#The Bittersweet Taste of Hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slu7formen · 5 days

Note

I heard you were sad about the lack of Luke asks, so l've decided to try and help! Bare with me bc this might not be the best considering I'm think on the spot and its late over here so feel free to delete!

So, reader was with Luke when he was running away with Annie and Thalia so they're really close. Then, when her and Luke were like 16 or smth reader left on a quest and its been like 2 years so its assumed that she just failed and died on her quest. This ruined Luke bc he loved her and one night, maybe at the bonfire, he hears reader screaming his name somewhere in the foresty part of camp, just absolutely terrified. He finds her and shes hurt, I'm talkin reallyyy messed up like a massive gash across her eye, (matching scar awww) leavin her like half blind, huge claw marks, teeth marks, and other wounds. He carries her to the infirmary, shes prob passed out at this point from like blood loss. Anyways, she finally wakes up in the infirmary and a bunch of fluff ensues, yk the usual "Don't ever leave me again" "I thought you were dead" the fun stuff and obv they confess to each other! (also, is 🖤 taken?)

whoever made this request, it was so good, you’re evil and brilliant; thank you 🖤

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: wounds, injuries, blood mention, presumed death, luke being heartbroken (sorry), crying

reminder: english's not my first language so l apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Every morning, Luke woke with the same dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder of the gaping hole your absence had left in him. It was a hollow ache, a physical manifestation of the loneliness that had become his unwelcome company. Nine years old when he ran away, the world had been a harsh teacher, but three years later, when he found you, that harshness had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. You, a scared, twelve-year-old with defiance blazing in your eyes and a meager weapon in hand, had become his anchor in the storm.

The streets had been a cruel way of living, but together, you and Luke had forged a bond stronger than steel. You were the same age, yet he was older by a few months, a difference that somehow granted him a silent responsibility for your safety. Thalia and Annabeth, two more lost souls swept up in the world of their demigod destinies, completed their unbalanced family. But it was you and Luke, the two eldest, who shared a silent language of understanding that went beyond words. You fought together, scavenged together, your backs against the world.

The arrival of Grover, a satyr reeking of panic, brought relief and a terrifying truth— you weren't alone. The hunt for demigods was real, and you were all in danger.

Fourteen. A year etched in his memory with the sharp point of a spear. The monsters, the desperate fight, Thalias selfless sacrifice, the agonizing transformation into the pine tree — the events played on a loop in his mind. Camp Half-Blood, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a bittersweet prison. He had you by his side then, a hand to grip in the darkness, a silent understanding in your shared gaze.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be there, by his side, facing challenges and forging a future together. He replayed the memory of your first quest announcement on a loop. The fear in his gut, a slap in the face of his fierce protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to lose you.

It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been you, alone, facing whatever monstrous fate had befallen you. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he replayed the day you left. The forced cheer, the worry that gnawed at him, all a blur now. Training became a way to numb the ache, each swing of his sword carrying a silent plea for your sate return. But as days turned into months, the hope that had fueled him began to fade away.

News traveled slow in the demigod world, but eventually, rumors reached Camp Half-Blood. Whispers of a monstrous encounter, a lost trail, a silence that stretched too long. A year after your departure, the whispers solidified into a grim reality - you were missing, presumed dead.

Luke felt the world tilt on its axis. Denial battled with a cold, horrifying truth. You were gone.

A quest, a single solitary mission, had stolen you from him. Stolen your laughter, your warmth, your presence that had become an essential part of his world. It wasn't fair.

The quest for the Golden Apple had been a cruel twist of fate. A desperate attempt to appease his father, to offer a sliver of hope to a camp drowning in sadness, it had backfired spectacularly. Luke returned empty-handed, his body wracked with exhaustion and his spirit battered. But the most visible reminder of his failure was the jagged scar that ran from beneath his eye down to his chin, a pale testament to the dragon's fury.

He'd needed your presence then more than ever. Needed your steady gaze and the quiet strength you possessed. Needed the spark of defiance in your eyes that mirrored his own growing anger towards a world that had seemed so determined to tear them apart. He needed your touch, your hugs, he needed you.

He stood stiffly before your burial shroud, an image carved in his memory forever. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. He ignored the concerned glances of his friends, focusing only on the phantom warmth of your hand in his, a memory more vivid than anything else.

In that moment, ravaged by grief, a single truth burned bright — he loved you. And he had lost you. The world felt a little emptier, a little colder, without you by his side.

And the first nights after you left were the worst.

At first, they were hopeful visions. He'd see you, alone on a dusty road, tending to a nasty gash on your arm with a makeshift bandage. A surge of worry would course through him, a familiar anxiety honed by years on the streets. But then, a wry smile would tug at his lips as he remembered the countless times he'd taught you how to create a tourniquet, how to patch a wound and survive on the bare minimum. A flicker of confidence, a belief in your resourcefulness, would chase away the initial fear. He just knew you'd find a way back to him.

He'd wake with a jolt, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the air thick with the silence of your absence. But then, a flicker of hope would ignite— you were alive, you were out there.

Finally, the dreams turned into nightmares. You'd appear, but not the way he remembered you. Pale and gaunt, your eyes hollow and vacant. Sometimes, you'd be chased by monstrous shadows, their grotesque forms dissolving into a chilling whisper of your name. These dreams left him gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.

It had been a little over a year since the agonizing ceremony, the image of your burial shroud seared into his memory. But time, a supposed healer, offered no solace. In reality, it had stretched the fact of your absence even wider. Two years. Two years since he'd last seen your smile, heard your voice, felt the warmth of your hand in his.

"Luke!"

Ah, yes. He heard you sometimes. At first, it happened while he was alone; he believed it could be you, trying to contact him in some way, but it never was that way. He never found you. Then he started hearing your voice in crowded places, mistaking your voice for the ones of other campers, and his heart ached every time he realized it wasn't you.

He felt like he was going insane. Hearing you, even after years. He must be going mad. But then, it became clearer.

"Luke!"

The voice, barely audible above the crackling flames, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, his hand tightening around the thin stick that held his burned marshmallow. Was it-? No. It couldn't be. He must be imagining things again.

The grief, the pain, he knew, could play tricks on the mind.

He brushed it off, attempting to rejoin the conversation, forcing a lightness to his voice that felt hollow. But then, it came again. Clearer this time, tinged with a desperate urgency.

"Luke!? Luke!"

The single word, laden with a desperate urgency, pierced through his defenses. He froze, his blood turning to ice. It was your voice. The same voice that filled his dreams and haunted his waking hours. He whipped his head around, searching the darkened forest beyond the fire's reach.

But the trees stood silent, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. Nothing. Yet, the echo of your voice lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the impossible. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.

He glanced around the fire, catching the bewildered expressions of a few campers who had clearly heard the voice too. Their eyes mirrored the confusion and fear that clawed at him. If he said anything, they'd think he'd cracked, that the pain had finally driven him mad.

"Luke!"

But it was you.

Your voice, unmistakable and undeniably real. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope so intense it threatened to suffocate him.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the surprised yelps of his friends as he knocked over a tray of steaming hot cocoa cups. Stumbling over his own feet, he charged towards the edge of the forest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt just inside the treeline, his eyes scanning the darkness. "yn!?" he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

It was cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to discern any details. But there was a smallness, a fragility to its silhouette that resonated with his memory of you.

Just as doubt began to creep back in, another call pierced the silence. "Luke!" This time, the desperation in your voice was unmistakable.

He didn't hesitate any longer. "yn!" he roared, his voice raw with emotion as he launched himself into a run.

Several campers, roused by the commotion, scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with confusion and trepidation. They watched, mouths agape, as Luke bolted towards the treeline, his long strides eating away at the distance.

"Luke!" Your voice came again, closer this time, tinged with a note of panic.

"yn!" He didn't dare slow down, his heart making its way up to his mouth. He could hear the sound of others following him, their footsteps pounding on the soft earth behind him.

Through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of your figure — small, hunched over, moving with a limp. Hope flared bright within him, battling the tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Then, you stumbled, nearly falling. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself to the limit. As he broke through the last line of trees, he saw you standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight.

And his breath hitched in his throat.

The sight of you, once vibrant and full of life, was a punch to the gut. Dirt and grime smeared your face, your clothes were ripped and tattered, and a sheen of sweat covered your brow. But it was the wounds that stole his breath away. Deep claw marks raked across your arms, a bloody gash marred your leg, and the most horrifying of all — a massive scar stretched across your eye, a brutal reminder of some unseen battle. The campers behind him gasped in unison, their faces etched with shock and horror.

Chiron, alerted by the commotion, pushed his way through the crowd, his brow furrowed in concern.

But your focus was solely on Luke. With a desperate cry of his name, you lurched towards him, your injured leg buckling beneath you. Without hesitation, Luke launched himself forward, catching you in his arms just before you hit the ground.

"Luke..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes, the one that wasn't obscured by the wound, flickered with a spark of relief and a hint of something else - a deep, unspoken emotion that mirrored his own.

Then, your eyelids fluttered closed, and your body went limp in his arms. Panic surged through him as he cradled you closer, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and relief. " yn? No, no, no, no, yn?" he slightly slapped your cheek, no response. He looked back to to the campers that decided to follow him, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get the Apollo cabin, now!"

The days that followed your arrival were shrouded in a suffocating silence. The once vibrant camp seemed to echo with a collective held breath. No one dared to talk to Luke.

His eyes, once playful and sparkly, now held a deep, smoldering anger. He snapped at anyone who dared to approach. Only Chiron, with his patient wisdom, Annabeth, with her loyalty, and the healers of Apollo cabin, sworn to secrecy about your condition, were able to pierce the storm raging within him.

Each day, a relentless routine unfolded. Luke would rise with the first rays of dawn, his body heavy with the weight of his own despair. He'd force down a meager breakfast, the taste turning to ash in his mouth. Then, with a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he'd make the agonizing trek to the Big House, the temporary haven where you resided. He would do it multiple times a day, actually.

Lee, the son of Apollo with a mop of messy blonde hair and eyes that held a touch of empathy, would greet him at the door, a practiced neutrality masking his concern. The answer was always the same. You were alive. The healers had managed to stabilize you. But your recovery was a slow, painful journey. The wounds you bore were a testament to a harrowing pain, and the care they had taken on your body was immense.

As soon as you had fainted in his arms, you had slipped into unconsciousness. No amount of coaxing, no whispered pleas from the healers, or songs in Ancient Greek, could bring you back. Luke was devastated. The relief of having you back, a physical presence after two agonizing years, was a fragile flame quickly extinguished by the reality of your condition. Your life hung by a thread, and he was kept at arm's length.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Luke found himself face-to-face with Chiron. The old centaur, his kind eyes reflecting the turmoil swirling within Luke, gestured for him to sit.

"Luke," Chiron began, his voice soft yet firm, "I understand your pain. Your worry for yn is valid and understandable. But you must also understand, her condition is delicate"

Luke clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. "Why can't I see her? Annabeth's younger than me and yet, she gets to see her. Why not me?" The words tumbled out, laced with a raw desperation.

Chiron sighed, a weary sound. "Because, Luke," he said, his voice heavy with empathy, "we fear the emotional toll it might take on you if-, if the worst were to happen."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. Grief, anger, and a gnawing helplessness battled within him.

"How long then?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "How long will it be before I can see her again?"

Chiron reached out, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We don't know, Luke" he said honestly. "But the healers are doing their best And you need to find your strength. She will need it when she wakes up.

He nodded dumbly, understanding Chiron's concern for him. But that didn't make the gnawing ache in his chest any less agonizing. He missed you. Missed the warmth of your hand in his, the light that sparkled in your eyes, the way your laughter could chase away even the darkest shadows.

A few days later, he walked by the Big House again. Lee greeted him again, just as every other day.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Lee sighed, a gust of exasperation tinged with sympathy. He looked tired himself, dark circles under his eye and a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Little change. But she's stable. Stronger than she looks. We had some healers fainting because of how much singing they've done to her"

A muscle ticked in Luke's jaw. "Can't I at least see her?" The words came out harsher than he intended, dripping with frustration.

Lee studied him for a long moment, his own blue eyes reflecting the turmoil within Luke. Finally, he spoke. "Look, I get it. You're scared, you're angry. But you have to understand, seeing her likes this... we can't let you"

Luke clenched his fists. "I can handle it" he growled, the beast within him straining against its leash.

Lee took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Can you, Luke? Can you handle the possibility that maybe she doesn't get to wake up?"

The question hung in the air, a brutal truth that stripped away Luke's bravado. He stared at Lee, the anger draining away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that surprised even him. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"No" he whispered, the single word a confession of his deepest fear.

Lee nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his features. "Then trust us, Luke. Trust the healers. We're doing everything we can."

And then he remember Chiron's words. He knew he was right. He couldn't bear the thought of the last image of you being one of unconsciousness, a pale specter in a sterile infirmary bed.

The days that followed settled into a grim routine. Luke stopped asking the relentless question, 'Did she wake up?' The answer, etched into his weary soul, was a constant ache that no words could soothe. He had stopped arguing, the initial burst of rebellion replaced by a quiet desperation. He started asking more specific questions, focusing on the details of your injuries. Your eye, the massive gash that mirrored his own scar in a way that made his stomach churn, became a particular point of morbid fascination.

He couldn't bear to look at the jagged mark on his face, couldn't imagine how it felt on yours.

Not because he thought you wouldn't be beautiful —he knew you would be. But the thought of you facing the same constant reminder of pain, of vulnerability, filled him with a protective rage that simmered beneath the surtace.

But then, a shift began to occur. He noticed stolen glances exchanged between the Apollo campers, hushed whispers that died down as soon as he entered their vicinity. An unspoken secret they guarded fiercely. He tried to ignore it, burying himself in training, seeking solace in the familiar sting of sweat and exertion. Chiron's words were a constant drumbeat in his head - seeing you too soon, on the precipice of death, was a burden he might not bear.

But later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon casting the camp in an orange glow, Chiron sought him out. Luke braced himself, his heart plummeting into his stomach. His mind spun with a thousand morbid possibilities.

He met Chiron's gaze, a storm brewing in his own eyes. "What is it?" he rasped, voice breaking.

Chiron took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Luke's with a solemn intensity. "Luke," he began, his voice thick with a mix of trepidation and hope, "she's awake."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis again. The air whooshed out of Luke's lungs, leaving him breathless. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind struggling to process the simple, life-altering statement.

Then he ran.

His feet pounded a trantic rhythm against the dusty path, each step fueled by a desperate need to see you. Chiron's protests, if there were any, were lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wouldn't be denied this. Not now. His legs pumped like pistons, fueled by a desperate hope that threatened to shatter him if it turned out to be false. He burst through the doors of the Big House, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The interior was deserted, the silence amplifying the frantic pounding of his heart.

He flung open the infirmary door, the sight inside momentarily stealing his breath. Two Apollo campers stood by the window, their hushed whispers abruptly cut short by his arrival.

But his eyes were locked on you, the very image of him defying the cruelty of fate.

You sat on the bed, a fragile silhouette bathed in the pale light, your head bent over your bandaged hands. Your hair, once a fiery mane, had grown longer, a testament to the time that had passed for him in a blur of grief. Your skin, usually kissed by the sun, was a pale canvas.

He took everything in — the fresh cuts marring your arms, the claw marks, the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. And you had lifted your head, startled by the sudden noise.

Your eyes, usually sparkling with life, were dull with pain, but when they met his, a spark ignited within them.

"Luke!"

The word ripped from your throat, a cry that echoed with relief and a tremor of something deeper. You lunged off the bed, ignoring the wince that contorted your face as your injured leg protested.

"yn, wait!" Lee sprang forward, concern etched on his face. Your stitches, particularly those on your thigh, were still fresh, and any sudden movement could cause them to tear.

But you didn't listen. You threw yourself at Luke, your arms wrapping around him with a desperation that mirrored his own. He caught you, the impact sending a jolt through his body. His arms tightened around you, a desperate need to hold on, to feel you solid against him.

He held you tight, the fierce possessiveness in his grip both a comfort and a warning. Your body, the way you fit so perfectly against his larger frame, sent a jolt through him. He'd grown, you realized, his broad shoulders feeling wider, his embrace stronger. In contrast, you felt impossibly small, the warrior you remembered replaced by a shell of the person you once were. His hot tears quickly started to wet your hair.

The sudden weakness in your leg, the one that had been screaming in protest since you lunged at him, finally overwhelmed you. A sharp cry escaped your lips as your body gave way beneath you. Instinctively, Luke tightened his grip, his arms morphing into a cradle to catch your fall.

The impact with the floor sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you, but it was a dull ache compared to the overwhelming joy of finally being in his arms again. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Luke wouldn't stop sobbing now, his shoulder shaking as his arms held you into his embrace.

The Apollo campers, sensing the intimacy of the moment, mumbled apologies as they slipped out of the infirmary, leaving you and Luke alone.

He cradled you close, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your body a balm to his battered soul. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was real. You were real.

"You're alive" he sobbed, the words a broken mantra against your ear. "You're alive" he repeated. Each repetition wasn't just for you, but for him, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this wasn't a cruel dream, that you weren't an illusion.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. The wounds looked clean now, stitched and bandaged, but the raw pain was etched in the lines around your eyes. The gash across your eye, a crimson scar angry and fresh, pulled at the corner of your eye, making it appear swollen and bruised. Yet, to him, you were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

It started a finger's width above your eyebrow, then, just as abruptly, it dipped down, catching the outer corner of your eye. The scar tissue pulled the delicate skin, making your eye appear slightly narrowed and bloodshot.

But despite the rawness of the wound, despite the vulnerability etched on your face, there was something undeniably fierce about you. It was a look he hadn't seen before, a look born from surviving the unthinkable.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had always been beautiful, that much was undeniable. But now, even with a scar contrasting against your features, you were breathtaking.

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

"You look beautiful" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand. "It hurts" you whispered, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I know" he murmured, his voice filled with empathy. He sniffed uncontrollably at your sight, so broken and fragile, wrapped around his arm. "But you're alive. You're here" his bottom lip started trembling before he could control it. He inhaled sharply and his voice came out shaky; "I thought you were dead" tears rolling down his cheeks.

You laughed, a weak sound that was more like a sob. "You won't get rid of me that easily"

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. In that moment, the infirmary with its sterile smell and harsh light faded away. All that existed was the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body against his, and the knowledge that you were alive.

"Don't ever leave me again" he pleaded, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. The thought of losing you again, of facing another agonizing day without you, was almost unbearable.

"I wouldn't dream of it" you whispered.

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amalythea · 1 month

Text

「 hold my hand, please, one last time.」

⤷ info: kazuha, albedo, aether, xiao, wanderer x gn!reader || angst, this is based on the prompt “can i hold your hand?” (or “can you hold my hand?”) || wc: 3104

⤷ warnings: death, this is v v angsty

⤷ extra: i wrote this a while ago back on soleillunne and decided that it was too good to be gone forever lmao

kazuha.

The battlefield was strewn with chaos, and amidst the clash of swords and the cries of war, Kazuha fought with all his might, his heart burdened with the weight of the lives at stake. He had hoped that his skills with the blade and mastery of the Anemo vision would be enough to protect those he held dear, but fate had other plans.

As the battle raged on, he caught a glimpse of his lover, a skilled warrior whose presence had always brought him comfort and strength, you. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment, and in that exchange, you understood each other without uttering a word. It was a silent promise that you would find each other amidst the chaos.

But the tide turned against you, and the enemy’s forces seemed endless. Despite your best efforts, the defenders were overwhelmed, and Kazuha found himself standing back-to-back with you, defending against the onslaught.

In the midst of the chaos, an arrow found its mark. Time seemed to slow as the arrow pierced through your chest, and the world around you faded into the background. Kazuha’s heart clenched in horror as he caught you, your strength waning with each passing moment.

“Kazuha,” you gasped, blood staining your lips. “Can I hold your hand?”

Tears welled up in Kazuha’s eyes as he clutched your hand tightly, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the pain. “Yes, of course,” he choked out, his voice trembling with grief.

Your hand trembled in his grasp, and Kazuha could feel your life slipping away like sand through his fingers. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as the light in your eyes began to fade. You smiled weakly at him, a bittersweet expression filled with love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sounds of battle. “I wish… we had more time.”

“Don’t speak like that,” Kazuha pleaded, his voice breaking. “We’ll get through this. I won’t let you go.”

But you knew better, and as your strength waned, you continued to smile at him, your touch growing weaker by the second.

