget to listen to the playlist! ➳ listen to:��reflections by the nbhd | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

Jungkook [9:23PM]: are u guys okay You [9:35PM]: Still talking but… it’ll be ok i think Jungkook [9:37PM]: okay.. i’m glad You [9:42PM]: Thank you kook. And i’m sorry

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[belethlegwen]

A Tale of Hobbies and Hammocks

Hello Today, I made a hammock. It's been a project of the last couple of days. I bought the materials on Sunday afternoon, and have been pouring over Nate Large's YouTube videos for how to make and rig an American Navy-style Hammock for quite some time. I initially found them through significant research I was doing for The Rescue and The Stranding and I learned a ton from Nate's videos. You may remember some time ago, I got myself a reference-Henry:

This guy is the full 8 inches Henry claims to be (Henry is only 7.2") but he's handy to have around. Since I got him he's been milling around on my desk for the most part, has come on a few purse adventures and so on, but I kept feeling bad that I didn't have a designated place for him to sleep. Well, a bed wasn't going to cut it. So, I reference again: Mr. Nate Large.

It started simply enough: I bought some fabric samples that resembled canvas enough, bought some D-rings because I figured they'd be easier to work with, needles, fancy thick thread, and came back to get to work. The first thing I did was start on the clews, and that required building a clew jig, as seen in this video. I am not a handiman by nature nor a particularly skilled or crafty creature in general, so I jimmy rigged something with a chunk of furniture board I had lying around from something:

On the first one the D-ring was too close the comb I was using as pegs, so it's adjusted in the second picture. Honestly I'm pretty proud of this McGuyver-level setup.

I didn't know how many loops I was going to be able to make for the clew with the measurements I had (again, nothing is completely precise just because I was going by rough estimates, eye-balling, and a general hit of a 10.4% scale of everything) so I kept this one pretty tight, which was difficult BUT it got the job done. Toothpicks for runners and thumbtacks as far as the eye can see.

The first completed clew, I had somehow missed literally the first loop but being as it was still functional, I kept it. If I had to scrap and start over at this point, I'd put the damn thing down and never pick it up again.

Second clew I went ahead and spread the loops out (there's 10 instead of 12 by the way, which I forgot to mention above). I hit all the loops this time on the finished product and am very very proud of having done both tiny weaves. Next step was the hammock. I took the white fabric I had, cut it twice as wide as I needed it because I wanted to try and replicate the thickness of the canvas I assumed would be used, and did the only stitch I know (needle go in, needle come out, needle go in again) to close up the open side and turn it inside out. I'm actually pretty proud of this especially because I only stabbed myself once! In the thigh, so it barely even counts.

I used a little hair flat-iron I never use to iron the fabric between stages. One thing I did NOT do was fold and sew the seams at the end, and that was literally because I realized that the measurements I had been using were for Canon-Henry, not Reference Henry. Canon-Henry is 10.4% scale, Reference-Henry is 11.6%, which is a pretty big difference when you're measuring the lengths of hammocks.

No I did not do grommets

I've never done grommets in my life and wasn't about to try and learn at nearly a 1/10th scale. I was crazy enough for doing THIS in the first place, I can ignore the need for awling and grommets and whatever else would've needed to happen for COMPLETE ACCURACY. Theater of the mind, friends. Anyway, I used the largest yarn darner that came in the pack I bought to poke 10 holes at equal intervals (1.4cm apart) along the sides, and then used the need to string the loops through the holes, and using a girth-knot on the first loop over my itty bitty rope, I slipped the rope through the rest of the loops until girth-knotting the end, and then: VOILA

ONE FULLY RIGGED CLEW

This was the first clew, so you can see in the second picture that one of the loops a little janky, but again: that's aesthetic problems. It's still very functional.

Second verse, same as the first until we get us:

TWO FULLY RIGGED CLEWS

Our hammock was now ready for testing, but I was too lazy to go get my ring-light stand to take proper pictures with, so the first demos were done with the use of the clew rigging board:

Henry in the hammock while slack, Henry in the hammock while tight. Snug as a bug in a rug.

Then, obviously, had to find a place to actually hang it. So: Over the storage-cubby in my desk, which I desperately need to clean out.

So that's the story of how I spent an excessive amount of time learning a very cool, neat set of skills at a very small scale just so I could flex a little.

Thanks for coming along on this journey of learning, and thanks again to Nate Large, whose name he will never know is so god damn on-point right now.

[babblydrabbly]

Distracted (Peacemaker x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Peacemaker x F!Reader; Brief Javelin x Reader

Characters: Peacemaker/Christopher Smith, Amanda Waller, Javelin

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warning(s): Smut, language, mentions of blood/violence. Choking, cream pie, semi-rough sex.

Summary: Out on a Task Force X mission, Peacemaker notices you're acting... different. He generously offers to help with what's distracting you. Asshole.

A/N: What's this? Baby's first Peacemaker fic? Takes place before The Suicide Squad (2021). Metahuman!Reader has super strength/speed abilities. Also, what kind of vanilla name is Chris Smith.

---

"Again?"

Amanda Waller arched a brow at your perturbed expression.

"My apologies." She droned. "Am I not stimulating you with enough variety, [L/n]?"

You scoffed, folding your arms in deference. It wasn't about that— It was about the deliberately repeated pairings with Christopher Smith. The dynamic that was becoming a pattern. You never would have worked with someone like Peacemaker on the outside. As much as you appreciated the job always getting done with him, you still bumped heads with him too much on the way to the finish line. He was frustratingly serious and flippant at the same time.

You decided to shut your trap before Waller decided she didn't need you anymore.

"You've got one skillset useful to me, [L/n]. I suggest you get used to the prospect of being paired up with Smith on a regular basis— While you're still around."

You nodded when she dismissed you. You had gotten used to it. You were seeing so much of Peacekeeper you were practically partners.

So, you pointedly sat to next the one called Javelin on the helicopter out of Belle Reve, as far away from Smith as possible. You were about to spend over twelve hours with him— It didn't have to start right away. While Colonel Flag gave you all the spiel on the mission, you glanced over and saw Javelin toss you a nod.

"You're Team B," The thrower noted over the whir of the helicopter. "[L/n], yes?"

"Yeah," you said. Your eyes flitted over the muscular squad member. He looked more like a superhero in his light blue and yellow get-up than the rest of you. You personally kept the lower half of your face covered with a black hard shell mask— Your armor from before you were incarcerated (Yes, you've heard the 'Baby Bane' jokes from the others). Even if you had to get used to working with a bunch of weirdos, you could at least conceal your face from them while you did it.

"You move very swiftly." He complimented, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to take that.

"Thanks," You tried, "I like your... weapon of choice?"

Javelin held his namesake in his arms, his legs spread wide to accommodate it as he rested it against his inner thigh. The innuendo normally would have had you rolling your eyes, but today they lingered, and you wondered if he still looked as broad and muscular without the suit on.

You frowned. Without the suit on?

Were you still staring down at his thighs?

You supposed he was a goddamn Olympic athlete at one point. And prison didn't seem to stop him from his regimen. —There it was again. You blinked and looked away, thankful nobody seemed to notice. Javelin seemed content with the brief introduction, so you left it at that.

Okay, so maybe it had been awhile since you...

You reprimanded yourself. These were not recreational outings. As much as you liked feeling free every once in awhile, you were never in a position to consider doing something so stupid. The last few missions were some of the closest calls you had while on the task force, but now that your job today was more about recon, you could at least let your mind wander to the less... imperative things. You crossed your legs at the ankles in front of you and let mind drift for the rest of the trip.

But christ had prison been rough. And a little boring. You didn’t have to think about Javelin moving closer to you for long— Pressing up flush against you— Before you were imagining yourself against a wall— Hell, right here on this bench— hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You pictured him going for two, three rounds, that stupid suit lying on the floor with your back on top of it. You pictured him going down on you too, a handful of his wavy blonde hair in your grasp as you pressed your thighs around his ears. You swallowed behind the mask, glad it was there to hide your face.

You get dropped off an isolated point a few klicks outside the target area, the rest of the team traveling further in to handle the bulk of the mission. You lug some extra equipment in a canvas bag— Guns, surveillance tech— already annoyed by the heat.

The heat of the jungle. Definitely not the heat you'd been feeling in the helicopter. You walked a half mile in total silence just trying to focus on the mission again.

"What's got your tactical suit in a twist?" Smith finally uttered as you got to your destination. You almost forgot he had dropped down the rope onto the ground after you. He stood out against the green around you in his obnoxious red shirt and white pants.

"Nothing." You lied, and you could tell from under his helmet that Peacemaker thought you were full of shit today. Great.

You set up inside a small building— An outpost long abandoned. Whatever organization you were taking down for Waller, they clearly had to downsize over the years. You kicked open the metal door, sending it flying off its hinges. Smith entered first, clearing all the rooms before you joined him. Upstairs, you begin setting up the equipment together. Peacemaker started with standing up a rifle by the window, aiming it at the road below.

You fiddled with a tablet; You went downstairs to put a sensor on the door frame and on the rusted gate blocking the road outside. They were supposed to warn you when any vehicles were approaching, but when you came back up, it lost signal. You did this twice; You batted at the little screen, vexed. There were probably signal jammers over at the main compound that could still reach all the way out here. You thought about how Team A was doing— So inevitably, your thoughts drifted back to the damn Javelin guy.

"Jesus!" You snapped. You were grateful when you didn't break the small screen in half with your strength.

"Okay. What the fuck is wrong." Came Peacemaker's voice from across the room. You stood there without turning around. You took a breath, tossed the tablet onto the bag at your feet.

"Nothing is wrong, Smith. Fuck off." You said. You reached up and unclipped your vest. Beneath it, you felt the cool air of the shelter hit your jumpsuit. You tossed the vest on the floor, then turned around. "When are they supposed to get here?"

He quirked a brow, as if proving his point. Since when didn't you remember the mission details? Rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking you were slipping you waved your own question away.