“I love you,” you murmured, your breath becoming shallow. “Always…”

Tears streamed down Kazuha’s cheeks as he held you close, trying to shield you from the harsh reality of the world around you. He wished he could turn back time, rewrite the events that led to this tragic moment, but life was unforgiving in its cruelty.

Your hand in his grew colder, and your breathing ceased. Your life force, once vibrant and strong, slipped away, leaving behind only a lifeless body in Kazuha’s arms.

Kazuha held your hand tightly, unable to let go, as if keeping that connection alive could somehow bring you back. He cried out in anguish, the weight of grief crashing down upon him like an unforgiving storm.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Kazuha felt an emptiness he had never known before. He had lost not only a lover but a confidant, a soulmate with whom he had shared dreams, laughter, and countless cherished memories.

And as the battle raged on, Kazuha clung to your lifeless hand, lost in sorrow, with a heart that would forever bear the burden of their memory.

albedo.

Albedo’s heart pounded in his chest as he cradled his you in his arms. He was just about to descend from his lab on Dragonspine to meet up with you as he promised, only to see you laying on your own blood at the bottom of the mountain. He had seen you only hours prior, he’d laughed with you, but now, all that remained was a sea of sorrow, the bitter taste of loss overwhelming his senses.

He looked down at the face that he had cherished so dearly, now drained of all warmth and life. Your eyes, once filled with light and love, now stared back at him with a haunting emptiness. Albedo’s hands trembled, and tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

“Can you hold my hand?” a weak voice whispered, barely audible amidst the sounds of grief and despair that surrounded them. Albedo’s heart wrenched at the sound, and he quickly took your freezing hand into his own.

Tears streamed down Albedo’s cheeks as he clutched your hand tightly. “Yes, of course,” he choked out, his voice breaking with pain. “I’ll hold your hand for as long as you need, my love.”

He brought your intertwined hands to his lips and placed a tender kiss on the once-warm skin, now cold and lifeless. Memories of your time together flooded his mind – the laughter you shared, the dreams you nurtured, and the love you built with each passing day. Now, all that was left were shattered hopes and dreams.

“I’m so sorry,” Albedo whispered, his voice filled with regret and guilt. “I couldn’t protect you. I failed.”

You weakly shook your head, mustering a faint smile. “No, don’t blame yourself,” you managed to say. “You… you brought me so much happiness, Albedo. Please, don’t forget that.”

Albedo’s heart ached at the words, realizing that he had to find the strength to carry on without you. But it felt like an impossible task, as if the very essence of his being had been torn apart.

“I don’t know if I can,” he confessed, his voice trembling with sorrow. “You’re my everything.”

You fingers tightened around his hand as if trying to hold on just a little longer. “You’re strong, Albedo. Stronger than you know,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Promise me… you’ll keep going… for both of us.”

Albedo nodded, his tears falling freely now. “I promise,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll live for the both of us. But it won’t be the same without you.”

Your breaths became shallower, and Albedo knew that your life was slipping away. He leaned closer, trying to memorize every detail of your face, never wanting to forget.

“I love you,” you whispered, your words fading like a gentle breeze. “Always.”

“I love you too,” Albedo replied, his voice choked with emotion. “Always and forever.”

And with those final words, your grip on his hand slowly weakened until it was gone completely. Albedo held onto your hand a moment longer, pressing it against his heart as if trying to keep your love alive within him.

As grief consumed him, Albedo felt a mix of emotions. Sorrow, anger, and a deep longing to see his lover again, even if it were just for a moment. But he knew he had to continue, to honor your memory and the love you shared.

Albedo gently laid your body down, closing your eyes with tender care. He stood, feeling the weight of loss heavy on his shoulders, but also the weight of your love, and your belief in him, pushing him forward. Though his heart was shattered, he would carry your love with him, always.

And as he walked away from that place of sorrow, he knew that the pain would remain, but so would the memories of a love that would never truly fade away.

aether.

Aether’s heart pounded in his chest as he cradled his dying lover in his arms. The battlefield around them had turned into a chaotic canvas of destruction, but his attention was solely focused on the person he held dear. You were slipping away, and he could feel your life force fading like a waning star.

“Can you hold my hand?” you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the cacophony of war. Aether’s eyes filled with tears, and he gently clasped your frail hand in his own, interlocking your fingers. His touch was warm, providing a sense of comfort amidst the pain.

“I’m here,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I won’t let go.”

Your breathing was shallow, and your once-bright eyes were now dim, but you managed a faint smile. It was a bittersweet expression, as if you were trying to convey so much in that fleeting moment. Memories of you flooded Aether’s mind, from the first time you met under the starlit sky to the promises you made to each other.

“You have to promise me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “that you’ll keep going. That you’ll find happiness again.”

Aether couldn’t find the strength to respond, his throat constricted with grief. He knew that in a world without his lover, life would lose its luster, its purpose. But he understood that you were trying to ease his pain, even in your last breaths.

“No,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I can’t bear to live without you. Please don’t leave. Not you too.”

You smiled again, a mixture of sadness and love in your eyes. “You are strong, Aether, and you will find the strength to carry on. I will always be with you.”

Aether’s heartache intensified, and he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. He wished he could freeze time, to hold you forever, but he knew it was slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers.

“I love you,” you said, their voice fading into a whisper.

“And I love you,” Aether replied, his voice breaking.

Your grip on his hand loosened, and Aether felt the last pulse of life slip away from you. He held onto your hand a moment longer, not wanting to let go, but eventually, he lowered it gently to your chest.

In that moment, as the world around him continued to rage with chaos, Aether felt an overwhelming emptiness inside. His lover was gone, and the pain of your absence consumed him. But he knew he had to honor your last wish—to find a way to live without you, to keep your love alive in his heart.

With tears in his eyes, Aether kissed your forehead one last time before he stood, facing the uncertain future that lay ahead. Your love would forever be his guiding light, and he would cherish every memory, every moment you had shared.

And as the battles raged on and the world continued to turn, Aether vowed to carry your love with him, a beacon of hope in the darkest of times. Though your physical presence was gone, your love would endure, a reminder that even in the face of loss, the power of love could transcend beyond the boundaries of life and death.

heizou.

Heizou knelt on the cold, damp ground, cradling your cold body in his arms. He had just returned home from work, when the last thing he expected to see was see you laying on your own blood in your shared home. He held you closer, your blood staining his hands, mingling with his own tears. His heart felt as though it had been torn apart, and the pain was almost unbearable.

The world seemed to slow down as Heizou stared into the fading eyes of his beloved. Each second felt like an eternity, and yet, it was slipping away all too quickly. He could see the struggle in your gaze, the effort it took to speak those final words.

“Can I hold your hand?” you whispered, your voice getting lower with each word.

Tears streamed down Heizou’s face, and he gently clasped your trembling hand with his own, intertwining your fingers. He felt your warmth slowly waning, and he held on tighter, as if he could somehow will life back into you with the strength of his grip.

“You don’t have to ask,” Heizou choked out, his voice breaking with sorrow. “I’ll hold your hand forever.”

You managed a faint smile, your strength visibly waning. “I… I love you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” Heizou replied, his voice trembling. “You’re my everything, my reason for living.”

As the commotion outside your shared home began to get louder, the people having noticed the blood stains, Heizou’s focus remained solely on you. The world outside ceased to exist for him, and he poured all his love and energy into holding you, trying to be your anchor in this storm of pain and suffering.

In your last moments, you clung to each other tightly, as if afraid to let go. Heizou’s heart ached as he felt your life slipping away from him, the person who meant more to him than anything else in the world. He wished he could have done something, anything, to save you.

But in the end, all he could do was be there, holding your hand, providing them with comfort in their final moments. Heizou would carry the weight of this loss forever, the memories of you etched into his soul.

Even as people left you two alone and the world moved on, Heizou remained on that cold, damp ground, cradling the body of the one he had loved and lost, his heart forever scarred by the pain of that fateful day.

xiao.

Xiao knelt on the damp ground, his heart pounding with anguish as he cradled your shaking form in his arms. The battlefield around you was silent, the chaos of the battle having retreated, leaving behind only the echoes of suffering and loss.

Your once bright eyes, now dulled by death, stared up at him, and Xiao couldn’t bear to look away. Your hands, once intertwined in a promise of eternity, now lay limp and still. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“Can you hold my hand?” your voice was a faint whisper, barely audible amidst the devastation surrounding them.

Xiao’s heart shattered at those words, but he gently took your hand in his own, holding it with all the tenderness and love he had for you. “I will always hold your hand,” he choked out, his voice breaking with grief.

You managed a weak smile, the corners of your lips lifting slightly. “Even in death,” you murmured, your voice barely reaching Xiao’s ears.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, my love,” Xiao vowed, his fingers trembling as he clung tightly to the hand that was growing colder by the second. “Even to the ends of this cruel world.”

Your breathing grew fainter, and your grip on his hand loosened. Xiao felt his heartache intensify, knowing that he couldn’t change the cruel fate that had befallen you.

“Thank you… for loving me,” you whispered, your voice a mere thread of sound.

“Thank you for making my life meaningful,” Xiao replied, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m grateful for every moment we shared.”

Your eyes locked for a final time, and in that fleeting moment, a lifetime of love and memories passed between you. Xiao wished he could freeze time, to hold on to this moment forever, but life had other plans.

As the last breath left your lips, Xiao leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Rest now,” he whispered, his voice breaking with sorrow. “I’ll carry you in my heart. Until we meet again.”

He remained there, holding your lifeless hand, as tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the blood-stained soil beneath you. Xiao knew that a part of him had died that day with his beloved, but he also knew that your love would live on, eternal and undying, no matter the circumstances.

wanderer.

Wanderer knelt on the ground, his heart pounding in his chest as he cradled you in his arms. The world around you seemed to blur, the noise of battle fading into an eerie silence. The battle had been brutal, and he had fought with all his might to protect the one he loved, but fate had dealt them a cruel hand.

Your once vibrant eyes now glistened with pain, and a weak smile graced your lips. Blood stained your clothing, and Wanderer could feel your life slipping away.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t have much time, do I?”

Wanderer choked back a sob, clutching your body tightly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you help.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, but it quickly turned into a cough. “You can’t lie to me, my love.” you managed to say, your breath shallow.

Tears finally streamed down Wanderer’s face as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry if I didn’t say it often. I can’t bear to lose you.”

You trembled in his grasp, and gazed into his eyes with a mixture of love and sadness. “Can I hold your hand?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Wanderer nodded frantically, intertwining his fingers with yours. He held your hand close to his heart, hoping that somehow he could transfer strength to you.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, tears pooling in your eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle and full of affection, reserved only for you. “You won’t have to. Just hold on a little longer, and we’ll get you help. We’ll face this together.”

Your grip tightened weakly on his hand. “You’re my light, my love, my everything,” you murmured. “You always have been. Promise me you’ll keep shining, even when I’m gone.”

Wanderer could feel whatever was left of his heart shatter with your words. “I promise,” he choked out. “But you can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.”

Your breathing grew shallower, and your voice became softer. “You’re strong, my love,” you said. “You’ll find a way. Remember me, but don’t let my memory hold you back. Live your life to the fullest. Find happiness again.”

“I can’t imagine life without you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “How am I supposed to go on?”

Your only response was a brief smile, and he squeezed your cold hand tightly. “I’ll never let go,” he vowed. “Not even when you’re gone.”

Your breathing slowed, and your eyes locked with his one last time. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice fading away.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, his voice cracking.

And then, with your hand still clasped in his, you were gone.

Wanderer held your lifeless form closer, his tears falling like rain. He knew that life would never be the same again, that a piece of his heart had been taken with you. But he also knew that he had to keep the promise he made. With a heavy heart, he stood, carrying your memory with him as he faced the world without you, knowing that he would always carry your love and light with him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

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lovelyhan · 9 months

Text

— ode to you ⟢

if there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. he can be crass. he can be secretive. he can be nothing short of vexing. but in the end, he's everything you need him to be.

or: 25 lives in which you find and don't find jeonghan.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 6.9k words

★ TAGS; reincarnation, multiple lives, pining, angst, suggestive scenes but no smut, sooo many tropes

★ WARNINGS; mentions of blackmail, implied murder, implied depression, mentions of puking/vomiting, mentions of car accidents major character death

★ NOTES; i was supposed to work on my collab fics but i feel like i've gotten a little rusty w my prose so i wrote this as a little writing exercise of sorts :D i've written for other fandoms in this format before and i thought it was high time i did the same for seventeen with my ult of all ults <3 i hope you enjoy!

this is inspired by tongari's 25 lives

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @Idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti–red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon

★ JEONGHAN TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @bias-recs - @lunaryoongie

01. the very first time i remember you, you are blonde and you don’t love me back.

One strict rule that you make sure to uphold with all of your clients is that business comes first before all else.

You're a well-known freelancer that lands gigs left and right from high-end fashion brands and magazines alike. The only way your career managed to survive in such a cut-throat industry is because of the strict professionalism you never failed to maintain.

That's until you meet Jeonghan for the first time.

Fluffy blonde hair framing his face, curling just along the edges. Slanted eyes that crinkle just a bit whenever he smiles. And a lazy grin that betrays just how nonchalant he is about the entire thing. Like he knows he's gorgeous he is and how everyone else in the vicinity is aware of the fact, too.

You've worked with a handful of people with breathtaking features in in the past, but there doesn't seem to be any word in any language that could encapsulate just how mesmerizing Jeonghan is.

For the first time in your career, you find yourself wanting to reach for the subject being captured by the lens of your camera. Just to make sure he was an actual person and not some doll crafted from fine silk and porcelain. The fact that he's modeling with a bouquet of lush flowers does little to your peace of mind.

But your innate professionalism overrules whatever nonsensical desires your sleep-deprived brain could conjure in that moment.

Once you're satisfied with the material you've come up with, you're quick to dismiss Jeonghan and the rest of the team, and call it a day. You have another shoot to oversee in less than two hours and you'd like to avoid the rush hour traffic if you can.

Yet, despite your urgency, you stop halfway to the door to the studio—casting a sidelong glance at the person who's supposed to be one of your temporary colleagues and none else.

"Jeonghan," you call out, his name tasting bittersweet on your tongue. "It was nice working with you today."

He barely glances up at you from the soft glow of his phone screen, not even a smile spared your way.

"Yeah, sure."

02. the next time, you are brunette, and you do.

Yoon Jeonghan is the biggest menace you've met in your life.

Not only does he keep stealing your parking space in the office basement and plucks off the last brownie in the pantry during break time, but he's after the promotion you've been vying after for months, too.

Needless to say, he's public enemy number one in your eyes, and all your colleagues are well aware of the scorching rivalry you two constantly waged in the workspace.

But on the night before you're set to present the proposal that you swear up and down would make your superiors choose you over that sniveling prick, the Devil himself swoops into your cubicle with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Do you really not see it?"

You frown at him as you shove your laptop into your bag with an air of irritation. "See what? That they're going to select you for the promotion? I don't, actually. That's why I'm—"

The words promptly melt on your tongue when Jeonghan forces a hand on divider separating your space with the others—trapping you with a sleazy look on his face. His dark brown tresses fall across his piercing eyes but you force yourself to hold your ground.

In the midst of it all, a moment's worth of familiarity crosses your mind.

Blonde hair styled to perfection. A bouquet of flowers just as beautiful as the man that models for them.

How long has it been since then?

"Can't you see that I'm only doing all this to get your attention?" he chuckles. "I've always known you're a bit slow on the uptake, but you might need an extra push in the right direction."

You gulp nervously. "W-What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeonghan shakes his head, amusement dancing across his features in a way that makes you want to smack him, if not for the laws imposed on the land.

"Have dinner with me tonight and I'll withdraw from the competition" he propositions. "How's that sound?"

...Isn't this blackmail? It definitely sounds like blackmail.

But despite knowing that you should just bring your knee up to smash into his family jewels, your face heats up with the implications of his offer instead.

An offer that you begrudgingly accept.

03. after a while i give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything.

"Really?"

Jeonghan grins when he steps into your apartment sporting his newest dye job. You're perfectly aware that idols these days get the most outrageous hair colors, but you didn't think his stylist would be daring enough to pull off long purple hair for Jeonghan just a few months after his group's debut.

Over the years, Jeonghan cycles through a lot more colors than you'd ever thought he'd be willing to try. Blonde, pink, red, brown, silver—all of them, he pulls off with grace.

Even when his idol days are over, he still gets bouts of wanting to march into the nearest salon for another makeover, and you rectify this by just buying the cheapest bleaching kits online despite his whines in protest.

"Our stylist noonas would've been alright with a house call." He pouts just a little as you force him to sit still. "It might come out all patchy."

"Do you have so little faith in your partner's bleaching skills?" you huff, dipping the brush you have in one hand into the bowl of sharp-smelling bleaching mix in the other. "Your stylists noonas charge a fortune, too. We're better off doing it ourselves."

Jeonghan laughs. "You act like we can't afford it."

Turns out, you fucked up the portions of your little bleach concoction and your harmless session resulted into googling first aid for bleaching burns and soaking Jeonghan's scalp with coconut oil for the rest of the day.

"Sorry," you mumble as you help rinse out the oil the next morning. "Do you want to contact your stylist or head to a salon instead?"

Despite your wary disposition, Jeonghan merely breathes out a chuckle, taking your hand in his as he meets your eyes in the bathroom mirror.

There, two rings glimmer in the morning light—the one he shares with his twelve brothers and the one you slid onto his index on the day of your wedding.

"I've been through worse, love. This is nothing," he insists before pressing a soft kiss across your knuckles. "Let's just let my scalp rest for a few days before we dye it, okay?"

You shake your head with a laugh. Really, what are you supposed to do with this man?

"If you insist."

04. because even when you don’t exist, i'm still in love with you.

"You got my name wrong again."

In the middle of packing a takeout bag for the food delivery guy waiting in the corner of the café, you look up to some familiar college kid standing in front of the counter with a furrow on his brow. A regular, maybe.

"Sorry?" you ask, brain a little too frazzled to make sense of what he was trying to say.

Said college kid shows you the underside of his cup—the name Jeonghan scribbled hastily onto the material.

"My name's Jeongin," he sighs. "I've been coming here everyday and I swear, you always get it wrong."

"Well, I'm so sorry, Jeongin, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," you manage to wrench out before calling out to the delivery guy, saying the order was ready for pick-up.

Funnily enough, you end up living together with Jeongin by some twist of fate. Your shoes are lined up with his outside the apartment, toothbrushes lying in the same cup in the bathroom, and you even steal his hoodies every now and again.

But what you don't tell your boyfriend of five years is how you still dream of the man whose name brought you together in the first place.

A man who you don't get the pleasure to meet in this life, much like a dozen others that came before.

05. i remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together

In the past (though its definition is a little...unique in your case), you were convinced that just because Jeonghan is the sole singularity to which your existence is anchored to, that doesn't necessarily mean you'll get to have him and him alone in each life.

Yet in this one, you're fully convinced that he's the only person who'll ever have your heart.

It's on a cold, winter afternoon when you realize that you're in love with the boy that showed you how to cross the monkey bars in elementary school. The boy who gives you his packed lunch whenever you forget yours at home. The boy who taught you how to pick locks so you could sneak into his father's liquor shop and get drunk behind the counter.

Jeonghan has always been a fascinating person in whatever life you meet him. But now that you've got a taste of what it feels to grow up alongside him—witnessing him transition from a snotty kid to a troublesome adult—you can't picture yourself wanting anyone else.

He's rightfully startled when you confess your feelings merely minutes after having realized them. You've lived through this endless cycle of meeting and parting ways enough times to know that there's no room for uncertainty.

And each time he accepts you with open arms, the relief that washes over you feels like the first time all over again.

06. when i share my secrets and sorrows and hiding places with you.

There are times when you're the one who doesn't remember the lives you've lived in the seemingly endless cycle.

When you meet Jeonghan in this life, it's with shoulders carrying the weight of emotional baggage and dreams that have been crushed right before your eyes. It's an understatement to say that you're inexplicably drawn to him as if he's a beacon in the dark. But even if you're yet to remember, Jeonghan has always been easy to trust. Easy to fall into.

One night is particularly heavier than the rest. Your meds aren't kicking in the way they're supposed to and it's raining much too harshly to pay your comfort person a late night visit.

Yet when you call your boyfriend as you choke on your own tears, he's at your door in half an hour—paper bags full of all your favorite snacks in hand with a smile that feels like a ray of sunlight amidst a raging storm.