"God, never mind."

He scoffed. You watched him remove his helmet and gloves, setting them down carefully next to his own pack. He'd made his own area across the room from yours, another tablet showing him a view of the road propped up against the wall. Smith took a seat on the floor; The two of you were going to have to play the waiting game now.

In silence. The thought made you pinch the bridge of your nose right above where your mask stopped.

"You know, I've been at Belle Reve for four years now." You finally relented. You leaned back against your wall, folding your arms over your chest.

"Yeah? So?" Smith retorted. You rolled your eyes.

"So," God— You were really confiding in Christopher Smith. That's what it was coming down to. "I haven't had sex in four years. It's... not a big deal— Nothing's wrong. That's just what I was annoyed about earlier, you know? Consider me over it."

"That why you were ogling the Javelin in the copter today?"

Shit. Shit!

You dropped your arms. "You piece of garbage. You saw that?"

"I'm garbage? You're the one sexually harassing our fellow teammates with your eyes."

"I was not sexually— Nope. I'm done. You're ridiculous." You said. You reached down and went back to your tablet, busying yourself with it idly.

Peacemaker did the same. From the corner of your eye, you just knew he was doing it smugly.

"You know," He said after a few minutes, "If that's all you're bitching about, we can just get it over with."

"Excuse me?"

"You and me. Target's not coming in for another six hours, by the way. You don't need that much time do you, 'four-years-dry'?"

You stared at him from across the room. When you didn't reply, Peacemaker set his screen down so damn casually you consider just shooting yourself in the head.

"You're off your game. I'm not going to let you compromise our objective."

You threw your hands up. "There it is. You're like a broken record."

"What? Am I fucking wrong?"

"No, you're fucking crazy."

"Get over here." Smith instructed in a low voice.

The words shot up your spine, sending a very mixed signal to your brain. Directly across from you, Peacemaker was pinning you with an expectant look— One that was clearly a challenge. It pissed you off.

It was the look he used when he said you couldn't rip a guy's spine right out of his back— It dared you. And when you did succeed, you would shoot him an equally smug look in return. Your back and forths were always crass, always a test of who would back down.

You weren't normally so brutal when you worked alone, but something about Peacemaker brought it out of you. Whenever you were paired together, it was like your powers weren't something you had to hold back. They were something he was always prodding you to embrace. The jabs, the snark— It made you want to punch him in the face.

Standing up, you crossed the room. Smith didn't move as you stepped over his legs, as you leaned down to straddle his waiting lap. He simply watched you shift around until you're comfortably seated, your hands resting on his shoulders. He moved to place his own on your thighs but didn't do anything more.

"Well?" You said.

He shrugged, "Your call."

"What am I gonna do? Dry hump you?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fuck."

Finally, you reached up, unclipping the back of your mask.

"Whoa, wait—" He started, finally reacting to this ridiculous situation, but you already had it off, in your hand.

"I—" He stared at you. You shifted, feeling nervous as you stared back. It occurred to you that you'd never seen him shocked before.

He blinked. "I've never seen your whole face before."

That wasn't true— was it? You tried to think. "What about in Cuba? We camped out for like three days. I had to take it off to eat at least."

"I didn't look."

"You didn't look."

"I don't fucking know! You wear that fucking thing everywhere. When you took it off to eat I assumed you didn't want me looking."

"Wow. How courteous."

"Fuck you."

"Well, isn't that what we're doing here?" You said, putting your hands on your hips stubbornly. Smith's were still resting on your splayed thighs.

"I can't wear this when we— How am I supposed to...?"

He snorted softly, "Don't tell me you're a romantic, [L/n]."

Nothing about this seemed romantic. Least of all with him. Still, if you were going to take the opportunity, you were going to do it your way. You looked him over.

He had a few tufts sticking out from wearing his damn helmet earlier. You reached up and brushed some of it back into place at his temple first. Smith blinked up at you, his brows pinching together.

"This okay?" You heard yourself asking him. He eventually nodded once, watching you as you placed your palm on the side of his face. Finally, you leaned down and caught his lips with yours in a long kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to know his reaction.

But you felt him return it. Slowly at first— Then he was kissing you back. You moaned somewhere in the back of your throat as he ran his large hands up and down your legs, his fingers folding to grip your ass tightly. You were already reacting, already so touched starved. His lips parted, and you felt him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, over the front of your teeth. You opened for him, your tongue darting out to meet his hungrily.

You tugged at the front of his uniform. Without a word he reached down to pull it up over his head, the fabric dropping off somewhere beside you. You glanced down at his bare chest. You ran your hands over it, dragged your nails down his pecs experimentally. When you looked back up he was still watching you.

Your mouths crashed to meet again, this time with a fervor that threatened to split your bottom lip with every bruising kiss. You felt his hands on you again, pressing into your sides, your waist. He didn't move to take off your clothes, so you drew your hands to your own chest, pulled the zipper of your suit all the way down to your stomach.

He took the invitation, and you gasped when he roughly reaches in and cups a hand around your breast; He kneaded it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. His other hand worked at your shoulder, yanking the rest of your suit off of you. You reached back and tugged the sleeves off, finally exposing your upper body.

You felt the clasp at your back come undone, and Smith was tearing your bra off next. A muscular arm came around to scoop you up by the waist, bringing your chest closer to him. He leaned down, took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Smith—" He bit you roughly, and it sent a shock of electricity up you. He palmed your other breast again, tweaked at your nipple until your back was arching into his touch. You squeezed your thighs around him.

Then he was back in your face again, bruising a kiss against your lips as you took a breath. Your eyes flew open when you felt the press of his fingers to your mouth. You shot a look at him, but didn't object when he pushed his index and middle fingers past your lips. You sucked them hungrily, your eyes fluttering shut again.

"Fuck," Peacemaker murmured, feeling your tongue swirl around the digits. You slurped sloppily until they were soaked, until he was pulling them back out with a light pop. He brought his hand down to the base of your suit, where the zipper stopped just above your pelvis. A pair of black panties peaked out from the V shape there, the same shade and material as your bra. You gasped when Smith finally pushed down past the layer of cotton, gripped his bare shoulders when you felt his wet fingers dip right into your cunt.

"Fuck," He said again, because you didn't need any help down there. "You're so fucking wet."

You expected to feel humiliation— To hear a joke about how it really had been while. But all you felt were his warm, thick fingers; He ran them up and down your slit, pressed them in small circles around the peak of you a few times. You cursed, your head falling back. Smith leaned up to kiss your throat, teeth dragging across the base of your collarbone. He bit you some more, daring to take your meta-human skin between his teeth. You cried out, your arm reaching to wrap around his head in pleasure.

Smith slid his fingers up into your pussy. He crooked them, scissoring them inside you. Your hips bucked, unable to resist meeting his short thrusts. You felt him grin against your neck. "Damn, baby."

"Shut up." You whispered, letting your hips rolling down to fuck yourself on his fingers some more. When he slipped in a third you moan loudly.

"Fuck! Fuck me." You demanded, yanking the short hair at the back of his head. A groan left Smith's lips, his head jerking back. Quickly, he removed his hand from your suit, pulling the rest of your clothes further down your waist. You lifted yourself off him, but Smith didn't wait. He picked you up and lifted you both off the floor. You grabbed at him as he laid you down on your back, his body between your legs. Then he was ripping off the last of your suit, tearing your boots off.

"Watch it," You snapped— If he fucking ripped anything you—

"Oh please." He huffed, and your thoughts stopped in their tracks as you watched him lean back on his knees above you, undoing his white pants. His cock sprang free from a pair of just as white underwear, his arousal already thick and ready. You stopped yourself from expressing how the sight of him made you even wetter.

He took a moment to drink in your face, a hint of that smug smirk forming. You growled, pulling him down by the neck again before he ruined the moment with speaking. Smith caught your lips again, his hand running down your naked body. He gripped one of your legs and nudges them apart, planting his knees between you.

Despite his earlier preparation, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock pushing inside you. You groaned as he entered you, your walls stretching around his length. Your back arched as you took him in, eyes rolling a little into the back of your head.

"Fuck— Chris—" You shuttered. His hands squeezed your thighs at the sound of his name leaving you. You heard his breath shake, his hips remaining utterly still as you got used to the size of him. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see him waiting for you; You nodded once, another moaning already escaping in anticipation.

It was like a brick wall knocking into you. Smith didn't hold back as he began fucking you— Knew you could take it— what with your powers and all. The idea seemed to drive him, and he began hammering into you, his hands moving to bracket your hips so he could fuck you better. Faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Fuck— You couldn't think. You arched up off of the floor as you rolled your hips to meet Smith's. It felt like he could keep up this pace forever the way he wasn't stopping. Your breathing turned to panting, a high whine escaping you when he shifts just right— he picked you up again. You arched up into his arms, holding yourself up from around his neck as he fucked up into your soaking cunt. You bounced on his cock, a sheen of sweat blooming across your skin.

When you opened your eyes, Smith was still watching you intently— witnessing every little expression on your face while he fucked you. You could hardly discern what he was thinking. All you could focus on was him ramming you, the feeling of his cock hitting and stretching you out.

“Choke me.” He said, and you have just enough wherewithal to oblige. You wrapped your hand around his throat, pressing firmly on either side. You felt the tightness of his skin shifting under your touch. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in time with his rough thrusts. The strength of your grip was a little vice tipping Smith over the edge.

The look on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing sends a jolt up you. You used your other hand to slip two fingers down between your folds. They found your clit, making quick work of bringing you to close to climaxing. You shuttered as you felt the tight coil of it building. Finally, with a cry you were coming, squeezing your legs around him as your hips rolling through every wave of it. Smith groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm until your walls were fluttering from the unrelenting stimulation.

“Going to—“ He warned, and you squeezed the hand around his throat harder, making his eyes roll up. You whimpered as you feel the hot spurt of him fill you, his hips finally locking as he pumped you with his cum.

You both took a moment to catch your breath, your hand releasing from Smith’s neck so he could take in a long gasp. His skin was reddened along his throat and chest. You saw the beginnings of your handprint bruising around his Adam's apple, your fingers a mark on his skin. You hung onto him like that, your arms back around his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck.” You finally said. Out of habit, you checked your watch to assess where you were on the mission. He took your chin in his hand, drawing your eyes back up to him. You saw that his hair had fallen back into his eyes, his face glistening with sweat.

“I’m not done with you.” He said. It sent a shiver through you. You felt your walls flutter again, some of his cum leaking out with his half-hard cock still firm inside you. You gasped as he pulled you off of him, guiding you down until you were turning around on all fours on the floor. You glanced over your shoulder, already craving the feeling of him filling you up with his cock again.

And fuck it, you two do take the whole six hours.

[tokiloki]

Swirls of Paint - Shion Madarame

AN: gn reader, fluff, lillll bits of angst but not really (enjoy!)

@offtaskotaku this ones bc of u T-T

The scratching of the fine tipped pen against the rough canvas of your sketchbook drowned out the near muted television you sat in front of, your fingers fluidly skimming across the page in an attempt to not ruin your sketch with the ink. A frustrated exhale escaped your lips as your hand shook, creating a bump in the almost straight line you drew. Sighing as you moved your sketching materials and book away onto the table besides the sofa in hope of relaxation, you took a quick glance at your phone to read the time. 9:32pm, it's been over 12 hours since Shion left this morning, full of excitement and loud energy as he bid you goodbye for what he called "just a little bit of time".

You shortly pondered calling him, but would he even respond? Is his phone still in one piece ? do delinquents even keep their phones in their pockets when they fight? Shoulders heaving, you tilted your head , stretching your neck. Just then the click of the doorknob being turned sounded through the walls. Shooting up, all tiredness gone as you rushed to the door.

"Shion!" You rushed to pull him away from the doorway as you scanned his slender features for any injuries, thankfully there was only a splatter of blood, which-also thankfully, wasn't his.

His face pulled into a grin "Hey babe! Look at me all in one piece!" He glanced downwards for an instant, face shadowing over before he continued "Can't say the same for my phone though... oh well who cares I'll get a new one" He pulled his hand from his uniform jacket, revealing a battered *thing* which supposedly resembled his phone.

Your chest heaved, a fire flickering within as you stared at his grinning face, here you had been, worry eating at your mind and he's said nothing to it yet?

"Shion you've been gone for hours, and I know its still 9 but you left in the morning and told me you wouldn't be gone too long," you let out, gaze casting down to the hardwood floor. Upon looking up at him, his eyes widened and he began scratching his neck, "I'm sorry, we just got so caught up and the celebrations took long...I was going to call you but," he lifted the battered phone up " yeah, you know...I'm seriously sorry though, I promise next time I'll call you from any phone I find, just not Ran's one.. bc he'd probably save it and then things will just go bad" He probably forgot you have the numbers of both Haitanis on your phone. Which he gave. To you.

You sighed once again, heart melting as his eyes caught yours. "Fine fine," His dark eyes were still innocently widened, a very unconvincing contrast to the blood that splattered his face. "Let's go clean you up, and for God's sake don't put your bloody messy coat with the laundry" you said, flicking his tattooed face as he flashed another boyish grin at you again.

"-YEAH BABE IM TELLING YOU, I GO AND I PUNCH THE SHIIIIIT OUT OF HIS UGLY FACE, THE MF SPINS AND HE TRIES PUNCHING ME BACK-" Shion's narration of the fight had started right after he finished showering, screams and laughs following you around the apartment as he eagerly recounted things to you. You laugh alongside him, unsure of the overly heroic descriptions (source : unreliable) he gave you about his fights, but you were still glad he was enjoying himself, even if it was at the expense of your ears .

You tune back into his recount, laughing at his very degrading descriptions of gang members, so far he's made them sound uglier than ogres and more barbaric than apes. "RIGHT -BABE LISTEN OKAY, SO I SWING MY ARM INTO THE IDIOTS NOSE-" Shion's arm flies up to mimic the move until his voice abruptly cuts off. You move away from the kitchen counter as he winces, massaging his shoulder. The moment his eyes sweep back to your form, he opens his mouth to continue talking and attempts to swing his arm again before he hisses in pain.

Alarm rings through your veins, head blaring as you move to him, palms bracing over his shoulders. "Shion? Shion what's wrong?" you frantically turned around him, his neck and head were fine. He looked around as you impatiently attempted to tug his shirt down, he must be injured somewhere beneath. "Y/N it's nothing I promise-"

"Shion show me what's under that shirt now"

"Y/N relax, you honestly think that I? Shion? would get so badly injured? his chuckles ran cold over your veins as you stepped away from him, pointing a finger at his increasingly agitated form. "SHION I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T TAKE IT OFF RIGHT NOW-" "I'm FINE Y/N" "Shion Madarame , I will send every embarrassing photo I have of you to Ran Haitani do NOT TEST ME AND TAKE OFF THAT SHIRT" your eyes may as well have shot lasers through his head he thought.

You pressed an ice pack to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, muttering about his dumbassery as he continued his attempts to recount the fight. The shock of the ice pack against such a sensitive spot had his head flying up, almost knocking your jaw in the process. "Shion...lay back down please" you gritted out, frustration tingling in your bones as you eyes the bruise. Shion turned to face you, strands of blonde hair falling over as he quietly voiced, "okay okay, but can I hold the ice pack?"

Your slightly ink stained hand brushed through his hair softly, still not having said a word since he took the ice pack to treat himself. Angular eyes widened as he looked up at your hunched figure, swallowing as he made contact with your tired eyes. "Are you angry at me?" You sighed at his words, fingers trailing down to the shaven side of his head. "I don't seem too happy do I?" His eyes averted once you replied, and you broke your short silence. "I get it, this is well- the way your life is. And I know you love fighting and I don't hate that, or hate you fighting. What I do hate-," Shion's jaw clenched ever so slightly, he knew this would come eventually. " I hate the fact that you're reckless about it, I hate having to know that you might come home with injuries you can easily avoid Shion, and I also hate that you don't seem to care about these injuries, and ..." You trailed off, not knowing exactly what to tell him, especially as he went quiet, placing his hand over yours once it reached the tattoo of his neck. Clearly, he got the idea, you didn't need to keep going for him to figure everything out.

Carefully, you massaged the areas around his tattoos, glancing down besides the couch at the pens you had discarded, you softly spoke to his quiet figure. "Shion... can I uh, can I try something please?" Your voice was laced with guilt, he had been quiet since your small rant, muttering quietly with promises on how he'll crush his enemies before they lay a finger on him next time. He nodded "Sure thing babe," Shions drowsy voice softly voiced as he lapsed back into his unusual silence . You lifted an inky brush pen, slowly uncapped it and got to work onto his tattooed body.

Swirling the brush pen across his head, you filled the empty spaces with patterned swirls, changing the dynamic of his tattoo yet keeping the subject the same. You kept going, until you reached a stop at the end of his head, unsurely glancing at his neck. "Keep going?" Shions unusually tired voice asked and you hummed an agreement, softly smoothing his hair away from his neck before putting your pen down onto his inked skin.

He hummed quietly as you swirled over his neck, the vibrations cutting through to your hand clearly and you continued attempting to balance the pressure, not wanting to irritate him. Before you could readjust your grip, Shion huffed out " Y/N sweet, I'm done with this, my neck doesn't hurt anymore!" He called out enthusiastically, taking the near melted ice pack off before flipping onto his stomach and burying his head into your lap while hugging your waist with his muscled arms.

"Are you sure -" He nodded, humming as he tightened his grip on your lap. "Baby can you keep going with that? Down to my back and shoulders?" He muffled into you. You chuckled "Fine fine, I didn't think you liked it so much" Shion groaned in response, nudging at you with his head. Your hands continued, one rubbing small circles while the other kept painting down his shoulder blades. He hummed again and you giggled "Are you a cat or something?" Shion's hug tightened even further but he gave no response. You finished the swirl and glanced at him, his face was propped onto your thigh, eyes closed as he breathed contently, a grin plastered onto his face and you smiled.

"AHAHA I AM NOT TAKING IT OFF SWEETHEART JUST LOOK AT THIS, MY SWEETIES AN ARTIST!" Shion flexed his muscles in the mirror as you fell back into the pillows. "What about showering?" You scrolled through your phone as you asked him ,reading through countless new complains from Ran about Shion 'unnecessarily flexing his mf skinyass back just to show some black lines" as you quote. Since yesterday he had refused to scrub them off, proudly stopping by every mirror he saw.

Jumping into your shared bed, he hugged you tightly and you laughed as he tickled your waist, you squealed before tickling at him, both of your laughter carrying out into the neon lit streets outside.

A/N: THIS WAS SM FUN, IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG

REQUESTS ARE OPEN YOU GUYS, I FEEL MOTIVATION TO WRITE LOL.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

changes (best friend!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol

Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader

Word Count: 17k (holy shit)

A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3

{masterlist}

Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.

This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London.  However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.

Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor.  Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas.  Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.

This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.

Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother.  Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off.  Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there.  Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world.  Just typical teen things.

However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever.  They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother).  Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition.  Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.

They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating.  Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other.  However, their answers were always the same.  Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more.  Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything.  Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.

Until now.

Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest.  His entire body glistens with water from the shower.  Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—

Her breath catches in her throat.  Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.

“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.

Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”

Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.

Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes.  Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times.  The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times.  But she’s never seen him like that.

When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child.  Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.

Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror.  She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did.  Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.

As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up?  Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman?  Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?

Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach.  Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago?  That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?

The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed.  Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before.  She likes it more than she should.

After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child.  She isn’t a child.

Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.

Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.

Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand.  His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.

“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”

Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did.  Woke up a bit early, though.  Thought I’d shower before brunch.”