But he's quick to drop all of it and pull you into a hug when he sees the mess you are in the living room.

"I'm a bad person," you sob into his chest, clinging to the fabric of his jacket as he placates you in his tender embrace. "I'm s-selfish and always just think about myself. I've done so many terrible things, Hannie... How could you even love someone like me?"

Jeonghan doesn't answer right away. He calms you down for the better part of an hour before rising to get you a glass of water in the kitchen. Your boyfriend watches with quiet attentiveness until the look on your face tells him that you're ready to talk again.

"So what if you're a bad person, love?" he murmurs before planting a kiss on your forehead. "Tell me every terrible thing you did and let me love you anyway."

Despite yourself, you let out a soft laugh. "Which cheesy pocketbook did you pull that one out of?"

"Hey, I drove for thirty minutes in the rain and this is how you thank me?" He huffs before reaching for a bag of chips he haphazardly strewn across the coffee table, tearing it open and offering you a piece. "I read that on Pinterest, by the way."

07. i love how you play along with my bad ideas

In many, many lives, Jeonghan is not yours to love.

And that's okay. There isn't a fine print stating that because you're blessed (cursed?) to meet him in each lifetime, you're meant to be together against all odds.

Fate is fickle like that—so unpredictable that you never really know how to act whenever you do cross paths with Jeonghan eventually.

Still, even if you're not destined to be lovers, you can still love him in other ways.

Like helping him sneak out of his third period lecture so he can come watch local street performers hold a fundraising show in some underground bar. You do all this because he once told you that he wanted to support them in any way he could.

If only Jeonghan could see the grin on his face that gets wider with each dancer that takes the stage, he wouldn't have a hard time wondering why it was so easy to fall in love with him.

"So when's the next time you'll help me sneak out of a lecture?" Jeonghan asks as the two of you head back to campus at a mellow pace even if Jeonghan's next classes starts in ten minutes.

You hum as if genuinely contemplating. "Maybe after you do me a huge favor in return for this one."

Your shoulders bump together as he lets out an easygoing laugh. As the late afternoon sunlight filters through a canopy of trees and onto your best friend's face, you feel a tug at your heartstrings that urges you to pull him in for a kiss.

But you don't.

08. before you grow up and realize that they’re bad ideas.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

Jeonghan's voice sounds considerably spooked when the amusement park staff locks in the over-the-shoulder restraints. The buzz of excitement from other visitors rings in your ears and he seems to be the only person that isn't looking forward to being on a rollercoaster.

"You act like this is the first time you've been on one." You roll your eyes. "Just relax and feel the wind on your face, yeah? If it gets too much just hold my hand or whatever."

You should not have offered in the first place because by the time the you've made two trips around the wildly looped tracks, you're convinced Jeonghan has already cut any and all circulation to your fingers with how tightly he's gripping your hand.

But still...you can't deny that it feels a little nice to be needed by him.

09. (and in our lives together i have many, many bad ideas.)

“Do I know you?”

Jeonghan makes the mistake of blurting out those very strange words when he catches you sitting right next to him at the bar. You startle when he breaks the ice, fully convinced you're the one who had to initiate when you deliberately slid into the stool to his right.

Amused, you study him without much of a real expression before the tension in your posture melts into gentle laughter.

“No,” you say with a tone that suggests you're making fun of him. “But we could get out of here so we can get to know each other better. What’s your name?”

A dozen expressions flit across Jeonghan's face in mere seconds and you would've laughed again if you didn't know the reason behind the perplexity of his reactions.

“It’s Jeonghan. But you can call me…”

Before he can get the rest of the pick-up line out, he promptly throws up all over your outfit.

10. when we meet as adults, you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you.

"Again."

Your sweat beads across your forehead and drips onto the floor as you catch your breath. Palms braced across your knees, you look up to your mentor with a resentful glare.

In this life, Jeonghan—who was considered part of the 'anemic line' in his group eternities ago—is now one of the most well-known choreographers in the industry and would probably put Soonyoung to shame with how much of a perfectionist he is when it comes to your routines.

"Can't I get a five-minute water break?" you plead.

"You can get one when you think you deserve it," he says flatly before crossing his legs. "Do you?"

Much to your chagrin, you're just as much of a perfectionist as he is in this life. You shake your head with a guttural sigh, forcing yourself back into position despite your muscles aching for a break.

You don't miss the way Jeonghan smiles at your display of determination, but you don't let yourself think much of it either.

11. yet, always, you forgive me.

Jeonghan is upset with you.

He has all the right to be, really. You promised that you'll leave enough candy bars from your Trick or Treat haul to last both of you for a week, but you ended up overeating while binging your afternoon cartoons and now there's only one stick of chocolate left in the hollow, pumpkin-shaped bucket.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "Do you want to go to the candy store to buy some more? I can break my piggy bank if—"

"No, you're saving up for that new game on your Nintendo DS, right?"

The fact that he actually remembers that makes you gape at him. "Um, yeah, but it's no big deal. A candy bar is only worth a few—"

Not giving you any leeway to speak any further, Jeonghan grabs the last candy bar inside the bucket—tearing the packaging open with his teeth before breaking the chocolate in half in the middle. Despite his annoyance, he hands you the other half with a small pout.

"Then just keep saving up so we can play it together," he grumbles and even when he's barely eight years old, it comes so natural for him to show you how much he cares about you.

12. as if you understand what’s going on

"Do you go here often?"

You flash the stranger who's speaking to you a befuddled look—not expecting to hear a line typically used on you in bars at your father's yacht club, of all places. He's wearing tattered jeans and an atrocious pink flannel over an equally tattered shirt. You wonder if he's just going for an odd aesthetic or if he's in dire need of a closet makeover.

"No. I'm just waiting for my father," you tell the man honestly before glancing at the boats docked by the pier. "He bought another yacht that I'm sure he won't even think of after bragging about it to his friends."

The stranger laughs. "I know how you feel. My old man's just as materialistic as yours sounds."

Oh. Maybe he is just going for an odd aesthetic with his fit after all.

"Wouldn't have thought you were a nepo baby, too," you snort before kicking a lone pebble into the water—watching it sink into the depths until it's out of sight. "I thought you were one of the boys that maintain these things while their owners completely forget about them."

"Hmm, I can be anything you want me to be," he chuckles and even if you've only met this guy five minutes ago, something about his laughter sounds so oddly familiar.

"The name's Jeonghan, by the way." The not-so stranger smiles and the feeling that you know him from somewhere intensifies tenfold.

"What's yours?"

13. and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist

You like to think of yourself as an independent person.

You've crossed literal lifetimes in the strangest rendition of immortality that you've never once read in all the books you've deigned to pick up in this never-ending eternity. It's only natural for you to be self-sufficient.

But when it comes to Jeonghan, you always get to refamiliarize yourself with what it feels like to be lonely.

There are things about him that you consider irreplaceable: the curve of his easygoing smile, the warmth of his slender fingers, and the touch you yearn for constantly.

You're perfectly aware that you don't need Jeonghan for all these lives to gain some semblance of meaning. In fact, it's in the lives where you don't meet him that you get to learn a thing or two about yourself.

But when he is there, when he's the reason you get out of bed everyday, you simply think that a second of being with Jeonghan in the flesh is worth more than a lifetime in his absence.

14. and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

Your phone is pressed into your ear in the middle of the grocery store because your good friend Joshua thought it was the perfect time to rant about his insufferable boss.

Being the lovely person that you are, you let him talk your ear off as you parse through the cabbages on display—wondering which one you should bring home for salad night.

"He's such a fucking prick, you know?" Joshua groans out the same sentence for the third time since you picked up his call. "No wonder his wife is having an affair behind his back. That's karmic retribution if I've seen it.''

"Shua, have you ever considered just resigning instead of making me your therapist?"

"I have, it's just that finding a new job is way more of a hassle than dealing with my asshole boss everyday," he grumbles. "But about the therapist thing—thanks for always listening to me. I know I can be annoying at times but you always put up with it any..."

Joshua's voice fades into the backdrop of your mind when you spot a flash of pink in the corner of your eyes. You instinctively turn your head in the direction of a stranger running towards the exit of the supermarket—wearing an atrocious pink flannel that you would recognize anywhere in any lifetime.

You briefly apologize to Joshua before ending the call, shoving your phone into the pocket of your jeans before leaving your push cart to chase after the figure receding from your line of sight.

You just barely catch him hopping onto a bus when your instincts lead you to further outside. You would have sprinted for a ride, had it not been for the children that obstruct your path with a little game of tag.

By the time you finally shake them off, the bus has already driven past the intersection—snuffing out the candle, leaving you in the dark.

15. i hate those. i prefer the ones in which you kill me.

You've watched a dozen serial killer documentaries in your lifetime—well, lifetimes. They always start the same way: a psychopath with a way with words charming his next unsuspecting victim into their utter demise.

While you absolutely did not know that this life's Jeonghan will turn out to be a crazed lunatic that gets off on seeing another human being's blood on his hands, it doesn't really change the fact that your heart is still tethered to him despite.

He still smiles as sweetly as you can remember as the tip of his knife glides along the column of your throat. His voice is just as comforting in those lives where he'd never forget to kiss you good night right before going to sleep.

"You're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" Jeonghan murmurs. "But you'd be so much prettier if you just lay still."

The last thing you remember seeing is the angelic look on his face as if he's the one who'll personally escort you to the next life.

You don't particularly mind.

16. but when all's said and done, i'd rather surrender to you in other ways.

It's only amidst the post-orgasmic clarity that you realize how much of a fool you are.

These quick trysts you share with Jeonghan are brief. He invites you over under the guise of something that isn't sex for the sake of propriety, only to pull you into his apartment and kiss you until stars danced behind your eyelids.

He's flicks the cigarette he's having on the ashtray as he complains about a coworker he's been trying to get with for the past month. She likes playing hard-to-get, but I like her so much that I don't really mind? Is that weird? Oh, do you want a smoke, too? Sure, let me light you a quick one in a sec—

You're a fool because you've spent dozens, if not hundreds of lives chasing after him—whether you yourself are aware of it or not.

To Jeonghan, this is a life he probably won't remember in the next. To you, it's another inescapable death sentence.

"Maybe you should drop the nice guy act," you suggest before taking a drag of your own—not caring how the ashes stain Jeonghan's crisp white sheets despite his protests. "Showing your true colors is what got you to land me, you know."

"And we all know how much of a catch you are." He winks before killing his cigarette on the ashtray.

You're about to respond with an eyeroll until he plucks the cancer stick off your hands as well, disposing of it the same way he did with his own. When Jeonghan maneuvers himself on top of you again, you let out a withering sigh.

"Maybe I should just date you instead," he giggles before leaning down to nip at your ear, slender arms coiling around your waist. "What do you think?"

"You already told me before that I wasn't your ideal partner, asshole," you remind him with a huff.

Jeonghan hums, a noncommittal sound that seems like there's something else layered underneath. "But what if I told you that already changed?"

It's enticing—the possibility of getting to have him again when you couldn't really call him yours right now. But you know better than to take things that aren't meant for you.

At least, not in this life.

"Stop saying silly things and just fuck me already," you grumble, already tugging off his boxers. "Then you'll delete my number right after so you can finally get with the woman of your dreams. Got that?"

17. even though each time, i know i'll see you again, i always wonder

You've always looked forward to summer.

No more grueling classes. No more deadlines to catch up on. Summer means you get to go back to your hometown for a few weeks, unwinding in ways that your usual schedules don't quite permit you to.

Summer also means you'll get to visit Jeonghan again.

Your mother already has food and flowers prepared in advance—saying Mrs. Yoon kicked up a huge fuss when she found out you were going back home this weekend. You receive the news with fond laughter, noting how the flowers Jeonghan's mother picked out are reminiscent of the ones he held in the very first life you met him.

"I'm graduating next year," is the first thing you tell Jeonghan when you arrive, popping open two ice cold sodas before settling yourself on the grass in front of him. "Can you believe it? Four years of college, just gone in a flash. If you actually went through with your performing arts scholarship, you'd know how I feel."

"I'm thinking of getting a job here instead of the city. You know, so you won't feel too lonely without me," you chuckle, the moisture of your drink beading across your fingers. "Although, your sister keeps insisting that they give you plenty of company already and that I should chase after my own dreams first. She's starting to sound a lot like you, you know that?"

Jeonghan doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't. But you can almost hear his stilted laughter in the warm breeze anyway.

You place the flowers and the cola in front of his gravestone with a bittersweet pang in your chest. But before the tears can get the chance to escape, you turn on your heel and leave the cemetery altogether.

You didn't always look forward to summer after the accident that took the love of your life away. But knowing that your best friend—your soulmate—would simply be waiting for you in the next life, things became much, much easier.

18. is this the last time?

"Don't go..."

Jeonghan murmurs the words between drunken hiccups as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You chuckle, smoothing your hand across his sweater-clad back as he clings to you like a koala.

"Hannie, what do you mean?" you whisper as you glance at the mess of empty bottles you'll have to clean up from the coffee table once you put your boyfriend to bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls away from you briefly, puffy eyes glistening with tears as he lets out a shuddering sigh.

"I had a dream that you left me for some guy named...Jeongin, or whatever," he mumbles. "I promise I'll treat you better than anyone else. Just don't...leave me."

In some way, he remembers. Not everything because even you don't completely recall all the lives you've lived. There's too many of them now, most of which are too painful to think about all over again.

But this is the first actual instance where Jeonghan unknowingly hints that his past lives stay with him even beyond death, and it makes you wonder if he'll start to remember the others in time as well.

"I won't, Hannie," you whisper, weaving the words into a promise that you'll be sure to keep in the next life, and the hundreds of lives that will inevitably follow.

"I won't."

19. is that really you?

There are lifetimes where you try, but it just doesn't work out.

Sometimes, fate carves both you and Jeonghan into mismatched pieces of two different puzzles, and he doesn't even try to convince you to stay as you quietly pack away your belongings in dull brown boxes. The tension in your movements tells him that you knows he's watching.

"I'm not getting back together with you, if that's what you're wondering," you rasp. "If you love your job more than me, then I'll be the one to see myself out."

Jeonghan manages a sad smile that you completely miss—having been so caught up with your frustration with him to look. You thought that in each life he ends up becoming a world-famous idol, it meant that he'd also live all of his days with you by his side.

But things aren't always that simple, and Jeonghan merely stands in resignation as you shut the door to both his house and your heart.

20. and what if you're already perfectly happy without me?

When you took up a job as an events coordinator, never in your wildest dreams did you expect to be planning Jeonghan's wedding, of all things.

He doesn't seem to remember you and you don't really fault him for not recognizing someone he's met literal lifetimes ago. Not when he's obviously so enamored with his current fiancé.

"We were interested in the deluxe package on your website," Seungcheol, his intended, breaks the ice after the formal introductions, showing you a screenshot on his phone. "Is this inclusive of a lights and sound system or will we have to outsource those somewhere else?"

You nearly miss what Seungcheol was asking you—too caught up in how beautiful Jeonghan looks today. He's grown out his hair longer than he usually does and it's half pinned behind his head.

When it takes you a while to respond, both his and Seungcheol's gazes flicker with confusion before your heart sinks with how in tune they are with each other.

"Y-Yes, lights and sounds are already included in the package." You compose yourself with a warm smile. "But you might be interested in the royalty package. This would give you access to..."

21. ah, but i don’t blame you.

"Baby, I'm sorry."

Jeonghan looks like a kicked puppy sitting at the side of the hospital bed with how apologetic he is. You want to tell him that it really is no big deal but with the lower half of your body temporarily paralyzed, you can't really say that's the case.

"I shouldn't have insisted that you come to the music show when it was raining," he groans. "It's a miracle you managed to swerve out of the truck's way."

You wonder if he remembers the life where you lost him to an accident not so different from the one you narrowly escaped last night. The absolute fear in his eyes the moment he saw you covered in casts and bandages is reminiscent of the time you received the phone call informing you of your boyfriend's passing.

But you don't make it a habit to ponder too long about lives that have long come to an end. What's important is now, where you're still living and breathing and able to remain by his side.

"It's not your fault, Hannie," you murmur as you reach out to pet his head with some difficulty. "I shouldn't have gone past the speed limit in the first place."

"Well, you wouldn't have to do that if I wasn't being so pushy about you showing up," he sighs in defeat. "Tell you what, I'll pull out of all our comeback schedules until you can walk by yourself again."

You frown at him. "What? No! Your managers are going to kill you."

"They will, but knowing you'll be all alone while you recover will kill me inside too."

Jeonghan isn't usually this cheeky with you, so you keep this memory tucked away in your consciousness for as long as you can. Knowing there's no talking him out of it once he's got his mind set, you shake your head with a defeated sigh.

"You better take care of me like they do in those five star nursing homes then."

22. i’ll never burn as brilliantly as you.

Your favorite lives, you think, are the ones where he lights up the stage and the entire world as an idol.

He's happiest in these kinds of lives. The bond he shares with the rest of his bandmates transcends even the love you've harbored for him through lifetimes, and if there are people you'll gladly surrender Jeonghan to, it's those twelve boys that will always be his brothers no matter what.

"How was that?"

You're in the middle of giving out stage directions for the next round of performers when Jeonghan walks up to you with his signature, lazy smile. He's sweat-stricken with a stutter to each breath he takes, but he makes himself appear just as composed as he wants you to think.

"Breathtaking as always, Jeonghan," you decide to humor him—knowing that the sooner you give him a compliment, the sooner he'll leave you alone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to—"

"Will you be busy after the show? I wanted to cook dinner for us at home."

A panicked look seizes your face when you gesture for him to keep it down. Your eyes dart around the vicinity—idols and their stylists running around backstage in preparation for the next segment of the show. None of them seemed to have picked up on Jeonghan's little slip of the tongue.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" you whisper sharply over the sound of another fellow stage director paging you in the south entrance. "Anyways, I have to go, Hannie. And please don't go blabbing about our relationship where you shouldn't."

When that idiotically handsome smile doesn't fade from his lips, you know things won't exactly go your way as usual.

23. it's only fair that i should be the one

At some point, you stop counting altogether.

The lives you live with and without Jeonghan blend seamlessly into each other the longer the cycle repeats itself. It doesn't hurt as much when you don't find him, but your heart still gushes with relief when you do.

And yet there are instances where you try to spit in the face of fate itself. Instances where you decide that you don't want to be chained to Jeonghan anymore. That the lives you live belong to you and that you won't let some otherworldly force dictate the course of it any longer.

One day in the summer, in some petty attempt to cheat your way out of fate, you decide to date your next door neighbor.

Sujin has the same eyes as Jeonghan—it’s something you can’t really look past. Maybe that’s what makes it so easy for her to wear down your defenses without breaking a sweat.

But the moment the thought crosses your mind, you wipe out every similarity until you can’t see them anymore. They almost look the same apart from gender, but Sujin is so different from Jeonghan, that for a while, you forget about the burden you've been carrying all this time.

One day in the fall, Sujin talks about meeting her brother for dinner, and you don't really ponder about it—agreeing without a hitch.

But that’s only the first of your many mistakes because the man who walks into the restaurant is Jeonghan. Sujin’s brother, the person who’s kissing your girlfriend on the cheek, is Jeonghan.

“Did you know that Sujin never shut up about you when you brought her the housewarming gift?” Jeonghan snorts before ordering a glass of wine. “Hmm, you look kind of familiar, though… Have we met before?”

“No,” you respond almost instantly.

It doesn’t work. Your master plan of waging war with destiny is rendered utterly useless when Jeonghan bruises his way back into your life. Where Sujin managed to ease herself past the walls you've put up after a few weeks, Jeonghan tears them down in half the time his sister took to pick you apart.

One day in the winter, Sujin breaks up with you, and in spite of the coil of emotions twisting in your chest, you watch her pack her things and move back into the apartment across the hall.

One day in the spring, there’s a knock on your front door that you're in no hurry to answer. You stare at Jeonghan with equal parts irritation and relief when you see him there. His grin reminds you of flowers unfurling as he stares back with a challenge in his eyes.

A challenge you loathe, but one you can never refuse.

24. to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

Your head is resting on Jeonghan's lap when he poses the question, and you think the fact that your eyes are closed is already an answer on its own.

You used to think you were cursed. Maybe you've incurred enough bad karma in your very first life to provide you with a steady stream of misfortune in the next few million lives you're destined to live.