Right.  Brunch.  They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before.  Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked.  I forgot you slept over, and—”

“It’s fine, Y/N.  I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal.  Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No.  You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”

“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”

“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.

The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love.  It’s fine, promise.  I don’t mind that you saw.  I’m very comfortable in my body.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”

“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.

“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes.  There is.”

“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”

Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone.  The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night.  Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.

Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted.  There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.

And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.

I’m on the last flight back to London.  Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together.  You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.

Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through.  Harry’s already on the plane.  So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.

Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life.  She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks.  She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes.  She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.

When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago.  The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.

“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug.  One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”

“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States.  I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”

“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone.  And I wanted to be with you.”

Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon.  I have dinner ready.”

Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.

“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six.  Stop pouting to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”

Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first.  You smell like a plane.”

Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely.  Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.

Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV.  When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first.  It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.

As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second.  They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous.  And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them.  They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.

Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent.  His words slur together as well

“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer?  Feels nice.”

The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says.  Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.

Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes.  Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.  

“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.

“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”

Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”

“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”

If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him.  She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.

But Harry is hardly awake right now.  And it wouldn’t be fair.

“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.

…

It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time.  While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal.  While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.

A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple.  He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.

Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”

Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out.  Not anything good, anyways.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”

“We can go out.  We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard.  Why don’t you use it?”

“Yeah.  Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”

Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job.  I’m on the clock for another two hours.”

“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”

Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”

Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini.  However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency.  Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning.  She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.

Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you.  Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”

“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water.  Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.

“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day.  You really would’ve liked it.”

“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“All musicians are narcissists, love.  At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”

“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry.  The pool is for swimming only.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do.  She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.

She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool.  Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.

“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”

“The pool is for swimming only.  I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”

“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”

“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”

“Right.  Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”

Harry just grins at you.

…

“Want one?”

Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.

“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.

Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah.  I’m not very good, though.  Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”

“So high maintenance.”

Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha.  High maintenance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”

“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.

Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly.  To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.

“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now.  I’m sophisticated.”

Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”

Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”

“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”

His Y/N.  That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core.  Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.

“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.

“She doesn’t take shit from anyone.  She gets drunk fast and high faster.  She’s always down for a laugh.  And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.

“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.

The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.

“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.

Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah.  Just haven’t done that in a while.”

“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.

Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly.  She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.

Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.

Y/N really doubts it.

“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”

Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face.  Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.

“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that.  Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”

“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”

“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul.  Neither was I, honestly.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”

Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”

“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”

As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her.  He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.

“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall.  Did you two ever…?”

“What?  Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.

Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah.  I guess so.”

“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun.  But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”

Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip.  Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes.  His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.

“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter.  Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”

The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.

“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”

“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why.  You usually tell me everything.  You always have.”

Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”

Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.

After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright.  I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater.  Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it.  Social distancing, and all that.”

Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No.  I sleep better with you beside me.”

When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall.  She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.

Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her.  Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.

Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done.  The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry.  Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.

Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers.  He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders.  Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

The tender action leaves Y/N speechless.  The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other.  But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.

Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again.  Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly.  It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.

…

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout.  His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face.  His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.

“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”

“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.

Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.

Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later.  It’ll be fun.”

…

“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”

“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone.  Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface.  There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.

“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon.  Try a cupcake.”

Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth.  She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.

Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah.  They’re good.”

Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing.  He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah.  Sweet.”

The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk.  They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.

“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”

Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”

Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”

Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know.  I miss sex so much.”

“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”

A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face.  Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching.  I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”

Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”

“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching.  It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.

She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”

Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass.  You know exactly what I meant.”

A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge.  He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that.  If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.

“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair.  She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping.  The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”

Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else.  He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”

Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”

Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”

“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching.  Intimate touching.  And…being touched intimately.”  

Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah.  I miss that too.  Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”

“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”

Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”

Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair.  You know that.”

Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass.  Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions.  And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.

“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”

Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too.  That’s always nice.  I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”

“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H.  Isn’t that strange?”

Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control.  Have someone else…”

“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah.  I’m more like that, I think.  I usually let someone else decide.  But I like the in-between, too.  Like…both exploring each other.”

“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.

Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”

Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”

“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”

Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah.  I do.”

“And remember how nervous you were?”

“Yeah.”

“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you.  Kind of like…a breathlessness.  And you looked at the other person and knew they…”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know.  I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice.  I like it.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually.  But nice.”

“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine.  What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee.  He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”

“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me.  And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”

“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”

Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H.  That’s good. That’s…brave.  You’re not afraid of how you feel.  Most people are.”

“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.  

Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth.  She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.

Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position.  His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Who have you been in love with?” He asks.  His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.

“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university.  We were together for two years.  That’s it, I think.”

Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really?  No one else?  No one since Christian?”

Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know.  I didn’t love any of them.  I was…infatuated.  But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark.  Nothing prolonged.”

Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment.  He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”

Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”

“Yeah.  Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left.  Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”

“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry.  We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you.  And you were…”

“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”

Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression.  His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.

“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”

…

“Good morning.”

“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”

“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”

“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.

“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m used to it.  I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites.  She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.

“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.

Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink.  You chose to.”

“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”

“Exactly.”

Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”

Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”

“Of course not.  I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”

“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”

It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other.  They’ve never acted any other way.

Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.

Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry.  But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before?  Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?

Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.

“Look at them.  Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose.  Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.

“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms.  She likes how warm he feels.

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her.  Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”

Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so.  Do you?”

“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice.  He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.

They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.

“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”

Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it.  This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”

“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.

Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls.  She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this.  She wonders if he notices it, too.

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

…

The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side.  What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.

“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”

Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“I’m a terrible artist, Harry.  You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”

“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”

“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”

“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”

“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.

“That’s why I want you to do it.  I want it in your handwriting.”

Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.

“You do?”

“Yeah.  I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”

Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”

“No.  Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.

“Why do I have to be creative?”

“Because I want you to decide what I get.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”

“I am!  Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”

“No.  Absolutely not.”

…

“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.

Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”

“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”

Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.

Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”

“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters.  She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”

“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.

“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.

“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”

“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.

“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”

“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”

Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose.  Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.

“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”

True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish.  When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.

“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”

Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face.  There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”

“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”

“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”

“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”

Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”

Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”

Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.

They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them.  It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.

“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”

“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right?  Being touched?”

Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah.  I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done.  Find someone there.”

He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”

Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan.  Not right now, at least.  It’s not what I…want.”

“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”

“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random.  I want sex, but I want to be…intimate.  Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”

Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”

“No.  It would be nice, but no.  That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares.  I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”

“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.

Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah.  Intimately touched.”

“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”

The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”

“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks.  And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”

“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…?  I mean…”

“I—yeah.  I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that.  We’ve just never…discussed it.”

“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild.  If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”

“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.

Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”

“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”

Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”

Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged.  His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.

Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly.  His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions.  However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.

“Like this.  Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly.  His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”

“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.

Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch.  His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.

“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.

“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah.  Good.  But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck.  If you’d like.”

Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck.  He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body.  Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.

Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it.  Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.

She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.

“H…”

“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.

“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.

For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him.  She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now.  Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something.  And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more.  She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.

Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed.  Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.

“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly.  If anything, she thinks, it’s worse.  She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.

“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.

Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was.  She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.

“Is it okay if I…?”

The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love.  Go ahead.”

Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch.  Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others.  She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore.  She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.

Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles.  She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.  

Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.

“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish.  He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.

“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.

“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”

Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm.  Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve.  With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.

“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.

Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance.  His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed.  His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it.  There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own.  Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose.  Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm.  Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.

“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.

Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”

Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath.  He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.

“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.

“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”

Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”

Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach.  His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once.  She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.

“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.

Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body.  When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.

Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones.  She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair.  She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular.  Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.

“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.

Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching.  She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts.  Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him.  However, she’s not sure if they should.

Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”

Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know.  I have no fucking clue.”

“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”

“Yeah.  It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”

“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you.  I’ve always wondered if—we—”

“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves.  Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”

“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day.  I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”

A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

“This isn’t the alcohol talking.  I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you.  And I think…I think you need me too.”

“I do.  I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends.  This is going to change that.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless.  You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know.  All I know for sure is that I want you.”

Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.

“I want you, too.” She says simply.

Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N nods.  She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.

Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away.  Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.

When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.

Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement.  Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation.  This kiss is the exact opposite.

Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate.  Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top.  His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.

Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before.  Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time.  Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark.  She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.

Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.

Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side.  Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.

“You’re not done.” She says simply.

He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again.  This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.

Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure.  With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.  

With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious.  His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.

“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”

“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.

“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that.  Touch me like that.”

Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction.  Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.

Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them.  Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence.  She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to.  She doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”

He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep.  Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.

Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple.  He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.

When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.

“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger.  The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”

Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth.  He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.

“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”

Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad.  Yeah.”

Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed.  Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.

Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top.  When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.  

“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”

Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there.  In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.

Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes.  She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.

When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair.  She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.

“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down.  Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.

Y/N loves him for it.

Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair.  She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.

“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”

Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.

“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”

Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”

Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.

“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.

Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”

“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry.  Just relax, yeah?  It’s just me. I got you.”

Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center.  When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.

“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.

Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.

The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties.  Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.

The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure.  Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.

“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”

Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”

“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.

“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”

Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her.  YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.

“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”

Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”

“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”

He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt.  His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.

“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”

He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can.  Y/N continues to whimper above him.

“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”

Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him.  However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.

“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”

Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth.  He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.

“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”

“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H.  I’m going—”

Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before.  Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.

Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.  

Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes.  Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.

Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness.  He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.

“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again.  She doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently.  She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.

“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”

Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”

The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H.  I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours.  Always.”

Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”

“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you.  Feel your weight.  Feel you close.”

With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between.  He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them.  He’s teasing himself just as much as her.

“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”

“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”

“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”

As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between.  I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah.  I’m sure.”

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling.  A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.

The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before.  Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete.  He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.

“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”

Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”

Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up.  While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her.  This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.

Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her.  Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer.  As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her.  As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop.  Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.

They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible.  Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication.  Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language.  When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being.  When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.

Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.

Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”

Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.

“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.

Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge.  He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.

Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”

“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you.  Yours.”

Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her.  He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.  

As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again.  He can’t think of anything else to say.  He can’t think of anything else worth saying.

When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her.  She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance.  It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.

They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are.  Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one.  The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm.  Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring.  And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.

Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly.  He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.

Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.

“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”

Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom.  Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes.  Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.

Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed.  He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.

“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”

Y/N nods again.  She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.

Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know.  Almost done.”

Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later.  His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.

He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H.  Just…tired.”

“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”

“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”

Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.

…

The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry.  Of course it’s Harry.  It’s always been Harry.  In every way.

Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry.  She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.

Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm.  Barely.”

A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungover.  A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.

Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers.  She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time.  He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.

Y/N wonders if she looks the same.  If she looks as pretty.

“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.

“Well…it is, actually.  I made your drinks.  And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.

“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”

Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”

Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”

“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”

Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No.  I don’t.  Do you?”

“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”

A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it.  It felt—you felt like heaven.”

Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms.  So that was a first for me.”

Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment.  It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.

“I did.”

“You said you were mine.”

Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.

“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”

Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”

Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead.  Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H.  Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”

Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N.  I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”

Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach.  Not right now.  And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you.  I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N.  I still would, and I always will.”

Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out.  Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.

“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug.  He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl.  You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always.  Don’t you know that?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades.  Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost.  I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it.  I’ll make it work.  I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”

Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H.  I do.  I need you.  I told you that last night.”

“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”

Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this.  I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”

His low voice makes her shiver. “No.  It feels right.  Really right.”

“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”

“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”

Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”

“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”

“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.

“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it.  At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”

“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent.  Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”

Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t.  But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N.  I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something.  I’ve loved it.  I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will.  I’ll never get sick of you.”

Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”

“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”

“Yeah.  It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”

Harry nods. “I am.”

“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”

Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”

“I’m just saying!  We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”

“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”

Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah.  We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.

Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”

“I’ve already admitted it!”

“So have I!”

“Not as well as I have!”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”

“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”

“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”

“Just—”

“You’re so irritating—”

“I’m irritating?  You—”

“You’re the worst!”

“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”

“Okay.  Nope.  Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”

“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love.  Come back to bed.”

“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.

“Come here!”

“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”

Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.

“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”

Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body.  He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together.  One less record for you.”

“Good.  Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”

“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”

“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”

She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”

“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”

A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”

“Harry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”

“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.

Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”

[ahfbhdfgdx]

Please | Diluc x f!reader (NSFW)

Summary: diluc tries out some aphrodisiacs on u <3

Warnings: Smut, aphrodisiacs, intoxication, slight dubcon, oral, unprotected sex (lmk if i forgot any!)

Note: First post! If you like my writing, requests for nsfw or sfw are greatly appreciated :)

"Are you sure this is going to work..?" Diluc peered into the little vial that Albedo had bestowed upon him. It was a little bit foggy in there, a light pink tone. "This little of an amount too?"

Albedo nodded in silence, then walked back to his desk. "I think you'll find it actually works quite well. If it doesn't, let me know." He sat down and straightened the loose papers that were strewn across the tabletop. Diluc simply nodded in thanks and scurried out, closing the door behind him.

-xxx-

The sun has long set, nearing about midnight. Diluc stood in the tavern among the last few patrons chugging down their drinks. He wiped glass after glass, occasionally checking the clock. When would you finally be here, he thought to himself, placing another glass away.

"Don't get so worked up over her, Di!" Kaeya laughed, words slurring a little. He was sat at the counter with Rosaria. The rain pounded heavily on roof of the building, sending Diluc into further panic, although he hid it well. Maybe you had gotten caught in the rain? You could catch pneumonia out there! He tossed the rag down and leaned on the counter to catch a breath.

Rosaria glanced at Kaeya, both of them equally intoxicated and giggly, and turned back to Diluc. "Yeah, why are you so tensed up about her? It's not like she needs to abide by tavern hours anyway, she'll get here when she gets here!" She shouted the last line a little, Diluc scoffing at the stupor of these two. The tavern was closing in only half an hour. He could leave it open just for the two of you, it would make it easier anyway.

Suddenly, the door whipped open, and there you were, squeezing out your hair outisde the door. Head to toe, you were dripping wet. The three last people in the tavern turned to look at you as you laughed sheepishly. "I missed the forecast," you shivered and came to the bar counter, leaning over to kiss Diluc on the cheek, much to the delight of Kaeya and Rosaria.

He tensed up looking at you. Even fresh out of the pouring rain and all disheveled, you were still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. You had mentioned being ok with what he was going to do before, so he knew that he wasn't in the wrong, but the feeling of doing something so taboo got him going, especially with you standing right in front of him.

Glancing at the time, 12:30 am, he quickly ushered the drunken Kaeya and Rosaria out of the bar. "Shall I get you a towel to dry off?" He patted your soaked hair as he turned to the stairs. "Nonono," you laughed, "Drink first. Then towel."

He gulped. Now was the time he needed to do it, arousal and nerves swirling around his mind. "As you wish," He breathed out as he poured a glass of dandelion wine, your favourite. While his tall frame was turned against you, he carefully slid the vial out of his pocket, pouring it into the glass. It dissolved quite neatly, save a few sparks that flew out.

He picked up the drink, turning around and placing it hastily down in front of you. Giving him a weird look, you picked up the drink and looked at it for a good few seconds. Shit, I've been caught, he thought as he stared straight into your confused eyes. Shrugging, you took a swig of the wine.

Eyes widening, you looked up at his looming figure, "This is great! Did you put something in it?" You joked and giggled as you took another sip. His heart skipped a beat and shook his head. "I'll go get you that towel," Diluc started climbing the stairs, looking down over the railing to see you take another swig.

Looking down on the glass in front of you, your head started to feel a little floaty. Your wet skin started to feel a little warmer, maybe the warmth of the tavern was helping. That's all you thought, until you started feeling a pulsing feeling. Where's Diluc is all you thought as you took another short sip from the oh so delicious wine.

Diluc came back down the stairs, sneaking up behind you to place the towel over your now damp hair. Whipping around, you grabbed onto his waist and pulled him closer. "Diiiiiiluc.." You groaned into his stomach. "I'm so hot.. and so wet.." Your doe eyes looked up to him, gauging his response. His crimson red eyes looked back down on yours, starting to fill with lust.

He thought whether to just satisfy you now, or let you finish the substance he oh so intensely bargained for. "Don't you want to finish your drink?" In your foggy brain, anything Diluc says goes, so you nodded, still cuddled in his chest. He could get used to this, he thought as he gently grabbed the back of your head.

Bending down to whisper in your ear, "Would you some help with that?" You nodded again, turning your head to try and kiss him. "Yes please, Luc." That set a light inside of him as he picked up your spiked drink, pulling your head back a little. Moving the glass up to your lips, you parted them just enough to latch onto the glass, drinking it thirstily as he tilted the glass further and further, right till the very last drop.

As the wine went down your throat, you felt a sudden jolt of pleasure, moaning into Diluc's arms as he picked you up. It was as if any touch had you off the rails. As Diluc carried you up the steps to the third floor of the tavern, you peppered little kisses and nips all over his neck and cheek. "Where are we going..?" You breathed into his neck as he pushed the top floor door open with his hip.

Diluc placed you down carefully on the guest room bed, then stood back to admire the blank canvas in front of him. How beautiful you were lying there, moaning as you grabbed onto the bedsheets, a hungry expression on your face.

"Diluc, come here," you called out, shaking him out of his trance. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you, pinning you down. "Yes, my dear?" He cooed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. You in turn grabbed his collar a bit harsher than you meant to, staring straight into his moonlit eyes. "Fuck me, Diluc." You whispered just close enough for him to hear. "I need it. Please fuck me.." You trailed off, feeling him start to trail his mouth down your neck.

"As you wish," He smirked slightly, unbuttoning your shirt one by one. "You really want it that badly, darling?" You nodded your head vigorously in return, threading your hands in his red locks. "I need you Dilu-" You were cut off by the man biting your hard nipple. Moans escaped your mouth in a steady flow as he licked and sucked it, playing with the other in his hand. "M-More please!!" You cried as the spike really started to set in, causing an unsatiable fire inside of you.

"You're so greedy, you know that?" Diluc growled, pinching your nipple with his hot fingers, it felt like a zap in your system. "I did this to you and no one else," He continued as he bit at you more and more. "By the end of tonight, the only thing that'll still be in your mind is me.." Only half of it registered in your mind, but the sound of his low voice vibrating through your system is all you needed to remember.

"Repeat it, my love.." He raised his face to be inches away from you, slowly reaching his hand down your unbuttoned pants, "Only I can make you feel this way." He toyed his finger at your entrance as you gathered the words in your mind.

"Only you can make me-"

He shoved his fingers inside you deep in, finishing your sentence with a scream. "D-Diluc-!" You huffed out as he started pushing in and out fast, curling at your g-spot. "More! More-" You yelped, bucking your hips, pushing his fingers in further. "Oh you want more?" He licked your jaw, sucking at the rainwater still left over. "Almost.. There-" You prepared to have the orgasm of a lifetime but was stopped short by Diluc pulling his fingers out.

You whimpered as he raised himself back up to your level. You were so cute laying there quivering, he thought. "What do you desire, y/n?" He inquired, toying with your wet hair strands, your face now a mix of rainwater, sweat, and tears of joy. "Give it to me, DIluc," You pushed his head down, craving that sweet release that was stripped from you.

He scoffed at your selfishness as he pulled down you pants and underwear, as if he didn't do this to you. He'll make you understand the manners you need to use for him. His tongue slit against your throbbing clit, sending you back on the ride. as he dined on your clit, his hand found its way back to your sopping entrance, continuing the pace he was going at before.