That could be the reason why you have to live all these lives, meet all these people—rinse and repeat. Is this how the gods are punishing you? Is there anyway to atone for sins you can't even remember committing anymore?

Though…when you open your eyes and see Jeonghan staring out into the distance, you have a hard time thinking of him as a punishment.

You sit upright and stretch out your limbs. There’s a kink in the back of your neck that might be resolved by a good night’s sleep, but you offer Jeonghan a hand before you can think about it any more.

“No,” you answer as you twines your fingers together, pulling him back to his feet as he spares you a loving smile.

“Not really.”

25. until i find the one where you'll return to me.

"That bouquet's really pretty."

Jeonghan glances behind him with a confused look—frustration clear on his face from trying to get the new stove he had installed in your kitchen last week to start. When his eyes land on the beautiful spill of flowers bundled up in a vase on the dining table, his features soften with fondness.

"Those are the flowers I had when you met me the first time, right?" he chuckles before taking a seat next to you. "The one where I was a 'prick of a model who wouldn't even bat you an eyelash'?"

Your chest bubbles with laughter at his description. You've grown more and more comfortable with telling Jeonghan about the lives you've shared in eternities that have long unspooled, and just when you feared he'd treat you like someone who escaped an asylum, he instead took all your words to heart.

He doesn't quite remember them all on his own, but when you bring up little pieces from old memories you do manage to dredge up, he's able to complete the pieces of the story to form a coherent picture.

Maybe that's what Jeonghan is to you—someone that isn't exactly necessary to have in your life, but someone who makes it infinitesimally better.

If there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that Jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. He can be crass. He can be secretive. He can be nothing short of vexing.

But he can also be kind, considerate, and present in times when you need him the most.

In the end, he's everything you need him to be.

And you couldn't ask for anything more.

⟢ end notes: me: this is a writing exercise, the word count: pushing 7k :') ok so this wasn't proofread even in the slightest so if you spot any mistakes and errors, no you didn't <3 thank you for joining me in this very self indulgent train of delusion!

#svthub #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen headcanons #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan scenarios #lovelyhan #full length fic 📚

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cosmictheo · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

(gif credits to @jdmorganz)

— summary: during a stormy night at bill and frank's house, joel teaches you how to hold your gun, and this opens up the perfect opportunity for the two of you to finally release all the feelings of longing and lust you've been repressed for each other over the past few weeks. —pairing: joel miller x female!reader —word count: 3.8k —warnings: just the reader and joel being horny and a complete slut for each other, some implied sexual scenes, age gap (reader is in her 20s), horny teaching on how to wield a gun, bill being the grumpy dad, frank being the nice dad<3

joel's playlist i made for inspo

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

He came walking into your life as if he already owned it. With that dark flannel, tight jeans around his thick thighs and a face as grumpy as Bill's, and that was saying too much. He looked like a fucking Greek god with his tanned face fucking glowing in the sunlight. It was his fifth visit in your shared house with Bill and Frank, and you wanted him just as much as the first time.

Frank had noticed how you had watched him the first time you had welcomed him into your home, eyes lingering long seconds to analyze his strong jaw, brown eyes, he was sure you would be taking him to your room at any moment, if the man would let you, something that was obviously effective, as he looked at you with the same goofy expression on his face, eyes glowing curious with desire. He shared a knowing look with his partner sitting next to him as they both analyzed the way you were taking longer than expected to pour more wine into Joel's already empty glass, his eyes watching you intently.

“Thank you, darlin'.” The pet name rolling throguh his tongue, in that tone of voice so low and husky that made you crack a smile, caramel eyes tracing a discreet path across the wide cleavage of your summer dress, trailing up your collarbones and neck, until they met yours, already set upon him, of course.

That interaction had been in your wettest dreams. You rarely dreamed, but Joel of course had to be the one to change that habit of yours.

And you could have sworn the reaction hadn't been much different for Joel's side, for you doubted he was dumb enough not to fall for the little games you'd been playing the last few weeks. No. He was a smart man. And he knew exactly what he was doing when he looked at you with that dark, longing gaze and brushed his fingers against yours 'accidentally'.

You were helpless, spinning around him― and he was ruthless, giving you just the right reasons to feel that way.

You pushed any over-lustful and delusional thoughts from your mind, taking a long sip of your wine, savoring the delicious bittersweet taste on your tongue and with it, trying to refocus again on the conversation taking place at the table.

Dinner had been indoors this time, as dark, angry clouds carpeted the usually bluish sky, their presence threatening to unleash a great storm at any moment now. And because of this, Frank was beginning to notice himself getting more worried by the hour.

“You really should stay in tonight, at least until the storm passes.” He proposed, setting his fork down beside his empty plate, friendly and sweet look traveling to the two guests you had at home.

Bill, sitting next to him, grunted, totally objecting against his partner's proposition, of course. “Frank.”

Joel finished drinking his own wine and then shared a glance with Tess sitting next to him, conversing telepathically, you guessed. Sometimes you were genuinely curious about the kind of relationship the two of them had, though you weren't sure if it could even be considered as such, since they only treated each other as friends, very close friends. Maybe they fucked on occasionally. Only they knew that, but the mere thought made your stomach twist.

Tess shook her head, offering you all one of her swift smiles. “We wouldn't want to intrude—”

You were quick to interrupt her, eyes wandering from Joel to her, fingers fiddling with the wine glass between them. Your face lit up as you offered her a reassuring smile.

“Bullshit. We won't sleep today knowing you guys are out there with that storm raging overhead.” Frank nodded, agreeing with you, giving a discreet nudge to Bill's side, who had just grumbled when he heard you were on Frank's side, obviously. “'Mid the rain it's hard to hear much more than your own footsteps.”

“She's right.” Joel muttered, looking at you for a few long seconds before turning to his companion, long, dark lashes smoothing his cheekbones as he blinked.

You drank the last sip of wine contained in the wine glass in your hand as you watched him intently, trying to decipher what was going through his head, analyzing the expression on his handsome face.

“Plus, it's going to get dark soon and that doesn't make the situation any better.” Frank added, trying to persuade them, always proving to have that huge heart he had. His eyebrows raised slightly as he noticed the defeated expression on Bill, him knowing too that he was right, as much as they didn't like the guests, they were Frank's friends, or the closest thing to it.

“Alright.” Tess finally replied, smiling sheepishly. “Thanks, guys.”

“No problem, honey.” Frank shook his hand gently, giving no further interest to the subject. And then he stood up, smiling sweetly at both guests. “I'll show you the guest rooms. You can choose the one you like the most, we have plenty of space.”

Tess followed him down the hall, thanking him again for allowing them to stay, making Frank laugh.

Bill stood up as well, grabbing his plate and Joel was quick to copy his action, but he dismissed him. “Leave it to me. (Y/N) will show you the way to your room.”

He gave you a knowing, warning look before turning his back on you and heading for the kitchen, you rolled your eyes at that.

Joel nodded his head softly, standing awkwardly as he watched Bill make his way towards the kitchen with a couple of dirty dishes in his hands. No more seconds had to pass before his eyes returned to you, still sitting in your seat, and already looking up at him. His gaze softened against yours and you felt the honey color of his orbs draw you to them like a never-ending pool, a caramel sea.

“I suppose you'll want to take a bath first, right?” You questioned looking up at him, batting your eyelashes, you noticed how the curve of his lips curved into a small smile, noticing your pretty big eyes focusing only on him. “I don't even want to think about since when you haven't washed your old ass.”

Joel let out a chuckle now, chest expanding against the fabric of his flannel and eyes softening so beautifully that you had the sudden urge to kiss every single mark on his skin. “Honestly, I don't want to think about that either.”

You offered him a sweet smile. “I can lend you some clothes if you want.”

“That would be great.” He nodded his head, returning the smile this time, a real smile. “Thank you, darlin'.”

And there was the pet name again. Goddamn.

His hands were hiding in the pockets of his jeans, a hint that let you knew that he was either nervous or uncomfortable, you weren't quite sure what it was, but your presence definitely caused a reaction in him.

“Follow me, cowboy.” You motioned with your head as you passed him, heading towards the stairs.

He heeded you instantly, steps hurrying to keep up with you, eyes scanning your body from behind, pausing for a few moments at the way your tight pants molded to the curve of your hips and ass, moving up your waist. He had never been jealous of an article of clothing until that moment.

He even imagined his hands running over your body, molding your waist the way your pants did throughout the shower he took, once you handed him a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt you wore to bed from time to time. The thoughts and fantasies of all the positions he wanted you in his mind made his shower go fast, too fast. He couldn't get you out of his head, Joel felt like he would go crazy at any moment.

And when he finally turned off the hot water and dried off, and got dressed in the clothes you had lent him, he had to close his eyes for a few moments, letting himself fall into the exquisite sweet scent that they were impregnated with. Your scent.

And the fact that he would be sleeping just on the other side of your bedroom wall had his head spinning.

Before passing in front of your room, he took a sigh, shaking his head lightly, in an attempt to push all the filthy thoughts away. He felt like a fucking pervert.

A smile rose to his lips as he peeked through the open door of your room, leaning against the threshold.

“Ain't that a pretty sight.” He grumbled in an amused tone, his forearm rising against the wood, eyes analyzing you as you fiddled with your small pistol, baggy polo shirt brushing a little lower than your bare thighs, loose hair falling down your shoulders.

A feeling of shame rose in his chest, feeling that he had intruded too much, for this was your territory, your personal space and he had simply barged in against the boundaries, a girl who was at least 20 years younger than him, but, it was also true that really, at that point, he wasn't thinking straight, he didn't see clearly anymore, he only saw you, the prettiest girl he had seen in decades, maybe in his whole life.

Your eyes fell on him on your door, allowing you a couple of seconds to admire how good he looked in the gray sweatpants, of course you had passed them to him on purpose and dear God, what a good view. His dark hair was still damp and a couple of gray locks were falling down his forehead, and due to the width of the shirt, you could see a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.

“My pajamas look better on you than on me, damn. That Strokes shirt? It totally fits you.” You commented in a joking tone, now taking the gun in your right hand and lowering it.

Joel rolled his eyes at your playful voice, already used to your jokes, which were usually directed at him in the last few weeks, having left your former spotlight on Bill behind, fortunately for him.

“Have you ever shot that thing in your life, kid?” A single eyebrow rose on his brow, him taking on that playful tone now, full of pure shared complicity, just the two of you.

“Not really.” You replied simply, eyeing the gun in your hand still and maintaining an innocent voice.

Joel hesitated for a few moments, but asked the question anyway. “Then how come you were out there all those months by yourself?”

His gaze was filled with curiosity and confusion, crossing his arms now. You thought he had done it completely on purpose and also that he had caught you ogling his flexing biceps, but he remained silent, waiting for your answer.

You just smiled. “I have my ways.”

And he knew what that meant, for any fool would give his life protecting you and defending you from any goddamned thing that threatened your well being if you claimed to stay by their side. And fools, there were many, as many as there used to be. He considered himself a fool too, in that case.

“Hm…” he hummed, not wanting to push you any further with questions about the past, "let me see your shooting stance then, smartass."

Curiosity rose on your pretty face at his words, but you heeded his command, grabbing the gun with both of your hands now and positioning your feet and legs as you assumed was a shooting stance, of course purposely misplacing it.

“You plan to shoot somethin' standin' up like that?” Joel questioned, analyzing you disapprovingly, but, his brown eyes sparkled with amusement. “Bill would really dislike to see you right now.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Bill dislikes looking at me at any time.”

“What are you talkin' about? The man adores you.” And who wouldn't? He wanted to have added. Joel sighed. “Stay right there.” Uncrossing his arms and making his way over to you, he finally entered your room, once and for all.

Your breath hitched as he positioned himself behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the beating of his heart in his chest and his warm, minty breath against your neck.

His hands went around your body while with one leg he gently spread yours as far apart as necessary. His fingers brushed against the skin of your arms as they lengthened, hands covering yours completely around the weapon now.

“Left squeezes down on the right, like this.” He guided you as he gave your hands a gentle squeeze under his, positioning them correctly. His breath brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke in a low tone so thick you felt it's vibrations throughout your body, your heart beginning to pound. “Take your finger off the trigger or you may cause a problem. You only put it on the trigger when you go to shoot, okay?”

“Okay.” Your lips quivered as did your voice, speaking almost as faintly as a tiny mouse.

“You need to bend over a little for me now, sweetheart.” He whispered against your ear, his southern accent making your heart skip a beat. “Arms outstretched, hands straight— that's it.” You remained silent, completely speechless, for the only thing that could ever come out of your throat would be a fucking whimper. Your body would melt at any moment against his.

Seeing that you maintained the correct position of your hands and arms, his hands now moved down to your waist, positioning your hips as they were meant to be.

“Your hips have to hold your whole body, keep them steady— firm, your feet too.” His little finger lightly brushed against the bare skin of your thigh as he moved your hips, making you exhale air through your teeth. “That's it, good girl.”

Under his palms he could feel the straps of your panties through the thin fabric of your shirt and the and the thrill and heat of it all rushed through his body, right down towards his crotch.

“Mhm… you're not half bad.” He opined taking in your entire posture now, lifting his head slightly over your shoulder, his hands venturing slowly up your waist, uncovering and molding every curve they traversed. His breath collided against your neck, giving you goosebumps. “You're not bad at all, kid.”

You swallowed saliva and dared to finally turn your head, meeting his face inches from yours. His nose had always struck you as one of the most attractive things about him, and seeing it from that angle it really was something else. You wondered what it would feel like to sit on it. Fucking hell.

Your eyes moved from his down his face, until they stopped on his lips, the mere image made you lick yours, half-opening them, almost able to taste them on your own.

He half-opened his mouth and you didn't have to look at his eyes to know he was hesitant, unsure, but, despite all the thousand emotions he felt, he stayed right there, hands clasping your waist, pulling you as close to his body as possible. Waiting for your next move. Probably thinking you'd slap him right there for being an old fucking creep, maybe you'd shoot him too.

But, what you actually did was lean closer to him, twisting your head in a not so comfortable and natural way, but which was certainly worth it once you joined your lips with his.

And it didn't take Joel more than a second to fall into what was really going on and adapt to it with pleasure, following your lips and closing his eyes with delight. His hands tightened around your waist, turning you in his arms so he could kiss you better, twisting his head slightly, nose brushing against yours in the movement.

Without even opening your eyes, you dropped the gun ;―completely empty, by the way― and your hands went up his chest, wrapping around his neck as you made him walk backwards, his back meeting the door, which at the force, closed until his back was pressed against it, with you secured firmly between his arms.

A breathy little moan climbed up your throat as Joel nibbled on your lower lip gently, breaking the kiss and allowing you both to catch your breaths. And he can swear that that little sound he got out of your mouth is how they receive him in heaven.

His eyes remained closed for a few more moments, still savoring your exquisite taste in his mouth.

One of his hands rested on your face, cradling your cheek, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. His eyes, though dilated, were as soft as ever once he opened them again.

Joel sighed against your mouth, trying to catch his breath, calming all the lust that threatened to take over his whole body. “We really shouldn't.”

But the truth was that he did want to, he did want you, with all his body and soul, every part of him was screaming out pleas to just let himself be carried away by you, to let himself fall into your hands.

You looked up at him with big eyes, confused by his words and totally astonished by what had just happened, but shook your head lightly, your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling it still wet.

“You…” your voice sounded hesitant, face falling with sadness, perhaps disappointment well, “you don't want me?”

Joel felt his chest tighten as he saw fear peek through the beautiful look in your eyes and quickly rushed to reassure you. He would have laughed at how truly silly your words were, given the situation and how you practically had him melted between your hands, by just one damn kiss and your closeness.

“No, baby— of course I want you.” His fingers soothingly caressed your face, so delicately over your soft skin as if you were a doll, made of porcelain. You twisted your head, still confused by his sudden rejection, prompting him to explain further. “Of course I want you, you're the prettiest thing my eyes have ever seen, for God's sake. But we shouldn't… I couldn't do this to you.”

“Joel,” his name came so deliciously out of your mouth that he closed his eyes to hear it echo inside his head, trying to hold himself back, “I've waited so fucking long for this moment and now that I have it, I won't waste it just because of your old man antics.”

“It's not about antics,” he explained after twisting his head, raising his eyebrows at your words and usual sassy behavior, brown eyes opening, threatening to bathe you in their glistening caramel color. “I'm trying to make things right here.”

“If you're worried about the age difference, you're wrong, Joel.” Your fingers sank into his hair as you spoke to him in a soft tone, noting how his gaze had fallen back to your lips for a few moments. “There is no right and wrong in this world anymore, so... why should we held back?”

“You want this too?” He had the nerve to ask, voice low and raspy, tilting his head slightly so he could look at you. “You want me?”

If there was one thing Joel disliked and well, hated, it was intimacy, sharing his vulnerable side, letting his weaknesses show. He'd barely been lucky to do that with Tess, because they'd known each other for years. But with you… everything was different. He couldn't just fuck you and never talk to you again, he couldn't do that, because you simply weren't that to him. You were so much more than that.

“I'd let you fuck me all goddamn night, Joel Miller.” You answered him instantly and a hint of a smile rose at the corner of his lips at your words and the assurance you put into them. “So yeah, I've never in my damn life wanted anything so badly as I want you.”

“All night, huh?” He questioned in an amused tone, eyes analyzing every detail of your face, both hands were now on your face, fingers tracing nonexistent lines and patterns on your skin. “I don't know if my body can take that much back pain. My young days are far behind me now.”

“Then just lie back and let me ride you.”

Those were the words he just needed to hear before fucking avalanching against you, joining his lips with yours in a now, more passionate and exciting kiss. His hands cradled your jaw, keeping you close to him, right where he wanted to have you.

Your hands moved down from his neck to the edges of your shirt and Joel helped you pull it off your body, lustful eyes, eager to see your body without fabrics getting in the way.

“What about Bill and Frank? Tomorrow I want to leave this house without a bullet fired between my eyes.”

You smiled teasingly against his lips. “Relax, they already know. Smart-asses, remember?”

He was aware of the relationship you had with Bill and Frank, especially the former, for he had been the one who had found you in the first place, merciful enough to let you live and let you into his home. And well, who could say no to those big eyes and innocent, pretty face? Even Bill hadn't been able to fight against it.

“Right.” He answered breathlessly, not really having the slightest idea of what you had just said, as he was so intently concentrated on contemplating the magnificence of your body, completely enthralled, blurred mind and all. Suddenly, the sweatpants were too tight in his crotch area.

He was just taking the time he deserved to observe you in front of him, leaning up to leave kisses on your jaw, down your neck, past your shoulders. His hands moved up your waist, stopping under your breasts, his gaze moving up from them to you again, eyes as sweet as honey, but so dilated, darkened by lust and desire, eager for more of you.

In an instant you deduced what he was trying to say from his gaze and before he could even formulate any words, you stroked his cheek, thumb tracing his lower lip affectionately. “Just touch me Joel, please. I'm all yours.”

“Goddamn it.”

― — ―

Morning had arrived and the sun was shining high in the sky as if one of the most chaotic storms of the last few months had not passed just the night before.

“Good morning.” You greeted Bill, Frank and Tess sitting at the table, your hand clutching your coffee cup.

Joel was already seated as well and under Bill's frowning gaze, he gave you a short look, barely smiling in your direction as he took a sip of his own coffee, black and bitter of course.

“Mornin'.” You were greeted back by him, perching the cup on the side of his toast and giving you an affectionate look. You smiled back at him.

Tess looked at her partner with a raised eyebrow, noting the shared complicity in your interaction, as did Bill and Frank, of course, who shared a single knowing glance, Frank smiling and Bill with his lips as pursed as his brow.

You cleared your throat, taking in your hand one of the cookies you had baked with Bill the day before, trying to ignore the awkward silence that had suddenly formed.

“So…” Frank began to speak, tone playful, but face with feigned concern, “it really was rowdy last night, a lot of noise out there.”

Your eyes widened at his words, second meaning all too obvious to everyone. Joel took a long sip of his coffee once more, lowering his eyes to the surface of the table after running into Bill's watchful, almost killing gaze.

“Really loud storm.” Tess agreed with him, nodding her head slowly and bringing her cup to her mouth. Of course she would never stop teasing Joel about this.

“I hate the storm.” Bill mumbled with a displeased face.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel my beloved #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

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avatar-anna · 5 months

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Champagne Problems

so...this is super long, the longest fic i've written in a hot minute. like 18.k words long. i wasn't going to post it until part two was underway, but i'm kind of excited to share it. here is the aftermath of champagne problems...