Your sight was blurry as you looked down, all you could see was the shape of Diluc. Him and the stars that filled your vision. You've never felt like this before, each lick and suck he did felt like its own orgasm. Diluc's doing this. Diluc's the one making you feel like this. Only he can make you feel this way. The words he put in your mind were the only words left at all as he took your brain away piece by piece, he was all that was left.

"Diluc.. Diluc.. Diluc!!" You screamed as you got pushed to the very edge. Suddenly, as if he could tell you were about to fully become his, he pulled himself away again. Tears rolled down your pretty cheeks as you brought your hand down, needing to finish yourself but to no avail. "Tsk," He sat himself up, giving you his fingers to suck off.

"I'm afraid only I can make you cum, my dear.." He peeled your hand away from your clit, and you moaned in defiance, at least as much as you could with his fingers in your mouth. "But you made a vital mistake," He took his fingers out, trailing them gently down your waist. "You didn't say please."

"P-Please Diluc.." You choked out, taking extra time to remember the word please, all you could think of is Diluc. "There you go! Was it that hard?" He tucked your disheveled hair behind your ear as he unbuckled his pants, taking the pants and shirt off. "Now you'll get what you deserve, my love." You pulled his underwear down in a frenzy, positioning his hard cock right at your entrance to take the work off his hands. "Oh how kind you are, y/n, positioning my own cock for me." He smiled a rare gleam as he pushed himself into you, finally getting to moan.

"You're s-so beautiful, so perfect," He complimented you for every deep thrust he blessed you with, "And you're mine." He growled the last one as he sped up his pace. Your head lolled back and all you could see is red in your vision. Not that you were to notice, but all you've been doing is chanting his name as you bounced from his thrusts.

"You come when I come," he pushes the words out with great effort as his pushes got shakier. Your legs were already shaking violently from being edged like you had, and you nodded your head as best as you could. "Ready?" He called out as he thrusted the deepest he could go.

"3... 2... 1..." He came with a loud groan right in your ear as you cried out his name, clawing at his back to get as close as possible. He filled you up to the very brim, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he slowly thrusted, coming down from his high.

Your eyes stayed close as he took himself out, resting on top of you with his hands in your hair.

"I love you darling.." He whispered as he pulled the covers over the two of you, but to silent ears. "Y/n..?" He lifted himself slightly to get a better view of you. There was no way you were going to have any senses for a good day at least. He sighed into a smile, and cuddled up close.

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[moonlightlullaby]

no celebrations?

summary: Corpse and reader celebrate his birthday in the most chill way. Based on this lovely request (ty again for sending it!) 

pairing: corpse husband x gn! reader

category: fluff

warnings: food ingestion; alcohol ingestion; loads of physical touch (let me know if I forgot to mention anything)

A/N: Hello (: This is such a lovely concept, I just couldn’t wait to get started hehe Also, I got a bit carried away and just went with it, so I’m really sorry if that’s not what you’d pictured. I do hope you enjoy it tho <3 Take care!

word count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Walking into our shared bedroom, I catch the sight of Corpse exiting the bathroom. As our eyes lock, my lips curl up tiredly and a long sigh I didn’t even know I’ve been holding finally frees itself. He sits on the edge of our bed and extends his hand to me. When I take it, he pulls me so I stand in the space between his legs.

“How was the day?” he asks with both of his hands on my waist. 

I hum, quirking a brow and tilting my head a bit “At least tomorrow - you know, the most unspecial, completely ordinary day of the year -” this earns a giggle from my boyfriend “is Sunday and I can just ignore all of that” I wave my hand in the direction of the adjacent room, where my laptop - filled with texts, assignments, spreadsheets and appointed Zoom calls - is. 

At my words, Corpse wraps his arms around my figure, pulls my body even closer to him and plants a kiss on my stomach through my shirt. My hands, in turn, caress his upper back and soft hair. 

Coming in contact with the string of his eyepatch in the process, I lean back slightly, which causes him to shoot up at me with a small frown and pouty lips. He sits still, though, as I carefully remove his eyepatch, and, while his eyes are still closed, I give each of his lids a peck. He smiles and tilts his head up to meet my lips in a long, tender and effortless kiss. Oh finally.

The idea of quarantining together was welcomed as a blessing by both of us. It meant more time spent together after all. However, with my school and work demands and Corpse’s irregular schedule, we still barely see each other throughout the day in spite of being a few feet apart from one another. And when bedtime rolls in, we’re both so exhausted all we can do is mumble words that could be counted in the fingers of one hand before drifting off. This, of course, when my boyfriend doesn’t stay up until dawn working. Don’t get me wrong, I’m his number 1 fan and admire his passion and all the hard work he puts in everything he sets his mind to, but I’m also not going to lie and say I don’t miss his warmth at night. Hence I want to devote this Sunday to him.

After a while, I break the silence “I’ll be right back.”

I let go of his hold and take my turn to use the bathroom. After doing my night routine, brushing my teeth and getting into my cozy pajamas, I walk back in the dark room and lie down, settling myself back in Corpse’s hug like two puzzle pieces matching together.

~~~~~

The excitement for a new day - not any day, no, but August 8th - washes over me as soon as I open my eyes and get a glimpse of the sleepy boy next to me. 

A couple of minutes go by as I contemplate on getting up, torn between prolonging our cuddling for some more and doing something to show Corpse my appreciation for him. The latter wins and I, cautious not to wake him up, slowly unwrap my arms from him and step out of the bed. Drawing the curtains to make sure the summer daylight doesn’t disturb his peaceful state of mind, I make my way out of the room and to the kitchen. 

Wondering what to make for breakfast, I take a good look around until my eyes catch the plethora of fruits we’ve bought a few days ago. Fruit salad it is. 

Corpse has, for as long as we’ve known each other, made it very clear he isn’t too fond of his anniversary and similar celebrations - and, even if he hadn’t explained it to me, it’s rather evident how uncomfortable they make him. This year, his friends’ and especially his fans’ hype for the date - although unintentionally - has added an extra layer of unease to it all, to which I don’t intend to contribute.

Even though I don’t want to make matters worse and would never overstep his boundaries like this (because, thankfully, I’m not Betty Cooper and he isn’t Jughead Jones), I still want to celebrate Corpse. I want to celebrate his birth and his existence, which I’m immensely grateful for. He’s both the best friend I can confide in blindly and the lover I want to share my lifetime with. He sticks to his truth and dreams higher than I could ever imagine. He turns the darkness in the world and in his mind into light with his words and with his laugh. Having him in my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me and seeing him fly makes me more proud than I can put into words. 

There’s a lot to toast to, so the solution is a celebration that is so smooth and so chill - the smoothest and most chill possible - that it doesn’t even feel like one. Just log off and enjoy a laid back day together.

As I chop a kiwi and make a mental list of fun and uncomplicated things we can do that don’t require much time and many skills, in walks Corpse, in an old white tee which is one too many sizes bigger than him and in his black sweatpants. He rubs his eyes and lets a raspy “good morning”.

“Mornin- wow! They really weren’t lying when they said when you hit 24, hotness knocks at your door”

He chuckles and shakes his head “No one’s said that”

“Well, then consider yourself the muse of a new proverb, baby”

He scrunches up his nose in response before grabbing the cup of orange juice I’d placed on the counter and taking a gulp. 

“Thank you” he turns my face and gives me an orange-flavoured kiss, neither of us having ever really cared about morning breath. 

“For calling you hot? Oh save it to when I’m done with the list of cheesy compliments I have for you” I take a grape and before I can get it in my mouth, he steals it, with wrinkles on the corner of his eyes.

“Then we’d be here for eternity!” he’s not wrong.

Corpse helps me put the fresh fruits in bowls and, with them and our juice cup in hand, we head to the balcony. Sitting next to each other, we calmly eat, take in the light blue sky and the cars and passersby changing the scenery ahead of us. Conversation flows naturally.

As we empty our bowls - after stealing many bits from each other -, I twist in my seat and face him “Hey, Corpse, do you see this?” I point to the very prominent and familiar dark circles under my eyes. “Wanna help me get rid of them?” I ask, knowing damn well it’d take a lifetime for them to actually go away and not giving up regardless.

~~~~~

The bathroom is filled with chatter and laughter and the sink, with hair clips, scrunchies, a sharpie, bowls, hair products and a towel. Corpse hisses as our cool homemade face mask comes in contact with his skin. His curly hair is pushed back and held by a blue hairband and I apply the mask to his face, making sure not to leave any spots uncovered. Well, that’s what I’m trying to do, which becomes an unnecessarily challenging task when my lovely partner can’t be still for more than two seconds. 

He kept switching between dancing to Soulmate, by Mac Miller, and mouthing its lyrics. Now that I got him - after a small threat that I wouldn’t hesitate putting this weird mix we made in his pretty mouth - to keep his lips together, the (adorable, admittedly) swaying, however, continues. He stops momentarily, only to shuffle things around right after.

Something cold touches my skin, making it my turn to let out a hiss this time. The sound is accompanied by a small jump, caused by the surprise. Corpse chuckles and, when I glance at the spot on my arm the cold thing came in contact with, I realize it’s just the sharpie. All he does is give me a mischievous smile.

While I keep massaging his face and covering it with the mask, Corpse litters my body with his drawings. Smiley faces, lightning bolts, hearts, clouds... his repertoire is vast and any exposed skin he can find becomes his canvas. Each line causing me to giggle and shudder a little. With him focused on his creations, it’s 10 times easier for me to complete my task. 

“Alright, my turn” he states, smiling, and I’m quick to grab the sharpie. 

As he adjusts a matching hairband on my head, I put a dainty heart on his neck. And, as he takes the bowl in his hands, I swiftly plant a kiss on top of the drawing. At this, he sighs in content and my chest gets warmer.

I soon understand how hard it was for him to stay still as Stay comes on and all I want to do is have a little karaoke session and dance. Corpse entertains himself with my struggle and, because it’s his birthday, I’ll let it slide. So, to make the whole process easier, instead of focusing on the song, I focus on the gorgeous face in front of me. A beautiful face to a beautiful soul. 