Part Two

*.*

"Don Perignon, you bought it, no crowd of friends applauded, your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems."

Your fingers moved across the keys of the grand piano as you mumbled softly to yourself, only loud enough that the voice recorder on your phone would pick up on it. This wasn't your typical method of songwriting, you weren't even sure there was a song to actually write; but the melody had been haunting you for days, pressing against your mind until you finally sat down and played it.

It wasn't often you thought of the events that occurred a year and a half ago. You usually did everything in your power not to think about that night, knowing that nothing ever good came out of dwelling on that particular wrinkle of your past. You only looked forward, sometimes hoping that if you didn't think about what happened, your memories of the worst night of your life would eventually disappear from your mind altogether.

But there was something about this melody that brought that night to the forefront of your memory. You'd played it over and over on the piano for a few minutes, waiting for the words to come. Your mind kept circling back to the past, and after trying to avoid it, you finally let emotion win out. No one was in the studio with you anyway, it would be safe to unlock that particular box. Just for a few minutes.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked up in the head," you said to yourself, the last part coming out as an afterthought. You laughed a little to yourself, remembering the disapproving stares and the whispers behind your back that people always thought went unnoticed by you. "But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shed."

Despite knowing that leaving your would-be fiance was the right choice for you, breaking up with him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It still hurt to remember that night, to recall the look of absolute devastation on his face when you stopped him from reaching into his pocket for the little velvet box you knew was in there. He didn't deserve to be wrecked so thoroughly, especially by someone like you. He had been sweet and kind and gentlemanly. He treated you like a princess and defended you to his family when they didn't approve. He was everything a man should've been to you and more.

And all you could do in return was prove his family right.

You stopped murmuring lyrics for a moment, letting that last thought float through the empty room on somber notes. You thought about your ex now, wondering where he was now and hoping he was well. You hoped he was in love and happy, that he'd forgotten all about you. He deserved all the best things that love could grant a person. You wanted that for him. You wanted someone who had the capacity for the kind of love he wanted to give.

Repeating the last few lines again, the next few thoughts came pouring out of you, the words carrying a bittersweet taste to them.

"Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my Champagne problems."

The song tapered off soon after that, and you realized there was nothing left in you to say. You felt lighter afterwards, as if pushing some of those long-forgotten memories out of you and onto the grand piano eased the weight you'd been carrying around on your shoulders for the last eighteen months. Quickly stopping the recording, you set a reminder on your phone to listen to it tomorrow and write down everything you'd said. The recording itself was lengthy, long pauses stretching between lyrics as you worked through your memories and attempted to vocalize them. Hopefully something was there to actually mold into verses and a chorus, if not, it was a rather odd but surprisingly satisfying therapy session.

Gathering your things into the bag at your feet, you stood up from the piano, stretching your arms above your head. It was easy to get lost in a good melody, but your poor body always paid the price if you spent too much time bent over a guitar or piano.

It was as you stretched that you realized someone was at the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as you shouldered your bag and slipped your shoes back on your socked feet. He didn't say anything as you walked over to him, just stepped out of the way so you could walk out of the studio. Harry normally wasn't this quiet, in fact, he could be quite the chatterbox if the mood struck him. But his silence told you he'd probably heard more of your session than you would've liked. Because one thing Harry liked to do in all his chattering was pepper you with questions about yourself, which was annoying since you were constantly trying to have him not get to know you.

"Coffee?" was all he said as you walked toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The sleeve of his patterned sweater brushed against your arm, and you resisted the urge to lean into him. He always wore the coziest clothes when in the studio, and it made you want to walk just a little bit closer to his side, for no other reason than the feel of soft material on your arm and not the person wearing them.

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

Harry qucikly pressed the button when you reached the elevator, and you couldn't help but laugh a little. In the time you'd spent not getting to know him, you discovered that he was the kind of person that just had to press the elevator buttons. It didn't matter how many people he was with, it was like he took joy in something as simple as getting to press a button and watch it light up beneath his finger. He'd actually speed-walked to get ahead of you a couple times just so he could press the down button. It was kind of annoying, and perhaps a little childish, but you'd surprisingly grown to find it endearing. A quirk of Harry's that just made him who he was.

The ride down the elevator was quiet, and it wasn't until you were out on the street that he finally spoke. "I'm thinking about getting a pet."

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable questions about the song you'd been recording, and when they didn't come, your shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, though you were sure Harry noticed. "Really?"

"Yeah. All my friends are disgustingly in love," Harry said with a playful shudder. "I'm feeling like a third wheel most days, so I thought I would seek companionship of the furry variety. Wait, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

You chuckled at his stuttering, at the flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. "I know what you mean," you said, sparing him any more embarrassment. "So what are you thinking then? Dog? Cat? Hamster?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," he said, quickly recovering from his chagrin. "I'm not sure I have the time necessary to devote to training a puppy, but I'm also worried about getting a cat and it absolutely hating me, and..."

You listened as Harry explained in great detail the pros and cons of each kind of domestic animal one could have. He spoke animatedly with his hands, looking at you with those big green eyes of his, as if to make sure you were following his train of thought.

You never planned on befriending Harry, and even now you weren't sure that whatever was going on between you was considered a friendship. You'd always been the type to keep to yourself, especially after what happened with your ex. You'd not only lost him after the break up, but friends too, friends who thought that what you did to your ex was despicable and reprehensible and not worth keeping a friendship over, picking sides when you hadn't realized there were any. It hurt to lose so many people in one fell swoop, and you decided soon after that you were better off alone. Except for your brothers of course, but all of you kept so busy that it was hard to keep track of one another on a good day.

Outside of them, you realized it was hard to hurt someone when there was no one around you to hurt.

But Harry was different. You'd seen him around the building where you worked on your songs—in the hallways, waiting for the elevator (after pushing the button, of course), at the vending machine, on your way out of the studio or while he was entering it to start his session. The first thing you noticed was that he was never alone. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing you really noticed was his smile, how it lit up his entire face and showcased the most adorable dimples you'd ever seen. But since you refused to admit that, the first thing you noticed was that he was never alone.

Harry was always coming and going with one or two or sometimes three people around him. He was always engaged in some kind of conversation, his head always turned as he listened aptly to what his friend was saying. It seemed so odd to you that he was hardly ever by himself. It was like a foreign language to you, and you imagined your constant solitude felt the same to him.

"Anytime you want to weigh in here would be great."

"If you want a pet, get one," you said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes as he held open the door to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the street from the building where you both worked, as if he was expecting anything other than your usual direct way of speaking. "If you don't keep this conversation going, then I'm going to have to ask about that incredibly depressing song you were working on, so please, indulge me in the great pet debate of twenty-eighteen."

For the most part, Harry was a pretty easy going guy. He had no problem carrying a conversation, and knew when not to pry. As the months went by, though, he knew how to get you to talk, how to find trap doors in the fortified walls you kept around yourself before you even knew they were there. It would be frustrating if his questions didn't always come with an endearing smile.

So you shrugged, eager to steer clear of any topics regarding your past. "I don't know, I'm a little biased. I've always been a dog person. Buddy's my best friend."

"First of all, I'm offended by the fact that I am not your best friend, and second, since when do you have a dog?"

The conversation paused while you and Harry went up to the counter to order you coffees. Both of you went there enough that the staff knew what you liked—dirty chai for you and an americano for him. It also meant you didn't have to deal with the barista having a mini-freak out at the realization that Harry Styles was in their coffee house. People tended to interrupt your conversations with Harry regularly—on the street, in line for coffee, at the table—but he never seemed bothered by it. He always smiled and indulged in a couple minutes of conversation and the occasional picture before waving goodbye. He always apologized to you afterward, but after the first couple times it happened, you waved him off. None of it was actually his fault, and seeing him interact with his fans became something you actually enjoyed watching. And it was perhaps a very small reminder as to why you preferred to just write songs for other artists, not perform them. You didn't need that kind of attention. For Harry, he seemed to come alive like a flower in bloom.

You? You would probably just wilt.

When you and Harry sat down with your drinks, he raised his brows for you to continue. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you shrugged again. "I've had Buddy for about a year now."

"What kind of dog?"

"Mostly pitbull, I think. I found him in an alley behind a restaurant once, and I know what shelters do to pitbulls, so I adopted him."

You'd come to think of the whole thing as Buddy finding you.

"And you named him Buddy?"

"Yeah, I don't know, after Buddy Holly I guess." You'd grown up listening to classic rock because your brothers did, and the name just kind of made sense to you. And he was just so cute, he was your little buddy. Big buddy now, you supposed. You thought he deserved the cutest name for the cutest boy in your life.

The rest of your time in the coffee house was filled with chatter, mostly from Harry. He talked a little more about the Great Pet Debate, then about the project he and his team was working on. An album, though they were only just getting started seeing as Harry just came back from tour. He tried peppering you with the occasional question, knowing if he asked too many you'd clam up and shut down. It was almost like Harry knew that you were fighting getting to know him, but that it wasn't just him, it was everyone. He was patient with you for some reason, though, seemingly content to chip away at the brick walls around you. Even if all he had was a spoon.

"So...What were you working on at the studio?" Harry finally asked.

You knew it was coming, so answering didn't seem so daunting. "I'm not really sure. The melody had been in my head for days, and I finally decided to play around with it."

"A perfect non-answer from Y/n L/n, everyone," Harry said, though you knew he was joking. His eyes were crinkled with mirth as he hid behind his cup, his brows raising to give you a knowing look.

Nothing about your past was easy to talk about, so you just didn't. After your breakup, you didn't even tell your brothers the finer details, not wanting to relive it or face all their questions. It all brought you an overwhelming sense of shame and despair. But maybe there had been something cathartic about your session today and it left you feeling lighter and open because you found yourself sharing more with Harry.

"It...reminded of me and my ex, so I kind of just let it all out. I'm not even sure what I was doing constituted as songwriting, but," you looked down at your mug. "The melody dredged up some old memories, I guess."

"It sounded painful," Harry said, his voice taking on a soft, sincere tone.

You knew he meant well, but the sympathy made you skittish. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Right, of course," Harry said, catching on to your mood change. "Well, um, my friends and I are having a little get-together of sorts this Saturday. You should come."

"A party?"

"No. A get-together. Very different," Harry corrected.

It made sense, the last time Harry tried to invite you to a party his friend was throwing, you politely declined, claiming they weren't really your thing. They weren't, but it was more that having friends wasn't really your thing.

You wanted to say no again, but when you met Harry's eyes, something in you hesitated. His expression was open, earnest, like he would genuinely be upset if you said you wouldn't come. You didn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with you so much. Maybe you felt a little bad for always pushing him away, or maybe you were actually warming up to him.

"I, um...that might be fun," you said, not sure if it was nerves or excitement swimming in your belly.

The way Harry's face lit up made saying you would come worth it.

After a few more minutes at the coffee house, you and Harry went your separate ways, but not before he made you promise to join you on one of your morning walks with Buddy Holly. Something must've been in the air today, because you found yourself nodding before heading down the street away from him.

On your way home, you got a phone call from your oldest brother Evan. "Hey, Evan. How's life treating you in the Big Apple?"

"Just fine. It'd be a lot better if I got to see my kid sister more often. Are you still coming for Thanksgiving?"

Of your three brothers, Evan was the one who checked up on you the most. Perhaps that was the nature of being the oldest of four, but he had always been the most responsible, the one to keep you and your other brothers in line. Well, mostly your other brothers. But Evan had always looked out for you. He was the only one you told at length about your breakup. You'd confided in him all your life, and he was coincidentally the only one of your brothers you could count on not to go and beat up on your ex or his family.

"Flight's booked and everything," you told him. "Not sure if I can swing a trip to the lake house, though."

Despite your less than ideal upbringing, you and your brothers had all done pretty well for yourselves. No thanks to your parents, seeing as you all shared a dad who never liked to be with the same woman twice. But you and your brothers all stuck together through thick and thin, supporting and celebrating and sticking together despite the differing parentage between the four of you. And now you were all scattered, your brothers Andrew and Hayden were professional athletes and Evan was a bigshot lawyer. Once you moved out of your hometown, you really only saw your brothers for holidays. And the occasional surprise visit from Andrew, though that hadn't happened in a while.

"That's okay," Evan said. "Next time."

"Next time," you agreed. Then, "How's the family?"

"Good. Sammy's gotten so big. And Laura's already showing."

You grinned as you imagined Evan's family. He deserved a happy ending with a loving family after raising you and the idiots you called brothers. "Another team member for the family football game."

"Speaking of the family football game," Evan said, and you mentally cursed yourself. "Laura's been dying to know if she should set an extra spot at the table."

Immediately, your mind went to Harry, but you quickly whisked that thought away. "Nope. Unless Hayden's got a new girlfriend."

"Really? No one?"

You narrowed your eyes even though Evan couldn't see your expression. "Why are you fishing? Gossip is Andy's thing."

"What? I'm not fishing!" Evan spluttered, but you just scoffed and waited. Evan might've been a shark in the courtroom, but he'd always been terrible at lying to you. "Fine. Laura was reading one of her gossip magazines, and you know I don't pay attention to those, but you know, I might have seen someone who looks an awful lot like you pictured alongside a former boy band member."

Well, shit. You knew that was a reality of being Harry's acquaintance, but you'd always done your best to not pay any attention to it. So far it had done a good job, but now it was coming to bite you in the ass.

"It's nothing, Evan. He's an artist. I'm a songwriter. We work in the same building," you said.

"Fine! Fine," Evan said, and you could just picture him holding his hands up in surrender the way he'd done since you were a teenager. "I just thought I'd ask now and try to soften the blow. I'll just leave you to the wolves."

"Damn you, Evan," you muttered. Evan was the easy brother. It was Andrew and Hayden you had to look out for. They would interrogate you relentlessly, or worse, squeeze the life out of you until you caved. Sighing deeply through your nose, you said, "I will ask if Harry has plans for that weekend. And that is it."

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

"You love me!" Evan called just before hanging up.

The call ended just as you pulled up to your apartment. You sat back with a huff, marveling at the strings your brother managed to pull from thousands of miles away. But deep down, you knew Evan was just looking out for you. After everything that happened eighteen months ago, he'd been keeping a close eye. As close an eye as he could all the way from New York. But that was how things worked between you and your brothers. You all looked out for each other, and your older brothers acted as personal security guards to any and everyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. It was both endearing and very annoying.

Very annoying. Now you had to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. Evan was so going to get it.

*.*

On Saturday, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror longer than you normally would've. Harry had used the term "get-together" as a means to ease your nerves, but now that the dreaded day had come, you realized you weren't sure what that meant in terms of dress code. Was this thing laid-back? What if casual still meant dressy to Harry and his friends? Harry usually walked around the studio in jeans and faded t-shirts, but he was still a celebrity. He could see this as an opportunity to dress up.

You looked at all the clothes spread out in your room. You'd changed an embarrassing amount of times now, but nothing seemed fitting for the occasion. I could always text him, you thought, biting your nail as you surveyed the tornado of clothes around you. Harry had given you your number earlier this week so he could text you his address. You hadn't wanted to, as it would open the flood gates for conversation outside the studio, but you eventually gave it up when he stared blankly at you after offering your email as an alternative.

Before you could think too long about it, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text. Before you even had a chance to set it down, Harry sent a reply.

Harry S: We're just chilling at my house. Dress as comfortably as you'd like :))

Well, that wasn't helpful at all, you thought, but didn't say to Harry. You went back to rummaging through your pile of clothes, creating a spot for Buddy when he ambled into your bedroom from the kitchen. In the end, you settled on something simple: jeans, platform shoes, and a colorful fleece jacket over a plain shirt. It felt silly to have wasted so much time on your wardrobe when all you were doing was going to see Harry. And his friends. And that was...intimidating.

The anxiety of meeting Harry's friends, of meeting anyone new, crept through you. You didn't want to go and face the inevitability of disappointing them. Your track record with friends was pretty abysmal. But you found yourself kissing Buddy's head and promising you wouldn't be gone long, and then you were getting in your car and plugging in the address Harry had given you.

The music playing in your car calmed you some. Etta James' voice was both familiar and comfortable, welcome feelings as you pulled up to Harry's house. House was a bit of an understatement, though. Maybe a villa, or an estate. The LA version of those sprawling castles that were all over Europe. Your shoulders were tense as you cruised up the long driveway, though your anxiety eased a bit when you saw that had seen about as much life and mileage parked up front as yours did.

Music was playing inside the house, you could hear the trill of soft guitar and the low hum of a male voice from outside, and you worried if anyone would be able to hear you as you knocked on the door. Thankfully, you only stood on Harry's doorstep for a minute or two, then Harry's familiar grin greeted you.

"You made it!" Harry said, pulling you over the threshold and in for a quick side hug. He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed and green eyes bright, perhaps from drinking. He shook his head a little before pulling you further into the house. "Come in, come in, everyone is just through here."

Harry led you further into his home, giving you a chance to look around. Despite the grandeur of the outside, Harry's house was actually quite cozy and inviting. Everything was in warm tones, and potted plants and bookshelves piled high with a mix of books and records with titles you couldn't read from this distance. His house looked actually lived in, which couldn't be said for some of the other celebrity homes you'd been in. It didn't happen often as you preferred to work alone, but you occasionally dabbled in writing sessions with other artists. Their homes looked much more modern, and much more cold, than Harry's did.

"My home in London is much smaller," Harry said, noticing your craned neck. Then he shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "But I liked the look of this place. It reminded me of a house I go to in Italy most summers."

"It's beautiful," you said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy."

"You've never been?"

You shook your head, admiring the arch leading into an open kitchen. "I was supposed to go for—"

For my birthday, you couldn't bring yourself to say. Gavin had planned a summer trip to Italy for your birthday, but that never happened. You surprised yourself by revealing that much, and by the way Harry's eyes lit up, you'd taken him by surprise too.

But he didn't press you to finish your thought. He just smiled and led you further into the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

Harry talked while he fixed up your drink. He'd tried to persuade you to take a shot of tequila with him, his eyebrows wiggling up and down, a look on his face that you'd seen one too many times on your brothers when they were trying to stir up trouble. You declined with a laugh, opting for a glass of wine instead. Maybe a boring choice, Harry definitely thought so as he teased by saying, "Booooring!" but you needed to be sharp, and tequila tended to have the opposite effect, so red wine it was.

"Everyone's through here. I hope you like games because Kid brought a new one over and everyone has become quite invested."

Games? Is that what Harry Styles did on his evenings off? Play board games with his friends? Before you could ask, Harry led you into his living room, where everyone was in fact sitting around a rather spacious coffee table, a board game and playing cards spread out around it. It was a small group of about five or six. For some reason you expected more people, even though Harry said otherwise. They were all talking amongst themselves, talking strategy, you presumed, as you recognized the game as one of those territory-winning ones.

All the talking stopped, however, when Harry introduced you to the group.

You felt their eyes on you, judging, picking you apart where you stood. You began to curl in on yourself, wilting at the attention. Involuntarily, you took a step back, but Harry's hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting against you. You should've pulled away, but you didn't, thankful for at least some kind of familiarity among all the new.

It had been so long since you'd had to meet new people in a non-professional setting. You'd met with producers and artists and other industry people all the time, but there was always a wall of professionalism between you and them. You knew how to navigate that space with ease, but here, where people were sitting on pillows and holding playing cards, where you stood as the outlier among what was clearly a tight-knit group, you felt very much like a fish out of water. A fish in space.

"H—Hello," you managed to say, giving everyone a small wave.

One person got up. A young woman with short brown hair, winged eyeliner marking the corners of her eyes. Her smile was surprisingly warm, but what had your eyes widening even more was when she pulled you in for a hug, squeezing tight.

"I'm Sylvia," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

You probably shouldn't have said that, but you weren't expecting such a warm welcome.

"Harry talks about you constantly. I swear sometimes he purposely keeps you from us."

"That is not—That is not true," Harry said, speaking to you for a moment. He sounded serious, but his eyes were filled with amusement as if he was used to Sylvia's teasing.

Everyone else introduced themselves, and you tried to keep a smile on your face as you committed their names to memory. They were all part of Harry's "team" except for Sylvia—writers, producers, musicians. "And you?" you asked her as she pulled you down to sit next to her. Sylvia had insisted you be on her team while you learned how to play. She seemed nice, eager to get to know you, but you didn't trust it. Not yet.

"I'm a full-time mom most days, and a part-time life coach to this one," Sylvia joked. She seemed too young to be a mother, but you supposed they came in all shapes and sizes. "But I'm Harry's nutritionist. And friend when he's not being a pain in the ass."

There was a wry grin on the young woman's face that told you she was fond of Harry, and fond of teasing him, if said grin grew when Harry said, "Hey," was anything to go by. It eased your mind a bit, her kindness and obvious fondness for Harry. She spoke animatedly as she caught you up on the rules of the game and gossip from her yoga class. "They're all in love with that one, of course. Can't take him anywhere," she said with a nod in Harry's direction.

When you agreed to join Harry tonight, you figured you would spend your time with him. But Sylvia kept you occupied most of the evening, and he and his friends were rather invested in the game. You were content to watch, enjoying the playful bickering and shouts of surprise and celebration. It was interesting to see how they all interacted with each other. Harry and his friends sat and drank around his coffee table while you nursed your drink, observing with the sweet feeling of nostalgia swimming through your veins.

"Y/n?"

You jumped in your spot on the floor, your wine sloshing around in your glass a little. Thankfully, nothing poured out. You would've been mortified if you'd spilled red wine all over Harry's most likely exorbitantly expensive carpet.

Eyes flicking to a man with short blond hair, you said, "Sorry?"

Kid, you were pretty sure his name was, asked his question again. "Did you first start writing here in LA?"

"Uh...no. Nashville, actually," you said. "I lived in Nashville for a while before moving out here. But I...grew up in a small town just outside."

"You never told me that," Harry said, sounding both intrigued and a little hurt that you'd never shared that with him before.

Emboldened by your near-empty glass, you said, "You never asked."

That earned a few chuckles and a raised brow from Harry as if he'd just accepted a challenge you hadn't meant to create. But you read that look in his eyes with ease. Any look was quite easy to read from Harry. He was expressive, an open book. He was going to take this as an opportunity to ask you all the questions he'd been witholding.

Throwing back the rest of your wine, you avoided his eye and ignored the excited flip in your belly.

*.*

If it wasn't for your dog, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with Harry Styles and his impossibly long gait.

He'd kept to his word, insisting that he join you on one of your walks with Buddy Holly. It wasn't until a few days after you went to his house for the first time, but one morning before you usually headed into the studio, he texted and asked if he could join you for your morning walk with your dog. It took some convincing, which really only meant a series of uninterrupted texts until you finally relented.

Buddy took to Harry immediately, of course, though that wasn't a surprise, seeing as your dog was friendly with everyone. But it meant a lot to you that he seemed to like Harry so much. Buddy was a rescue, and you couldn't imagine the awful things he'd been through before you'd given him a proper home.

Now he walked on the sidewalk excitedly, pulling you on his leash as his stubby tail waved around wildly. Harry walked beside you, his curly hair pulled back with a little black claw clip, some of it sticking up in a cute tuft. As he walked beside you, you took the opportunity to study him. There was a little scruff on his cheeks and jaw, creeping down the nape of his neck. His jaw was strong and angular, his cheekbones sharp. Harry really was beautiful. You understood why so many people went so crazy for him.

"See anything you like?"

Warmth flushed your cheeks as you quickly looked ahead, even if the damage was already done. Harry rarely, if ever, caught you staring at him, mostly because it didn't happen often. But in the last few weeks, you'd found yourself admiring him more and more. The movements he made with his hand as he told a story, the mischievous glint in his eye when he made you laugh, the way his arms moved beneath his shirt, how his lips curled around a smile. You cataloged each mannerism, each vocal inflection, and after just a few weeks following that night at his house with his friends, you felt like you knew him quite well.

Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance as your eyes darted back to Buddy, who had stopped to sniff a tree.

You could feel Harry's gaze on you, but you tried not to squirm. His gaze pricked your skin, making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't have been feeling. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating, and you didn't like how much you were warming up to him.

Used to your wordless answers, Harry moved on. "You're making me rethink my decision to get a cat."

"You decided, then?"

"I think I'm more of cat person," Harry said. "Well that, and I think I've found the one, but I'm worried about all the traveling."

"It can stay with me," you said, eyes widening when you did. But it was true, you realized. You were close enough to Harry to promise that kind of thing.

"Well, in that case," Harry said, and you finally looked over to him.

His grin was wide as he looked down at you, and though you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you knew they were more than likely squinted with mirth. You liked that smile, you realized. It was uninhibited, full of warmth and good intentions. You wanted to trust it, to give in to the friendship Harry was offering.

But you couldn't. Harry didn't deserve the abysmal companionship you offered in return, and you felt bad for leading him along when you knew you'd eventually fuck things up. You always did.

Your phone buzzing thankfully pulled you away from your thoughts. Looking at it, you saw a text from your brother, Hayden. You think Laura will be cool with a few football players in her house for Thanksgiving? it said, and you shook your head as you typed a quick reply, a small grin spreading across your face.

Hayden was only going to be in town the day of Thanksgiving, as he had a game the day after. You didn't think he would make it at all, seeing how full his schedule usually was, but he managed to squeeze it in. Apparently his game wasn't too far from Evan's house. As long as he, and his teammates now, didn't drink too much, they would be just fine.

You: I don't think so. Laura might put y'all to work around the house though.

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

Hayden: Because I can sit you next to one of my teammates.

Hayden: I take that back. Forget I said that. No teammate of mine is going near my sister.

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed your phone in your back pocket. Harry was looking at you with a curious gaze, and you scrambled to explain yourself. "My brother," you said. "Apparently he's inviting some of his football buddies to Thanksgiving this year."

"Does he play at university?" Harry asked. You could almost hear the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to learn more about you, and while sharing in general made you squirm, your brothers were fairly easy to talk about.

"He did. He's in the NFL now."

"Oh nice You must be—Wait what's his name?"

"Hayden?"

Harry stopped walking for a moment. When you tried to stop too, Buddy protested, tugging the leash, and the wrist you had wrapped around it pulled uncomfortably. Murmuring a quick apology, Harry kept walking, keeping pace with your energetic puppy.

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

You nodded. "I'm guessing you've heard of him then?"

A bark of laughter slipped from Harry's lips. You'd never seen him so caught off guard before. It was strange, but also a relief to know that someone as steady as Harry wasn't so unflappable all the time.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, "I think everyone has heard of him. Any other famous brothers I should know about?"

"I don't know how you quantify fame, but my other brother is in the NHL. He plays for a team on the east coast."

Andrew was the youngest of your family. Despite that, he still considered himself your older brother, which had always been annoying growing up, especially when you were taller than him for a few years. He was rather sweet for someone so aggressive on the ice. He spent a lot of time with his mom, but was still close to you, Evan, and Hayden. It was hard not to be when you all shared the same deadbeat dad.

Outside of Evan, you probably talked to Andrew the most. You were the closest in age and grew up going to school together, and while his main focus was hockey, whenever he was in town, he'd go with you to concerts to see whatever indie band you were into or treat you to tickets to a show at the arena he played for.

"You have a third, right?" Harry asked, and you weren't even surprised that he remembered even though you were sure you'd only mentioned it once or twice.

"Evan. He's a lawyer in New York, but he lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter," you said.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. You were looping back around on the trail, heading back to the park entrance where you'd met Harry this morning. Evan would pester you about it until you did, or worse, get Hayden and Andrew involved. You just had to throw it out there, be as casual as possible. Easy. You were all about being casual.

"So, um, he—Evan—he, um, said if I wanted I could invite a friend to Thanksgiving. If I wanted to."

"Oh yeah?" You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Swallowing thickly as you willed your cheeks not to flush, you continued to look at Buddy as you spoke. "You probably already have plans, but I just thought I would ask if you wanted to come. Laura, Evan's wife, is a great cook, and it's usually pretty low-key until football gets turned on. But no offensive aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just us."

That was definitely too many words, but the amused look in Harry's eyes didn't feel antagonizing. "I would love to, but um, I already promised my mum I would go home that week."

"Oh." You didn't mean to sound disappointed. It was a good thing that Harry was going home to see his mother. And him meeting your brothers for the first time all at once probably would've scared him out of talking to you in the studio, so really it was for the best. It was for the best. "That's okay. You must be excited to go home. How long has it been?"

"London? Not too long, but I'm headed back to Manchester, and my mum has not been shy in letting me know that it's been too long since..."

You listened to Harry the rest of the walk back, trying to fight off the disappointment gnawing inside you that he'd said no. You didn't want that feeling in you. You wanted to be indifferent. It's for the best. You repeated it over and over until you convinced yourself it was true.

*.*

"You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason, Champagne problems."

You scribbled in your notebook, crossing out words from the original recording and replacing them with better ones. You hadn't planned to go back to this song. After recording it on your phone, you figured it wouldn't see the light of day again. But something kept bringing you back to it. So you worked on it between other projects, playing around with the lyrics and melody in small doses so that the past wouldn't overwhelm you.

Guilt seeped into your bones as you recalled what happened eighteen, almost nineteen, months ago. Sometimes you wished you could forget everything you'd done, but other times you decided being forced to remember was part of your penance for causing so much pain. Gavin was a good man. He was so kind and so smart, he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. And you'd taken his goodness, you'd welcomed all his kindness, and crushed it in your hands.

Wiping away a tear, you shut your notebook definitively. Your session in the studio was far from over, but you were done for the day.

On your way out, you kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your watery eyes. You could feel the tears building, and you hoped you could at least make it to your car before you turned into a mess. It was so hard sometimes. Some days you felt great. You would write good songs, take Buddy for a walk and teach him a new trick, you would get coffee with Harry and laugh, and everything would be fine. But then there were days where the mere thought of the past sent you careening off course, leaving you with nothing but the intrusive thoughts you thought you'd learned how to keep at bay.

Today happened to be one of those days, and you hoped you could escape and wallow in self-pity unnoticed. But before you could even make it to the elevator, you bumped into something solid and warm. Arms wrapped around you to hold you steady before you could spring back, and against your better judgment, you looked up, an apology poised on your lips.

"Y/n, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You should've known that you would be unlucky enough to run into Harry on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head and stepped out of his grasp, though that didn't make you feel any better. "I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," Harry insisted. His brows furrowed with concern, but he didn't come any closer. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a hat covering up his hair, with only a few stray curls sticking out beneath it. He looked like he was just going into the studio for a session.

"I'm fine, I promise," you lied, not wanting to be the reason he was late for studio time. "I'm just leaving for the day."

You tried to step around Harry, but his hands fell down on your shoulders. His gaze burned, but you couldn't make yourself look him in the eye. You knew the moment you saw the sympathy swimming in them you'd burst into tears.

"Please let me go," you said, but it came out as more of a squeak, your voice breaking on the last word.

To your surprise, Harry did, and even though that was what you'd asked for, what you wanted, you somehow felt worse. Shuffling around him, you mumbled a quick goodbye and bypassed the elevator, not wanting to wait awkwardly for it to come up while he was still in the hall. It wasn't until you finally got in your car that you let everything out, all the guilt and loneliness and self-loathing that you kept bottled up regularly.

So often you were able to pretend the past didn't exist. But then there were days where you were almost slapped in the face by the consequences of your actions. Negative thoughts followed you all the way home and into your bed. Not even hiding under the covers kept you from feeling everything all at once. Your mind spun as you thought of Gavin, of his elated grin crumpling into a look of betrayal as you told him you were ending it.

You remembered every detail from that night. The brand of Champagne Gavin bought for the would-be occasion, the woodsy cologne he wore, the looks on his friends' and family's faces as you hurried down the stairs to leave the party, unable to bear their shame and disapproval, or the heart you'd broken on the landing in his family's mansion.

You didn't know he was going to propose until mere moments before it happened. You had only been seeing Gavin for a few months, and things were good. He made you happy, and you liked having someone to go through life with. He liked to shower you with expensive gifts, for no other reason than to show you he cared and because he could. You didn't have the same kind of wealth he or his family did, not even with the substantial amount of money you made as a successful songwriter. But you'd write him poems and leave them places you knew he'd find them and looped your arm through his at company parties. Things were good.

Every year, Gavin's family hosted a Christmas party, and last year was the first time you'd been invited. You hadn't wanted to go, mostly because in the two weeks leading up to the party, you realized you weren't in the same place Gavin was emotionally, and you weren't sure you ever would be. But Gavin insisted, promising it would be fun and he wouldn't abandon you to his family, who had been nothing but cold since the moment he'd introduced them to you. So you went, sipping on Champagne in a glass made of crystal and wondering if the guilty pit at the bottom of your stomach would ever stop growing.

It was a couple hours into the party when you'd stumbled on a conversation between Gavin's mother and sister, one that made your blood run cold with dread.

"Did Gav really ask you for your ring?" his sister asked.

His mother nodded gravely. "He wants to do it tonight."

"What? That's ridiculous! They've barely been together a year!"

"I'm sure she would make a lovely bride, she's beautiful, I'll give her that," his mother conceded, but you could hear the disdain in her voice loud and clear. "It's just a shame that she's—"

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

"What? She is! She's a total basket case, and everyone can see it but him. She'll never make him happy. How could she? Putting a ring on it doesn't change a thing. Gavin would have a psych patient, not a wife. He deserves better."

The rest of the night was a blur, but you knew you couldn't wait. You didn't want to break up with Gavin on the night of his family's Christmas party, but if he was going to propose, you couldn't let him. The hurt would be so much worse if you had to slide the ring off your finger a week or two after the proposal.

Gavin called you for weeks afterward, begging you to help him understand. His family did too, and his friends, people you considered friends as well, but it was clear once there was a line drawn in the sand where everyone stood, and they didn't have any trouble letting you know how horrible you were for doing what you did. Sometimes when you let yourself get angry, you wondered why Gavin's mother and sister, or any of them really, were so aggressive about your break up. They'd never wanted you to be with him in the first place, and even though they'd gotten their wish, they still called you a heartless monster.

But above all that, Gavin's messages made the deepest cut. He sounded so devastated in each voicemail. And at first, all he wanted was to talk, to somehow work it all out as if it was one big misunderstanding. I know my family can be a lot, but I love you so much, he'd said in a text. We can go to Italy like we'd planned. Elope. Buy a little cottage and just start a new life somewhere else. Please, Y/n. Talk to me. I love you.

Messages like those were the toughest pills to swallow. You knew Gavin loved you, you never doubted that for a moment. The problem was you didn't feel the same. You didn't know why. You cared for Gavin a lot, and in the beginning, you had all those giddy, initial relationship feelings, but they never developed beyond that. And when you noticed Gavin's feelings growing more and more each day while yours didn't, you started to panic.

But it was when those messages turned angry, hateful even, that hurt the most. It was what you deserved after what you'd done, but to know that you'd turned one of the gentlest souls you knew into a spiteful one killed you almost as much as stopping him from getting down on one knee had.

In the midst of all your crying and hyperventilating, your phone buzzed. Wiping your eyes and nose, you lifted your phone to your face, squinting at the bright light.

Harry S: I know you probably want space, but I'm here for you xx

You shouldn't be, was your first thought, but all you texted back was, Just a bad day that's all.

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles album #fine line era #fine line album

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violetrainbow412-blog · 4 months

Note

hii, I wish to request a Willy Wonka x reader 😭🙏 where reader doesn’t like chocolate at all because it’s too cloying, so Wonka tries to make the right candy (or chocolate) to give it to the reader at Christmas Eve (he wanted to gave reader a small gift before Christmas day, like a form of confessing his feelings to the reader). And reader also prepares a small gift to Wonka bc they also want to confess their feelings to him

Reader can be gender neutral, or however you want

English isn’t my first language so sorry any grammar mistakes, also sorry if I didn’t explain myself well

have a good day and thanks for reading 😭🫶💐

The Bittersweet Gift of Love [W. W]

Willy Wonka x gn!reader

word count: 1.8k

note: don't worry! English is not my first language either. I have to admit that writing with neutral readers is always a challenge for me because I translate my texts directly, but I think this time it's a decent thing. I hope you like it!!

taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos [Timothée masterlist]

What could a chocolatier give to a person who didn't like chocolate? That was the question Willy had been asking himself for the past few weeks.

You hadn't specifically said that you didn't like chocolate, rather it was a matter of not liking the excessively sweet or sticky taste that some had. That is, most of the chocolates he made.

“Maybe it's just that you haven't found the right flavor,” he had told you once, while the two of you were talking.

And he was quite convinced of that, even thinking that if he managed to make something special for you maybe he would earn some affection from you. It would be as if he gave you a certain part of himself, so that you could make it yours.

So it was that Wonka, after reflecting a lot, decided to try all kinds of combinations until he found one good enough to satisfy you. Christmas was approaching and he believed that the occasion would be perfect not only to give you the present, but also to take an important step for which he had not yet had the courage: he wanted to confess his feelings for you.

The man didn't know much about love, however, he knew that he liked you a lot and he wanted you to know it. It was just that he was pretty nervous about it and he hoped everything would turn out as perfect as possible, after all, you deserved it.

Christmas Eve came when he was least expecting it and then it was time to dress in shades of green and red to attend the party that the Smith family would throw, as a thank-you to everyone after Dorothy had heard what the entire group did for help Noodle when she needed it most.

Willy put a lot of effort into buying, with some of the few coins he had left, a cute outfit appropriate to the occasion that he combined with his characteristic coat. When he was in front of the library door he felt the little purple box in his hands extremely heavy and he thought it would be a better idea to put it in his pocket, or else you would realize ahead of time the surprise he had for you.

“Mr. Wonka,” Dorothy greeted, as she opened the door “Come in, come in. It's freezing outside”

“Good night, Mrs. Smith,” he murmured cordially, removing his hat and placing it on a rack in the entryway. Apparently he was the last to arrive, since everyone else was already talking happily in the room.

Of course his eyes went directly to you, who was wearing a green sweater that highlighted your beautiful skin tone and you already had a huge smile on your pink lips from the cold.

“It's good to see you, Mr. Wonka,” said Abacus, being the first to speak “Sit over here.”

He smiled internally at the good fortune that the place the man had left him was right next to you and when you gave him a look, he felt himself blush.

“Hi,” he murmured shyly.

"Hello! I'm so glad you could come."

“I would never miss it,” he responded smilingly. His knees collided with yours and suddenly your warmth seemed to invade him as well, perhaps because of the closeness, but also because of the overflowing love he felt for you “How are you?”

With this question you began a pleasant and private conversation, which developed between close whispers and giggles that made him increasingly nervous. The others didn't mind too much that you didn't participate in the general talks, as they knew that certain unresolved matters probably needed time.

You ate the delicious dinner that the family had prepared, you drank punch, you sang some Christmas carols and when the night had advanced enough you returned to your previous place, although now with fewer people around.

“This is so nice, I love Christmas. The atmosphere is always so homely and warm” you said, with your eyes resting on the simple tree that adorned the room.

It was almost midnight and the others were in the kitchen sorting through some of the cookies that Noodle had put there an hour ago, which only left you and the chocolatier in the living room.

“I guess I believe you, your eyes are literally shining now,” he said happily. He felt like sliding his hand into yours and this time, steeling himself, he didn't hold back. You flinched slightly when you felt that.

“What are you doing?”

“I have something for you,” he breathed, feeling strangely excited by what he was about to do “It's a gift.”

“Oh, Willy,” you responded, a bit incredulously, as you bent down to grab something from your bag on the floor. “I have something for you, too.”

He chuckled when he saw the box lined with bright red and a purple bow decorating it, since it was a pleasant coincidence that you had also prepared something for him.

“But don't tell anyone, because he didn't bring gifts for the others,” you added, quietly, and then he helped you up, still holding onto your hand.

"Come with me"

He led you to an empty room and he closed the door behind you, hoping he only needed enough minutes to not raise suspicions among the rest of the guests. You were nervously holding the gift, with both hands now that he had let go of you.

“Okay, listen. I wanted to do something special for you today,” he began to explain, as he pulled the box out of his pocket. “And I also added, uh… a note. You don't have to read it now or anything, but it says something in it that I want you to know."

“You're starting to scare me,” you stammered, obviously nervous. Willy was going to ask what you meant until he saw you take a small envelope out of your pocket, which you placed on the red paper. “Because I have the same thing for you.”

He stumbled a little at the second coincidence of the night and he wondered what your note could be about. He knew that he had written a little poem confessing how he felt about you, but... what if you were just wishing him a Merry Christmas? He was going to look like a complete fool.