One of the various perks of sharing an apartment with Corpse is I get to see this face in all ways: sleepy, completely clean - no makeup, no mask -, all wrinkled in the morning, red when he’s embarrassed or when he laughs too hard… His laughter. Its sound pulls me from my trance “You’re staring, y/n” 

“Well, at least I wasn’t moving around, Corpse” I reply with squinted eyes and nudge his side playfully. 

We begin collecting the things scattered across the sink and storing them in the cabinet, and the song comes to an end, giving way to Dang!

“How long do we keep these on?” 

I hum at the question and check the playlist on shuffle on my phone “How does 5 minutes and 2 seconds sound?” 

Facing him, his grin mirrors mine and he spins me around. We laugh and allow ourselves to be as goofy as possible, jamming and moving our limbs around with a green paste on our faces.

~~~~~

After washing off the masks in the shower and painting our nails - so we’re both rocking the black nail polish look -, we’ve set our minds to - finally - finish the puzzle we started two months ago. It’s a 90’s anime setting inspired composition and we’d gotten about 40% of it done before our schedules got more hectic and the game, well, pushed aside. For weeks, the pieces sat on the ground of our living room and silently judged us every time either of us stepped to the side, as we crossed the room, in order not to crush them.

Sitting around the puzzle with comfy clothes, we team up against it and indulge in the wine Corpse’s got us and the hawaiian pizza I’ve ordered. 

As the picture comes more and more to life, moments of comfortable silence and of chattery - when we talk about anything from our shopping list and gossip about our neighbours’ lives to parallel universes and the matrix - follow one another. A different playlist on shuffle is our background noise. 

Time flies and the sun’s already hidden when it clicks to us that there are only 5 pieces left. Each piece is fitted in the whole with a giddier feeling than the previous. Corpse picks the last one - deep blue with purple and black specks - and turns to me with an excited smile and an eager gaze that I’m sure are mirrored on my face. I nod encouragingly. He places it in the puzzle and celebratory sounds fill the room.

Corpse stretches his arms and pulls me in a hug, but, since we’re both kneeling and because of the distance between us, we end up falling and lying on the ground in rather uncomfortable positions. 

“Come on, puzzle, that was easy breezy! Gotta step up your game if you really wanna challenge this duo right here!”

“Oh for sure!” Corpse squeaks as we laugh at our nonsensical brag.

After a moment while we catch our breath, he rubs my back and speaks, pulling my attention to him “Not that I’m not loving this position, but what if we watched some Drag Race?”

Is this man real? If I couldn’t feel his heart beating under me or his arms around my figure, I’d be sure he’s just a figment of my imagination. “But it’s your b- don’t you wanna choose something you like more? Li-” 

“Nope,” he boops my nose “Drag Race, or maybe Love Island, would be great right now.” And people still dare say the perfect man doesn’t exist!

“You’re such a dream!” I give him a quick peck before continuing “Ok, so I put on the show and you get more wine…?” He hums in approval and stands up. Our eyes briefly jump from each other to the puzzle and back to each other, then we simply nod. A silent agreement to leave the puzzle here. We’re both too lazy to put all the pieces back in the box and too proud of our achievement to let it go just yet; besides, everything’s been sitting here for about two months, what are a few more hours?

He steps to the side, gets our glasses and makes his way to the kitchen. I lie on the couch and scan Netflix for Drag Race. Corpse comes back, placing the glasses next to the couch, and gently lies down on top of me. He nests his head on my chest and we both hum contently.  

While RuPaul announces what the winner’s prize will be, I play with his hair, letting my fingers knead his curls. His right hand flies up to meet mine and I bring our intertwined hands to my lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses. The gesture is cut by a loud laugh that escapes my lips as miss Vanjie Mateo’s iconic moment replays on the screen. 

“Hey,” Corpse’s voice makes me look right back at him “I love you. You know that, right?”

My heart melts at his words and at the way he’s looking at me right now. I nod with a smile.

“I love you too, birthday boy.”

[shemarmooresfedora]

hi baby congratulations on 300!!!🥳 i’m so glad to be here ! 💗🤍💗🤍✨⭐️

you know i’m obsessed w ur fics so, i am gently begging you to write something w prompts “can i paint your nails” “i’m going to steal this from you” and “people don’t compliment you enough” (sorry i forgot the numbers :( ) pleeeease? 🥺🥺

(sorry if it’s too much) thanks, i love u <3

It’s a Love Story

Summary: It’s senior skip day and you’re determined to pull your best friend of 10 years (and secret crush) out of his comfort zone.

Pairing: High School Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (but imagine Spencer is 18 so he is the normal high school senior age)

Content/Warnings: fluff, swearing, bullying

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: this fic is very self-indulgent because my senior skip day was yesterday! :)

Masterlist



“Hey, Spence! Wait up,” you jogged down the hall to catch up with him.

“Hey, Y/N. How’d your math test go?” Spencer asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you groaned, “Thank you for trying to tutor me last night but I think I’m a lost cause at this point. It’s too late in the school year to care.”

“Did you know that ‘senioritis’ can actually be categorized as situational depression? In 2009, 22% of colleges decided to revoke some admissions offers after students began to slack off at the end of their senior year,” Spencer stated.

“Oh, trust me, genius, I may not be as smart as you but I’m not dumb enough to lose my scholarship to UCLA. I did the math out and even if I completely bombed this unit test, I can still maintain my A average,” you replied.

“I never said you weren’t smart, I was just warning you. I don’t want you to lose your spot at your dream school,” Spencer explained, “People don’t compliment you enough for all the hard work you put in to get accepted there.”

“Well, thanks for looking out for me, Spence,” you smiled, taking a seat in the back corner of the classroom.

Spencer sat right in front of you and turned around in his seat, “Do you have any homework?”

“Nope. My study hall is wide open just as expected. The teachers are losing just as much steam as the students,” you grinned, unzipping your backpack and pulling out nail polish.

“Can I paint your nails?” you asked.

“Y/N, don’t you think I get made fun of enough?” he whispered back.

“Girls love when guys paint their nails and if any guys try to give you shit, I’ll personally kick their ass. I took a self-defense course but I’ll use those moves I learned however I see fit,” you said.

“Fine,” Spencer relented, extending his hand out to you.

Spencer was honestly sold once you said that girls love it. That must include you, right?

“It’s purple too. Your favorite color,” you smiled, shaking the bottle up and then beginning to paint his nails.

Spencer thought it was cute that you picked up on his habit of sticking your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you were concentrating.

“Isn’t it pretty?” you beamed as you worked on the second coat of polish.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, not looking at his nails but the girl directly in front of him.

You gently blew air on his nails to dry them, “All done!”

-

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the teacher’s pet?” Brad, the captain of the football team, smirked as Spencer passed through the hallways after his math team practice ended.

“Wow, nail polish? And to think you couldn’t become any more of a loser?” he sneered as the jocks began to encircle around Spencer.

“Spence, there you are! I’ve been looking for you all over. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” you walked right into the crowd of boys, paying no mind to them and grabbing Spencer’s hand, pulling him towards the exit.

“Don’t look back,” you whispered.

“You know one day your little girlfriend there is going to realize what a pathetic nerd you are. I’ll be ready to show her what a real man is,” Brad called after you.

“Oh yes, Brad, a real man goes to community college to hang on to the scraps of his mediocre football career that is his only reminder of when he peaked in high school,” you laughed.

“Y/N, he’s going to kill me for that,” Spencer groaned after you exited the building.

“Relax, we have three days left and then we won’t ever have to see that dick again,” you assured him.

“We have four days left,” Spencer corrected you.

“No, three because we’re not going in tomorrow,” you walked into the diner and took your seat in your usual booth, “It’s senior skip day.”

When Spencer didn’t respond, you looked up from your menu, “Spencer Reid, please do not tell me you were going to go in on senior skip day.”

“Why would I want to miss school?”

“Because you already know everything they could possibly teach you and you can spend the whole day with your best friend instead?” you fluttered your eyelashes to persuade him.

“I don’t want to go to the beach with all the popular kids. I’ll get shoved in the sand,” Spencer grabbed some of the fries that the waitress dropped off for you and popped them into his mouth.

“That is why we are going all the way to Santa Monica. We’ll just get up a little earlier and drive a little further but then we won’t run into anyone from our school,” you proposed.

“Fine but you’re driving,” Spencer huffed.

“Well, I’m certainly not letting the guy drive who hasn’t driven since he got his license just to prove he could pass,” you giggled.

“Why do I need to drive when my next-door neighbor can be my personal chauffeur?” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7 on the dot tomorrow.”

-

You honked outside of Spencer’s house. He came scrambling out with a big canvas tote bag, a tan sweater, and lilac swim shorts that ended at his mid-thigh.

“Get in, loser. We’re going to the beach,” you rolled down the window.

Spencer furrowed his brow for a second before opening the door.

“It’s just a reference to a popular movie. I wasn’t actually calling you a loser,” you assured him.

“My mom made us blueberry muffins for the ride,” Spencer pulled a ziploc bag out of the tote.

“Oh that is so sweet of her! Please tell her I said thank you. She must have been having a good night then,” you smiled, accepting one of the muffins from Spencer.

“Yes, she has been having a good week overall,” Spencer affirmed.

“That’s so great to hear. Okay, we’re stopping for coffee but then we’ll get on the highway.”

The opening notes of Love Story by Taylor Swift began to play on the radio.

“Oh my god! Turn it up!” you screamed.

Spencer grinned and turned the volume knob up.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say ‘yes’,” you sang.

-

You rolled down the windows as soon as you exited off the highway.

“Do you smell that, Spence?” you inhaled deeply, “Something about the salty air and sunshine just makes me feel alive.”

“You know it’s probably your increased exposure to the sunlight leading to an increase in vitamin D which can keep your energy levels up and enhance your mood,” Spencer stated.

“Well, whatever it is, I still love it,” you grinned.

You and Spencer made your way along the sandy coast. You parked in the beach parking lot and got out of the car, grabbing your mini cooler and chair.

Spencer grabbed the other chair and his tote and you headed down to the beach, walking a ways before settling on a spot in a less crowded area.

You took off your big t-shirt revealing your light blue bikini.

“Can we go in the water please?” you begged.

Spencer dug into his tote and tossed you a tube of sunscreen.

“Not until you put that on,” Spencer insisted.

“Fine,” you huffed.

“Sorry I don’t want you to be sunburnt for graduation,” he chuckled.

“Can you do my back?” you asked.