“You can read mine in a more… private place if you feel comfortable. Maybe alone,” he suggested, though he knew it was more for his comfort than yours.

“Huh, how about we just open the gifts and leave the notes for later? I wouldn't want you to read mine now either” you murmured, just as shy as him.

Willy agreed and you extended your gift in his direction, hinting that he would be the first to open. He undid the bow, carefully, and then opened the box, revealing a beautiful scarf.

“Wow, I…”

"Do you like it? I made it myself”

“I don't believe you,” he said immediately, looking even more surprised. “It's beautiful, I really love it. Thank you so much"

He wasted no time and placed the garment around his neck. Curiously, it matched the rest of his outfit.

"It looks pretty"

“Mine is also a gift made by me. Feel free to tell me if you don’t like it, I… I’ll understand, okay?” you looked a little confused at that and then he took out the piece of chocolate, carefully placed inside the box “I know you don't like chocolate, but I don't think anyone should live without consuming such a great delicacy. So I made you this, because it doesn't have those things that you don't like. It's... different, but I hope you like it”

With some shyness he offered you the sweet and you put it in your mouth, under his watchful eye during the process. You tasted what he had offered you: it was a little bitter, but not in that way that makes your head hurt or leaves a bad taste on your palate, but with just the right touch. It was firm and didn't melt in your mouth, but decent enough to chew on. And finally, it had a touch of something indecipherable to you, but that gave it a certain exotic flavor that was pleasant to your senses.

He, without knowing everything you were experiencing, kept looking at you because he wanted to analyze your reaction to know what you really thought, and luckily your reaction showed agreement with what your chocolate lips said:

“It is the best chocolate I have ever tasted”

Willy felt that like the greatest compliment in the world and he couldn't help a smile crossing his face, satisfied with himself for having achieved his goal, but above all for seeing the happy expression on your face.

“You will never have to eat chocolates you don't like again, I have a jar full of these just for you. They will even bear your name."

It was inevitable not to take a step towards him to hug him and the boy, although at first he seemed surprised, soon responded to you.

“No one had ever done anything like this for me. I appreciate it a lot"

“Well, it's my Christmas gift. I wanted it to be something special,” he confessed, feeling his heart beating in time with yours “Merry Christmas, Y/N”

“Merry Christmas, Willy,” you said. The note in his hand felt extremely heavy and he was eager to read it, but he knew he would have to wait a while.

Suddenly you heard Noodle calling your names and you got out of there before anyone else noticed your absence, which worked because the girl was walking around the hallway when you were closing the door.

“It's going to be midnight, come here,” she said and you obeyed.

Dorothy revealed that she had a small present for each person and you began to look under the tree, eager to find out what would be in those little boxes. It wasn't something very ostentatious, but you were grateful anyway.

So, when no one was looking, you ran to the bathroom to finally read whatever he had written to you, hoping it wasn't as embarrassing as the confession you had made. You were stunned to learn the content and for a moment you feared you were dreaming, but you weren't.

When you left you knew well what your intentions were and your heart stopped for a moment when you noticed that Willy was nowhere to be seen, until Lottie told you that she had seen him heading to the kitchen. You rushed over and when you opened the door you noticed that he was about to do the same, with a bright expression on his face.

A second later he had already pulled you inside and without saying another word, he kissed you.

#wonka 2023 #willy wonka x reader #wonka x reader #wonka movie #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee x reader #willy wonka #roald dahl #wonka fanfic #willy wonka 2023 #wonka fanfiction #willy wonka x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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yandere-wishes · 8 months

Text

‧ ₊˚✧ Do Not Weep Hydro Dragon ‧ ₊˚✧

Summary: There's a crack in Neuvillette's heart that bares your name. He sheds a tear for you each day. Yet once you return to Fontaine with your fiance. The cracks and tears begin to grow.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, arranged marriages, affairs.

Author's note: I'm sorry 😭💔😭💔

There've been rumors circling around Fontaine. Ghostly whispers floating between coral-tainted lips and fervid ears. The rumors spoke a bittersweet name. One Neuvillate had long since buried. At first, the notion of your return had felt like a bad dream. like the roar of a tsunami before it crashes on shore. Terrifying yet, ultimately unreal. He'd summed the rumors up to some traveler who bore your mien. To an erroneous article by the steam bird. Anything. anything at all.

Anything that wasn't you.

It wasn't until after a particularly grueling trial that he'd witnessed the truth behind these rumors. There you were in all you're glory. Gleaming akin to the finest pearls laying dormant in the primordial sea. Your expression, when he could catch it, was gleeful, delighted, A drastic contrast to his last unfortunate memory of you. His eyes follow the delicate movement of your gloved hand as it stifles a cheery giggle pouring from your cherry lips. It's only after noting your delight that he becomes conscious of the gentleman accompanying you. A ginger with bloodthirsty eyes and a soul that reeks of carnage.

A splash of heat rolls down Neuvillet's cheek. Right before a splash of cold splatters across his temples. his attention narrows on the sky, as the

clouds begin to weep. What once was a peaceful sunny day shatters like a wine glass on porcelain tiles. Humidity threads through the air robbing him of his breath.

It's raining.

How fitting, Neuvillette thinks as he watches you and your companion run to find shelter.

Neuvillette recalls your smile almost as clearly as he recalls your pulse under his teeth. The taste of your flesh as his teeth left bloody love bites in every wrong place. He remembers saying I love you, albeit there was more to it than that. It had started with I love you and ended with every truth he'd forgotten how to tell. He had shed his human masquerade, in the hope of finding true love. You had screamed that night. You had screamed every night since.

Neuvillette thumbs through his memories. As the rain outside grows more ferocious. He remembers you standing by the sea, he remembers you telling him the phobias that ran deeper than blood.

You hadn't been from Fontaine, not originally. A fallen gear from an ancient automaton whose kin resided across the sea.

You'd been raised in the ways of the hydro court. Even if 'raised; was too generous a word. Morphed or sculpted may have been more appropriate synonyms. You grew up clawing at your own skin, trying to find who was underneath the layers of mindless expectations. You'd been raised as a lady and grew into a harrowing beast that feasted on the stars.

Yet even creatures of unparalleled strength had their weaknesses. Even ever-blessed vision wielders bore a certain Achilles heal.

Yours so happened to be your incompatibility with your foster nation. Or rather with the water itself.

When people asked, as some had tended to do. You'd weaved them tales about serrated Pisces and dorsal-finned leviathans with open maws awaiting their prey. You don't tell them about the vastness, the dark blue landscape that feels all too wide and all too endless. You don't tell them about the things you swore you've seen lurking beneath the infinite waters of Fontaine. And you most certainly leave out the parts about the creature who engraved fear upon your bones many moons ago before you even knew how to walk.

Neuvillette remembers your eagerness to leave. That had, ultimately, been your bonding point. He'd been an outcast. The supreme justice was ever only relevant when he upheld the law. And whilst Supreme Justice Neuvillette was revered and adored by all. Plain Neuvillette was nothing more than a shadow of evaporated water that hunted the streets of Fontaine. You had never wanted to mingle with the people. Keeping everyone at arm's length. Maybe it was fate that had brought two lonely souls together all those moons ago. Maybe it was something else.

He had loved you. He swears it on the Hydro archon ( or any other Archon who lacks Furina's fickleness) He'd tried to show you that the waters of Fontaine meant you no harm. He'd even shown you his true form, the utmost assurance. Maybe that's why you fled. Maybe that's why you'd left him heartbroken one morning when the sun didn't rise.

It had rained that day. As well as the following days. Until the surrounding islands ceased to exist.

You'd left him hollow and alone.

Yet your return made the cracks in his heart fester.

Neuvillette had taken it upon himself to cloak you in his watchful gaze.

He'd come to notice how you and that dreadful Fatui Harbinger you'd come to associate yourself with. Rather liked taking long walks

where the sea kissed the shore. He'd also noticed a ring of Snezhnaya Alexandrite perpetually wrapped around your finger.

Neuvillette's footsteps are heavy as they collide with the concrete. He's closer today. So close he can practically smell the scent of citrus and eucalyptus. If he reached out with his powers he could surely touch you, feel the warmth of your body bleeding into him, just like old times. He misses you, yet a part of him pities your return. Neuvillette's grey eyes follow your desolate gaze. It rips open one too many wistful wounds.

"So then Teucer said...Hey darling are you listening?"

Childe's eyes follow your frozen glare, tracing your line of sight straight to the menacing waters that refuse to part from your side. You hear your lover mumble a faint 'right'. Before you feel his silk-clad fingers dance across the back of your neck. Flirting with the chilling fear that rolls off you in waves. You pin your body to him, finding comfort in the familiar scent of his cologne as you bury your head in his neck.

"I'm truly sorry for this darling" Sincerity rolls off his tongue, percolating into the tender kiss he presses to your temple. "I've just been feeling...down lately. Like this inexhaustible sadness is going to swallow me whole. Fontaine was the only place I could convince the Tsaritsa to transfer me for a short while. I just, I need a break from it all." You answer him in a low melodic hum. You get it, truly you do. Sadness is a poison, acidic in nature. It engulfs one's soul. Melting away their purpose, their resolve. Eating away until it reaches their hearts, their desires. It leaves behind empty shells and broken pieces too fragile to ever fully mend.

Who better than you to understand the pains of being soulless, bereft? A mere shell awaiting a miracle that had died long ago.

There's a voice, carved from velvet and silk. It rolls across you like a tidal wave. Potent yet soft. It whispers your name and calls out in hopes of mending broken hearts. You turn to look behind you. All you see is the endless sea.

It's only on the fourth day of your visit that Neuvillette permits you to see him. Actually, see him. It's no longer his ghost that haunts you nor the empty waves that he commands beckoning you by name. It's him, really him. His glare is relentless as he leaves a prolonged kiss on your knuckles. You're in the middle of a conversation with that dreaded harbinger. Something about his older sister wishing to take to shopping upon your return to Snezhnaya.

"My darling it's been all too long, how fare thee my-"

He's cut short, how rude. Yet far be it from him to expect proper mannerisms from the Fatui.

"Hey, I'm having a conversation with my betrothed. Don't interrupt." Childe's eyes morph into his own glare. One which promises blood and violence. The fates of those caught on the other end of said glare are never pleasant.

"As the chief justice of Fontaine, I have to right to interrupt any conversation I see fit."

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. Choke the fear down with a cup of Fonta and ask Neuvillette to join the two of you. It's the nostalgia talking really. Some remnants of the past collide with the present causing your heart to adopt an unsteady rhythm.

It's after that event that Neuvillet permits his presence to be seen by you and your "lover". He's always a mere breath away, following under the guise of being a gracious "tour guide". But tour guides do not wrap their arms around a lady's waist when her fiance isn't looking. Nor do they sneak kisses behind open parasols. You haven't protested about any of this. Maybe your fear of the hydro dragon has perished, replaced with a yearning for your former lover. He prays to every star in Tyvat for this to be true.

It's on the day of your departure that you receive the bad news in the form of an army of Gardemeks. Childe is being arrested, something about a serial disappearance case. Something about a trial. It's a ruse you feel it in your bones. Neuvillette personally appears at the docks and holds you in his arms as you weep. He assures you this will all be cleared up soon. That you have nothing to fear.

But you do, you have all so much to fear. Neuvillette permits you to stay at his house whilst the trial takes place. He traces the shimmering blue of your veins with his lips. He says he loves you, that he refuses to let you slip from between his fingers ever again. He'll keep you here. Keep you safe. Away from the Fatui.

Away from Ajax.

How he wishes he could tear the universe apart with his teeth. Part the oceans and bury the two of you under it. He dreams of keeping you by his side away from everyone else. Neuvillette is the chief justice of Fontaine, it's a prestigious role, one that demands trust. Yet maybe, just this once. He'll have to find the accused guilty regardless of the evidence.

Tag list: @rebeccawinters @fangirl-katwithclaws @starshiningsirius

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ca-8 · 2 months

Text

"Thank You, Angel..." (Part 1 of ???)

Silence screamed.

Drops of decay either echoed in the distance or fell inches from his withered nose. They aided in the cackles and chirps and growls that erupted from within each shadow. Each shadow that held home of the little critters with those little desperate, famished white eyes and wide toothless grins ready to devour anything with even a hint of a pulse. And when those critters couldn't stand the empty pits of their stomachs, those cackles and chirps and growls and drops of decay sang along with the tormenting squelches and tears of his miserly flesh ripping off and into those widened, toothless grins. And when they were done, after hours of slow, burning agony and screaming filling their stomachs, and the decay hushed to sleep as those horrible little critters scurried off toward their master -

silence screamed.

DogDay hated it all. He hated each sound of falling wood or concrete or spare intestine hitting the floor. He despised the critter's sounds as they drew near. But most of all, he hated the silence, because it was a constant reminder that his friends were gone and no hope gave a breath.

All alone. Always alone. With nothing but a wonder as to when he would finally draw his last breath.

Poppy's words once gave him back a lifelike glimmer. She speculated that someone had to come back here to save them all, an ex-worker, a total stranger -

an Angel, perhaps.

Just someone, anyone who can release them of this constant, lingering, rotting despair.

But so much time has passed. DogDay lost count at…he didn't even know, it's just been years and years and years, perhaps even decades. An eternity of this sickening silence since the day their revolutionary feast took place.

That glimmer was smothered out long ago.

Were those footsteps?

Not the little pitter-patter of those godforsaken critters, no - human footsteps. They were distant, but carefully drew near. As they closed the distance, a shriek from those little monsters echoed throughout the prison.

DogDay's head perked up, but only slightly. If he had a little more energy he'd call out for help, and more certainty too. Maybe he was finally going mad. Maybe what's left inside his head is feeding him false hope with these made up sounds hinting to a rescue.

No, not a rescue. Whatever he had left was drowned in the past.

His head slumped back down, and critter's shrieks halted. But the footsteps grew closer. DogDay didn't want to remove his gaze from the floor and risk disappointment, he knew it was nothing, that even if someone managed to sneak in here, there was no way they would survive this hell. He knew that thing was right, no one was coming to save-

"Oooooh nooo…"

His head sprung up, earning a little gasp from a

a human. An actual human, standing right there in front of him. It - They - couldn't be a hallucination, could it?

No. No hallucination. No human either. With how those lights beamed down on their glowing, moving skin and illuminating the life in those eyes, this was a blessing from Above. "Hello…?"

DogDay realized they were inching closer, but he was too stunned to flinch or tell them to get away. He could only voice his stagger.

"You…You're Poppy's Angel," he choked out through his voice box. "Come to save us…!"

The Angel blinked. "Uh, yeah…" Their eyes were widened; no surprise, anyone not too familiar with this decrepit place would be shocked to see him like this. A pathetic, filthy excuse of a dog wasting away. That's what they were thinking. They had to be. "Nothing left to save, not here…" He held his head back down.

"What're you talking about?" Their voice was as sweet as honey, so filled with life.

"You're in CatNap's home, Angel. Their home." Just saying that thing's name left a disgusting bittersweet taste in DogDay's mouth, but he was given a second chance at being useful, he had to take it.

"A million of pairs of eyes are on you right now," he continued. "Watching…waiting….hungry." A faint spark of terror flooded the (e/c) in those beautiful, breathing eyes. "They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit." He spat out the last word before heaving in a gasp. "…fill what feels empty inside themselves."

"I-Is that…what happened to you, DogDay….?" they asked, eyeing the bitter remains of his lower half.

They knew his name. He appreciated that, although couldn't express it too much. "I'm afraid so, Angel. Because of…that…that thing. CatNap. The Prototype is his god, and this is what he does to heretics."

The Angel snuck a glance at the darkened hallway outside their halo and quickly returned their gaze to DogDay. He continued.

"These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate, and in return, they are fed." DogDay coughed. Black substance spewed out of his mouth and onto the floor. "We tried to fight it, the Prototype's control. I'm…the last of the smiling cri-"

His right arm fell to his side.

…Wait.

DogDay's ears bucked up and he turned to his side. His right arm dangled heavily right by his torso, and the belts that were supposed to be supporting it up to the ceiling were cut short. His gaze whirled to his left side and saw the Angel reaching up to cut off the other belts.

"Angel! Wh-Wh-What're you doing?" he frantically yelped, swinging his torso back and forth.

"Sorry to cut your speech-thing off so quickly, but I think we may have a problem!"

It was at that moment DogDay heard the heightening shrills and screeches from the critters. A sharp chill ran down him and his heart stopped. They were coming; so many were coming! Coming for him! He was about to die if they couldn't get away!

"Angel, please, go! Leave me! Save yourself!" he pleaded desperately. A growl erupted right next to his ear, and DogDay turned to come face-to-face with a miniature Bobby Bearhug. A scream almost escaped his throat until a small flare flew past his face and shot mini Bobby back into the darkness.

"I'm sorry, but could you stop moving so much? This is hard enough as it is!" As they said that, their knife (which he noticed was strangely colorfully patched together) cut through the first of the two left belts. His body darted right towards the floor, but not until Angel caught him with their arm.

"Angel PLEASE! I beg you!" Tears pricked his empty sockets. The shrills were so loud they might as well be on top of them.

But the Angel kept their gaze glued onto the last belt, and as soon as mini CraftyCorn entered the cell, he was finally free.

The Angel hopped down and kicked mini CraftyCorn back into DogDay's worst nightmare: a sea of predators mirroring his friend's appearances. The Angel spun around and ran the opposite direction.

"Don't worry, I got yo- OOOOOO-!!!" The floor collapsed beneath them, and they landed right onto the bottom floor. Well, more like the Angel fell right onto the floor with DogDay cushioned safely on top of them.

This couldn't possible get any worse.

DogDay tried turning his head. "Angel? Are you okay? I'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean it! I didn't mean for this to happen! I swear!" He wanted to get off of them to ease whatever pain they were in, but his arms were held up for so long, he could barely even feel anything in them anymore. 'Pathetic! I'm pathetic!'

"I'm fine…I think-!" The Angel got up and sprinted to the end of the hallway. "Just don't look back!"

They held DogDay in a position where his only option was to look back. Snuggled tightly underneath their arm, he watched as a tsunami of critters dashed towards them, snarling with hunger. Hunger for him and his Angel.

He whimpered loudly until they spun him around. "Sorry-! Sorry! I got you!" A flash of another critter was summoned to the right, then suddenly wished away by the bright flash of the Angel's flare. DogDay couldn't do anything, only let his heart squeeze and whimper at the sudden sight of painful reminders until they're blown away by the Angel. He looked up, their gaze was locked forward, doing what he should be doing.

But he couldn't. He was worthless. Just like that day.

The poor withered dog squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't watch anymore. If it weren't for his weak arms, he would cover his ears as the screams of the damned drew ever so near, or maybe do something actually useful. He felt himself get heaved up and a sudden wind blew against his tattered face. Then, he was lowered, and the Angel gasped for air.

Where were they going? Was there even an exit? He couldn't look. He didn't want to look. If he opened his eyes he would only see the Angel get devoured and it would be all his fault.

It wasn't until they were both thrusted into the air that his eyes were finally forced open. Below them was a deep pit of darkness with the critters nearing the edge they hurled over. For a second, he thought they had jumped towards an everlasting sleep, until the Angel landed right onto a lift.

The door shut behind them, and devastating shrills and shrieks were muffled. They were….safe. DogDay was safe, and the Angel didn't die. He hadn't killed them after all.

The Angel gently lowered him onto the floor of the lift and pressed the button to lower them back into, if he could remember correctly….Playcare. They collapsed onto the floor, and the thud snapped him back to reality.

"Angel! Are you okay? Are you hurt? I'm so sorry!" DogDay tried to haul himself towards them until they let out a strange chuckle.

"That…holy shit. That was awesome! But also terrifying. And tiring. God, my legs, I'll be surprised if I can even walk once we get down there. What were those things? You called them critters? I kinda feel bad for thinking they were kinda cute now, SHEESH those little devils were relentless!"

The Angel went on and on and on and…not a hint of anger was on their face. DogDay only stared at them in disbelief. They hopped on their knees and leaned closer to him, making him flinch.

"Anyways, are you okay? I don't know why you're asking me, you're clearly the one who needs help here! How long have you been down here? Actually don't answer that. What happened to you-? Wait, wait, don't answer that either, sorry!"

"You…." He finally choked out something. "You…saved me."

"…Well yeah!" A big smile graced their lips. How were they glowing even brighter than before?

"You…You saved me…!"

"….Yeah! Go team!"

Something was building up in his throat. More tears streamed down his face, but there weren't any rivers of regret or disappointment or self-hatred… DogDay leaned into his Angel's chest.

"Oh, hello!" they said cheerfully.

DogDay sniffed and looked up, and for once, a big, genuine smile filled his face. "Thank you, Angel…! Thank you so much!"

They froze there for a second, and their stunned expression melted to that of warmth. He felt their hands wrap around him and gently caress his back. Nothing could ever feel more soothing.

Softly, they giggled. "Hey, call me (Y/n), alright? You're giving me too much credit." ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙

Hey guys! Like what ya saw? Well you can commission your own private piece now!! Read more about that here! Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day!~ 💜💜💜

#dogday #dogday x reader #poppy's playtime #catnap #poppy playtime chapter 3 #canon x reader #x reader #fanfiction #wholesome #my baby #baby boy #i love this boi so much #we should've gotten the option to save him #and Im doing dogday because people have been saying he's in his mid 20s #I am not comfortable with the (big bodies) catnap x dogday ship y'all im sorry lmao #smiling critters #gender neutral y/n #open commissions #angst with a happy ending

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yuquinzel · 1 year

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BLUE LOCK BOYS AS ROMANCE TROPES !

— feat ⨾ itoshi sae, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo.

— contents ⨾ fluff, angst.

ITOSHI SAE + second chance at love !

it's raw with desperation and fear and hope— the way sae's fingers are clutching the fabric of your shirt. it's wasn't supposed to be this way. he kisses the tears trailing down your cheeks, “you said it was over. you said it wasn't worth it. you said you didn't want—” you choke on your own words, hand closing in fists on your sides when sae mutters breathlessly, “i didn't mean it, never ever.” he says. something like guilt burns in his eyes, a taste of regret on his lips, uncertainty and impatience in his hastened breaths.

it's crazy, you think. the way he still has that effect he had on you years ago when you were both seventeen in the airport terminal, teary eyes and staggered breaths. when the fear that the distance would tear you apart first took over, and sae stopped believing. when you looked away from him for the first time and he didn't reach out to wipe your tears. it wasn't supposed to be this way. he was back after four years and you weren't supposed to be in his arms. you promised yourself you'd talk like old friends do, and he trusted himself that he wouldn't say anything to try and make you stay.

“i think it can work, you and me, us. just the two of us and it'll be enough.” you know these words have burned on his tongue for long, because they're warm on your lips. you're kissing him back like it's only natural to do so.“i'm already yours, always have been.” he murmurs.

ITOSHI RIN + childhood friends to lovers !

it's the warm and golden hues of the setting sun melting into the evening blues, splattered colours of contrast coming together— the mark of a newborn eve, the smell of wet earth after the first shower of spring and the cool caress of the breeze. rin is standing by the entrance gates to your school, leaning against the wall, head rested to the side as he waits for you.

you think you're caught in a trance. his back covers the remnants of the sunlight like the moon eclipsing the sun, casting shadows of orange glows. when he breathes, the shadows dance with him. he frowns in wait, and you catch up to him. when you smile, it's almost melancholy, “what's got you smiling like that?” rin eyes the solemn curve of your lips.

“hmm? i think it's ’cause i like you.” the words bleed from your voice in saccharine hues, in bittersweet whispers of unrequited love and fear that maybe you've ruined the carefully painted mosaic of years of knowing rin and the sea green gleam of his eyes, the quiet hums and smiles only you know, the knowledge that he doesn't know how to make paper planes, summer nights of horror movie marathons and trading ice creams.

rin parts his lips, eyes as wide as saucers. he sucks a breath in— searching for the second you say you're joking, “do you mean that?”

you nod and rin's arms swallow you whole, chests pressed so close your heartbeats sync and improvise as one.

“i like you too, really like you.” he breathes into your neck— lingers of relief and gratitude like he's breathing for the first time.

NAGI SEISHIRO + forced proximity !

past 2 am into the late hours of midnight blues and the heavy patters rain against the glass window, reduced to background noise because you're subconsciously trying to trace the steady pattern of nagi's breathing, eyes skimming the fall and rise of his chest every two seconds.

you've been awake since thunder rumbled the walls of your temporarily-shared bedroom for the first time tonight. some fun, memorable just-close-friends trip this is. perhaps it wasn't enough you had to share the bed with someone, maybe it's truly because that someone happened to be nagi seishiro that you can't sleep at all. you're conscious of every breath he takes, how his body expands and relaxes. the heat of your bodies melding as one like a blanket of second warmth over you. “you still awake?” you ask, low and soft. nagi hums, “mhm, if you still are.”

his voice is nothing but a breath of the comfort of not being alone, exhaustion from the day clawing at his throat. “you can sleep if you want.” you say, it's whispered into the night— a silent thank you because he's letting you know he's here as long as you want him, “i wanna stay like this.” he urges, bringing a hand to brush your hair behind your ear and you let him. you let him hook his arm around your waist, foreheads brushing lightly, breaths tangling in knots and lips seconds away from meeting. you watch the curve of his lips, how they move to form words, “i like this more.”

MIKAGE REO + fake relationship !

you think reo had always looked like midsummer nights adorned with princely smiles and bubbles of champagne in the glass, glitters of neon city lights against damp car windows, juvenile secrets traded as i love you's with the hope it lasts forever. ( it doesn't. )

it lingers in the way he kisses you these days— a small talk to fill in loud silences, pretense and improvised. you kiss him back— a lullaby of aching heartbreak, unrequited and young. it almost makes you forget about the blinding flashes of camera lights, hurrying to capture the moment mikage reo is seen with his partner.

it's just like he had asked you to, “date me” he'd said, missing the way your eyes lit up, “it doesn't have to be real, just enough so my parents stop setting me up for blind dates.”

“i don't think i can do this anymore.” your voice breaks, eyes refusing to meet his.

“what? why?—” he rushes close and you step back, “it's getting too real for me, i can't.”

he pauses— ponders your words, lets them replay in his mind over and over again, “...and you don't want that?” you do. so much that you said yes before thinking when he first proposed this, “what about you, reo? this... this means nothing to you right? none of th—”

“it does”, his voice is almost begging, “it means everything to me. you do. it's you and it's always been you.” he looks at you, wondering if he should continue. he does anyway, “it's real. i loved you every time i said it, every time i didn't say it. I'll say it again if you want me to—” and you hear it, like it's always been there, like it's all he's ever known, “— i love you, y/n.”

#❀˖° ─ hana writes.#blue lock #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi rin #nagi seishiro #mikage reo #bllk #blue lock x you #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi rin x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock angst #blue lock fluff #sae itoshi x you #rin itoshi x you #nagi seishiro x you #reo mikage x you

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kithtaehyung · 11 months

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busted (3tan) (m) | myg

title: busted pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍 drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est word count: 18.8k gdi

Here goes nothing and everything.

It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher.

A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car.

Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time.

Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else.

In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root.

Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him.

But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive.

And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.

There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.

However.

What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household.

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you.

And they pass by.

“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.

But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”

When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”

“Okay.”

When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money.

All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.

Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.

But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.

During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.

You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways.

Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.

And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.

Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.

But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?

Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now.

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck.

Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.

And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.

When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer.

Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers.

The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”

Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.

Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.”

“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”

If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.

But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”

He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”

It’s weird to say it.

But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”

“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”

“Oh, god.”

“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”

Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview.

“Who are you seeing?”

“Kook…”

“I wanna know.”

“Why?”

He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back.

And your heart pangs at how big his back has become.

Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down.

“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.”

“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”

And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret.

Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon.

Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees.

“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.”

The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets.

All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him.

“You did.”

Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.

Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.

Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?

With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all.

And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you.

Because they are still the same.

You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side.

“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…”

You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide.

But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back.

He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears.

“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?”

He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk.

And you’re going to.

“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.”

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch.

You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.”

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—”

When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it.

“I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“Bullshit.”

“I have!”

“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?”

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.”

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to.

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry.

But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this.

Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—

There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling?

…Were you both that loud?

“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.”

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left.

Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight.

Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off,

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”

You and your brother have a thousand differences.

But one thing you two have in common?

He’s just as stubborn as you are.

A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.

Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you.

Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them.

Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”

Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows,

“Why should I.”

“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately.

Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.

No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.

It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

“…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”

To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout,

“The fuck it isn’t—”

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...”

You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior.

Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops.

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done.

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired.

And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished.

When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.

“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.

But they don’t have to do anything.

Except let you do this yourself.

“Please.”

After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again.

But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,

“Trust me.”

Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts.

When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence.

While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times.

However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.

What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.

It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.

But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay.

“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers.

And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.”

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”

Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.

“Right.”

…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all?

“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.”

“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.”

Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years.

Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were.

Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken,

“You loved me?”

“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”

“What?”

Fuck.

It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop.

As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways.

So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years.

In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend.

“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.

When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.

And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost.

When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”

He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.”

For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”

“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.”

“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?”

When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.”

“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.”

He laughs again. So do you.

And the both of you break all at once.

He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world.

While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder.

You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end.

But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future.

“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”

“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.

And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours.

But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave.

What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away.

But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”

Still, Jungkook moves in.

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness.

You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”

“I promise.”

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”

His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.”

He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.”

“I’ll be okay.”

After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.

Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present.

But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.

And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.

She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.

While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of.

Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”

Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”

“He said he still loves me.”

Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”

“Dom…”

“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”

“He said it was a mistake.”

“It sure as fuck was.”

“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…”

“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.”

“I know.”

“Now.”

You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”

“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.”

In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things,

“What do I have now.”

As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”

Huh?

Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”

What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on—

“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”

“K.”

Wait, what.

You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face.

His name is molasses on your tongue.

What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer?

He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets.

“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.

Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need.

Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?”

Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not.

“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.”

Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.”

“But it’s true.”

His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,

“Makes me wanna take you home.”

Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for.

Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it.

But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape.

Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.”

“Take you home?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.”

If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide.

If you didn’t have to wait.

At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out.

But why does he seem so—

You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like.

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

Huh.

What does he mean by—

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

You freeze.

So does time.

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.

Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait.

There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless.

And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.

Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?

“Babe?”

But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs.

Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.

And yet he found a way to be with you one last time.

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye.

So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try.

You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.

If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.

Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.

“Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”

He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,

“Anything for you.”

That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.

“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel.

You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.

But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it.

Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will.

And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.

If people are like seasons…

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust.

And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.

“Yoongi, I—”

You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth.

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him.

“Fuck.”

He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair.

If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now.

It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars.

Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you.

“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.

Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest.

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory.

And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.

The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees.

When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.

Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too

That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.

A plate. A bowl after that.

Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.

You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long.

Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”

“And I’d deserve it.”

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.”

Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.”

“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.”

He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.

And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves.

As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing.

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides.

But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly.

You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.

But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes.

“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.”

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”

Silence.

“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I always worry.”

“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”

Shit, that was close.

“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.”

“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.”

And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got.

He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore.

But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.

An apology.

“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.”

Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years?

This can’t be it.

Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.”

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.”

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.”

“…Oh.”

You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.

And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it.

What the hell happened after he left your room?

Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?”

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone.

But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.”

“Until they realized we kept going alone.”

A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.”

He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.”

“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things.

A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.”

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.”

True. “It could be worse, I think.”

“How?”

You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges.

Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade?

Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence.

Together.

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.”

“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.”

Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”

And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.”

“Oh, really.”

“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that.

“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”

“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”

The pause he makes weighs a ton.

“And leave this to us when you came back.”

So… He…

Holy shit.

You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out.

But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible?

…Is he paying loans?

“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.

He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.”

Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t.

“It’s whatever.”

He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to.

And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways.

So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is.

And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too.

Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend?

Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.”

“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.”

“What.”

“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.”

“I like it here, though.”

“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...”

“Empty?”

“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.”

You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.”

And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.

Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else.

But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things.

And regret others.

A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?”

“All the time.”

“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.”

“Hmm.”

You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.”

And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.”

You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were.

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least.

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”

“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.”

Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.

It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back.

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.

…Calling should be okay, right?

Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you...

Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.

Fuck.

Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.

And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can.

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”

You hear a low grunt before he responds.

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.”

Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?”

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.”

“Okay.”

There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through.

“Spoke to Kook.”

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.”

Ah. No finish line in sight.

But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.

“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.”

“When you get it.”

You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”

“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”

“See? Claiming shit already.”

You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.”

“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”

“Just work stuff.”

“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate.

Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What.”

Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.”

“…I see.”

Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,

“Not at you, doll.”

Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”

“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”

You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper.

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.”

There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.

“I was there first, doll.”

He what?

“Wait… You were?”

He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke.

Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway.

Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.

“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.”

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.”

They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him?

Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams.

Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling.

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.”

“You okay?”

Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”

“Wait—”

“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most.

Yoongi: Missed Call

All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you.

And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself.

But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before.

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?

Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?

Yoongi: Incoming Call

With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort.

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

“Knew you’d answer on the first try.”

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”

Huh?

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean…

As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note.

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.

And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.

For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s.

And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.

It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened.

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked.

But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen.

And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you.

Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts.

As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place.

Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—

“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?”

Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen.

Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.

“How’s Jimin?”

“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.

“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.”

“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?”

When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start.

As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,

“A month.”

“...Damn.”

Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game.

“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?”

That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.”

“That’s good, at least.”

As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat.

Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.

And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.

It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.

“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.”

If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.”

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.”

That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?”

A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.”

“Mm.”

That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants.

Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public.

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.”

Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.

Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes.

But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?”

He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?”

Huh. “Me? How?”

Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.”

All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer.

“Not even denying it. I like this.”

“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again.

The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start.

“Break? Or what do you feel like?”

You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.”

“Mmk.”

Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.

Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.

“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.”

“You can definitely be upset.”

You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all.

Only warmth. And understanding.

“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.”

There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time.

Him? Being more upset than you?

You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way.

But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause.

It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.

Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present,

“What are you gonna say?”

Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again.

If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot.

You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴

You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time

When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders.

They’re lighter.

How is that possible? You’re still sad.

But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing.

Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out.

Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again.

The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.

Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says.

Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you

And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this.

You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob.

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle.

Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.

The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close.

The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone.

“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers.

And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours.

“You will.”

Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.”

His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.

“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.”

“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.”

“Oh? The luckiest then.”

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.”

With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food.

“Maybe you’re right.”

One week turns into three.

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought.

“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.”

“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”

“So?”

“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about—

Oh. Right.

…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of.

“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”

He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,

“Go get it, doll.”

Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision.

Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”

“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”

“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons.

“Okay.”

To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day.

Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.

And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope.

But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.

Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good.

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”

You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”

“K. Have fun!”

When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.

Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere.

On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.

When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up.

Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too.

However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded.

Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob.

One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time.

But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…

There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size.

No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.

Painful.

As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo.

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back?

A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all.

Three months.

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds.

It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else.

How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up?

You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer.

A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels.

Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either.

To the point where it’s starting to scare you.

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly.

But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling.

Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.

It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.

But that night in his kitchen…

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.

You can’t.

He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.

Your finger moves a bit closer.

What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.

But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.

When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now.

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight.

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong.

“Hello?”

But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable.

As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.”

Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing.

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.

You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.

However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted.

“Babe, tell me. Now.”

“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—”

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?”

Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement.

Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.”

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.”

Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.

“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.”

That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”

After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner.

And your chest has never felt lighter.

Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats.

If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.

And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.

It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing.

But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.

As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.

“Fucking hustler.”

No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all.

In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours.

Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.

Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left.

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless.

“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.”

With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,

“Anything for you.”

With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.

“You still have to gimme chips.”

Maybe not quite everything.

Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.

As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.”

When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?”

“I just… You read.”

To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window.

Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.”

Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.

And you glitch when you realize why.

Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.”

He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.

Way too familiar.

Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?

No no no. Why is he taking you there?

You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.

All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.”

He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.”

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?”

He freezes.

Which gives you a chance.

Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.

Almost everything.

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.”

Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done.

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close.

You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.

Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.

Yoongi’s still way too quiet.

So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.

“Stop.”

You do.

And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive.

The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door.

Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place.

If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—”

You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want.

“Please what.”

Everything you want.

Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways.

But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap.

“The fuck.”

Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines.

You don’t know what’s coming over you.

Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.

“Babe—”

Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.

“Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum.

Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…

Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding.

What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?

When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh.

Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.”

Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance.

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.”

Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips.

He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”

And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too.

Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.

“Holy fuck.”

You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight.

And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher.

“So fucking filthy...”

You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair.

“Don’t do that.”

You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls.

“Fuck!”

There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses.

Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin.

Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.

Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time.

And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.

But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time.

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.”

You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”

“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,

“I’m fucking you with them on.”

“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything.

You know your panties are soaked.

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit.

But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night.

Perfect.

“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you.

He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.”

You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means.

But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot.

The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want.

He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath,

“So fucking perfect.”

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.”

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,

“Almost made me come.”

“Be for real.”

“Damn serious.”

The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me like you missed me.”

A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck.

Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between.

“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”

Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple.

His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved.

“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.”

He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”

You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,

“I said. Don’t move.”

“But—Yoongi!”

You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him.

“Uh uh.”

And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes.

You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling.

Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.

If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops.

When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure.

All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”

Suddenly.

He stops.

And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,

“What’d you say?”

“Plea—Baby!”

“Huh?”

Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again.

And again.

You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.

In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—

“This is what you wanted, huh.”

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?”

Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided.

“Then fucking beg.”

He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out.

To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.

You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.”

He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming.

Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips.

When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides.

Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too.

Because his eyes speak volumes.

They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size.

But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem.

And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window.

You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck.

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”

You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—”

Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.”

As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.

“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.”

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.”

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe.

“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.”

Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”

When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better.

It’s not.

But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds.

Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke.

“Feel so good—”

When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.”

What is he—

You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass.

“Yoongi—”

You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make.

“Uh uh. Stay like that.”

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”

“There you go.”

The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.

But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.

You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.

“Goddamn.”

Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back.

Oh, fuck!

Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—

“Come here.”

He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat.

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel.

Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear,

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.”

When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—

You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright.

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.”

“Yes!”

“Good.”

He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs.

Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk.

Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise.

It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again.

When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.”

When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it.

“Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver.

You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.

Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep.

“It missed you, too.”

Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips.

Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.

But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard.

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.”

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips.

“Again.”

Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying.

Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true.

The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands,

“Again.”

You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want.

Oh, if they could witness you now.

You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.”

He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection.

Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months.

When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house.

Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there.

It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back.

And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,

“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.”

Oh, shit!

Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things.

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes.

Yeah. Stuff like that.

“I’m her favorite.”

Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”

Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”

When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes.

Does he feel at home, too?

“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next.

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore.

“Come here.”

You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets.

But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern.

“How are you gonna get home?”

Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.”

“K.”

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.”

“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.”

“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure.

When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“S’ok.”

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.”

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.”

Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper,

“Maybe try that one more time.”

And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed.

When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak,

“I always do, babe.”

Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.

“Miss you.”

As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering.

His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this.

“That’s my fault.”

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.”

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care.

“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.”

“You gave me tonight.”

When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give,

“A little longer is nothing.”

A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again.

Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.”

Us.

Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”

Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“We have a game next week.”

As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.”

“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.”

And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.

What’s he doing?

You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.

When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul.

An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds.

As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others.

You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window.

“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.”

At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?”

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.”

“Ah, I see.”

You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips.

“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.”

Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours.

You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface.

And you start to hum.

It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones.

You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.

And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side.

“Not at all.”

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head.

And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.

Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.

When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss.

Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light.

You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.

For him, you can do anything.

But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.

And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.

“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”

—

tbc. :)

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A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf) A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder. A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist

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unseededtoast · 3 months

Text

All I Know | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: Five years after leaving Spencer Reid, it seems that fate might have given you a second chance. Inspired by "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift/Ed Sheeran

Part two of Glimpse of Us, but can be read standalone!

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.5k

a/n: Hi everyone! It's good to be back and I hope this lives up to your expectations. This one felt different from my usual style but I think it's different in a good way. And thank you once again for being patient, I appreciate each and every one of you

You're not sure what you did to deserve this opportunity, to be reunited with the love of your life, but you choose not to question it. All you know is that you're his, and he is yours, until the end of your days.

And that is more than you could have ever wished for.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Nerves wake Spencer up far before his alarm even sounds. Anxiety over the "what ifs" of the day eat away at his mind, he hopes the day goes well. He hasn't had a first day at work in a long time, he had become accustomed to his life at the BAU. But his FBI days are in the rear view mirror now, a career-ending injury forced him to forge a new path in life.

And