“I-um-yeah-yes I can do that,” Spencer scrambled to stand up from his beach chair.

His breath hitched in his throat as he applied the cool lotion to your back.

“All good,” he cleared his throat.

“Thanks, Spence! Do you need me to do your back or are you all set?” you asked.

“Nope, I’m all good. My mom did it before I left,” Spencer said.

“Can we go in the water now?” you pleaded.

Spencer gave a reluctant nod as you let out an excited squeal, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the tide.

You dove right into the cool waves, instantly relieving your body of the southern californian summer heat. Spencer was a bit more hesitant.

“It feels so good, Spence. Trust me,” you smoothed your wet hair back.

Spencer inhaled deeply and then sunk beneath the water as a wave passed by him.

“Yay! He’s actually having fun, people!” you cheered as he emerged from underneath the water.

Spencer playfully splashed water at you and you gasped.

“Oh Spencer Reid, you are so on,” you laughed, splashing water right back at him.

Spencer shielded it from his face with his hand and then started chasing after you. You shrieked in a giggle fit as he lifted you up in the water so you could no longer splash him.

“I surrender! I surrender!” you laughed along with him.

-

You and Spencer were walking on the basically deserted boardwalk by this time of night, licking your ice cream cones.

Spencer noticed you were shivering and pulled off his sweater, handing it to you.

“No, Spence. I can’t, then you’ll be cold,” you said.

“I really don’t mind,” Spencer insisted, wanting to have your scent on his sweater forever.

“Thank you,” you slipped it over your head, “I’m probably going to steal this from you because it’s super comfy.”

A reminder alert buzzed on your phone, “Oh shit. We have to sign up for tickets to go to prom by midnight,” you spoke.

Spencer shot you a guilty look.

“You’re not going?” you sighed defeatedly, trying your hardest not to tear up.

“Y/N, I don’t dance. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“And I’ll be right by your side making a fool of myself too,” you urged, “Spence, it’s going to be no fun without you. I was going to ask you to officially be my date, you know? I had this whole complicated equation that I was going to have you solve and graph and the line spelled out ‘Prom?’. It’s stupid thinking back on it now, I won’t make you go.”

“I was going to ask you,” Spencer smiled softly, “but then I chickened out.”

“How about this? You give me one dance right now and then we’ll decide if we’re going or not,” you opened your phone and started playing Dancing by Mellow Fellow.

Spencer extended his hand and you accepted as he wrapped his other arm around your waist. You waltzed around the boardwalk in perfect sync as the neon lights from food stands and rides were shining down on you.

Spencer twirled you around and caught you in a dip. You let out a shaky exhale as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Please do. I’ve only been waiting 10 years for it since I moved in next door,” you smiled softly.

Spencer leaned down further and connected your lips. You pulled him even closer with your hands cupping his cheeks.

“I’ll go to prom with you under one condition,” he grinned, pulling away, “we go as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Absolutely,” you beamed and stood on your tippy-toes to give him another kiss that was long overdue.

A/N: i took a note out of my dear friend @samuel-de-champagne-problems ‘s book by naming the title after a Taylor Swift song

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @rem-ariiana

[queenxxxsupreme]

A Conversation In The Night (Arthur Morgan drabble)

A/N: There really isn’t a plot to this. Just some idle chat with Mr. Morgan at Shady Belle. 

Warnings:  none

Word Count: 1.3k

***

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open. Your lungs sucked in a sharp breath as you gripped the pillow beneath your head so tightly that your knuckles hurt. 

You sat up quickly and looked around, dazed and still half asleep. For a few moments, you forgot that you were in your shared tent with Karen and Sadie. You found both of them laying on their bed roll, peacefully sleeping. 

You continued to look around. You wanted to make sure that they were the only ones in your tent, that there were no unwanted guests, no O’Driscolls hiding anywhere. You knew it was foolish to think they’d be there, that they’d somehow find your camp. However, your mind was still replaying the nightmare, still showing you the gruesome details you’d seen just moments ago. 

Since the nights at Shady Belle were chilly, the sides of the tent were rolled down. This caused shadows to be made on the canvas from the moon. The shadows were no doubt creepy, but you could tell they were from the trees. 

Your heart was still racing in your chest and beating wildly in your ears. You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. 

A stick cracked somewhere outside and there was rustling. Your eyes flew over in the direction of the noise and you saw a shadow move quickly across the bottom of the canvas. Had you not been so panicked and still frantic from the nightmare, you would’ve been able to tell that it was something small like a raccoon or a fox. But your mind was screaming at you that it was the O’Driscolls. 

You tried to calm yourself down, telling yourself that Lenny and Charles were on watch right now and they wouldn’t let anyone into camp, but nothing was working. 

Your breathing had become so labored that you thought for sure you’d wake the girls up. So you carefully but quickly moved out of the tent. 

The night air was bitter and chilly, and it was sprinkling just a little, which did help to wake you up a little more and pull you from your panicked mind. 

You stood there just outside of your tent for a few moments, taking even breaths and counting each one out. 

You were able to calm your breathing down to where you felt you’d be able to go back into the tent without waking the girls up, but you knew you’d not be able to go back to sleep. But the rain began to come down harder so lingering outside of the tent or even sitting at the table outside of the tent wasn’t an option. 

You let out a soft sigh and decided to go into the house. You’d at least be able to sit in one of the downstairs rooms until morning. 

***

Someone gently shook your shoulder, pulling you from your light sleep. You rubbed your eyes and lifted your head. 

“What?”

“What are you doin’ in here, Miss Y/N?”

Your eyes opened at the sound of Arthur’s voice. You sat up quickly, realizing you had fallen asleep in a chair inside the house. You looked around, finding one of Mary-Beth’s books she left in the house in your lap. You fell asleep reading it not too long ago. 

“I-I woke up.” You looked over to Arthur, who stood next to you. “I was having a, um, a dream. I didn’t want to wake the girls up anymore. I didn’t mean to fall asleep again.”

Arthur nodded his head as he moved to sit in a chair to your right. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Morgan.” You began to stand up but he stopped you.

“You don’t have to leave, Miss Y/L/N. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna fall out of your chair.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Ain’t a bother to me.” Arthur assured you. 

You returned to your seat, smoothing out the material of your skirt before picking up the book. 

“What was the dream about?” He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He offered you a cigarette from the carton. You took one with a small thank you. 

As he lit his cigarette, he brought the match up to the end of yours, lighting your cigarette for you. 

You watched him for a few moments. It wasn’t often that the outlaw didn’t wear the hat that covered his eyes and did a good job at shielding his features, so you took the opportunity to get a good look at his eyes. 

They were a shade of deep blue you had only witnessed a few times before, the same shade of blue as lakes far away from Saint Denis, the ones unpolluted by people. 

His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were freckled from the sun. There were a few white scars that stood out on his skin. You silently wondered where they came from, how he’d gotten them. 

Dirty blond hair was swept back out of his eyes, but a few pieces fell across his forehead. 

You dropped your eyes down to the book in your hands, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by staring too much. 

“Oh just…. A bit of this and that.” You answered with a dismissive shrug of your shoulders. “It’d probably be easier to tell you what I don’t dream about than what I do.”

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He nodded understandingly. 

“How long have you been with us, miss?”

“Three months, I suppose. Though I haven’t kept perfect track of the days.”

He nodded once more. 

“You have dreams often?” 

You placed your book on the table and looked up at him. You had never really spoken with him besides a passing greeting here or there. You didn’t care to share personal information with most of the members of camp, nor did you care to have any sort of real conversation with any of the men. They all seemed to have one thing on their minds. But Arthur had never approached you with the proposition of sexual acts. If anything, he had gone out of his way to stay away from you. You were thankful for this. Men were best kept at a distance. 

“Most nights.” You took a drag of the cigarette. “They never get bad enough unless I sleep decently.”

“Is that why you’re always up at night?” Arthur tilted his head to the side a bit, curious. “I’ve seen you wander around camp at night. You hang out a lot by the dock.”

“The water is pretty.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Lots of pretty things are dangerous, Mr. Morgan.”

He nodded, blowing smoke from his nose. 

“I reckon so.”

A comfortable silence fell between you both. 

“Where are you from, Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair.

“I can hardly remember sometimes, if I’m honest.” He flicked the ashes of his cigarette. “My folks come from out west.”

You nodded gently. 

“What about you, Miss Y/L/N?”

“I grew up on a little farm a few hours north of here. As far as I know, my folks still live there.”

“As far as you know?”

You took a long drag of the cigarette and looked across the room at the bottom of the staircase. 

“I haven’t seen them in years. Doubt they’d wanna see me after this long. We didn’t part ways on such good terms.”

“Sorry to hear that.” 

Both of you became quiet as the floorboards upstairs creaked. 

“Well, I should be goin’.” Arthur stood up. “You should get some sleep, miss.”

“You too, Mr. Morgan.” You nodded, giving him a little smile before you watched him leave through the front door.

Taglist:  @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql @brooke-supernatural16 @lassiee @hocdolliday @micahs-bird 

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[ktheist]

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au. 

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

x

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you. 

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms. 

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it. 

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here. 

Yoongi takes another step toward you. 

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought. 

x

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie. 

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life. 

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie. 

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

x

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman. 

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

x

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

x

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

x

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

x

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

x

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

x

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

x

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

x

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym!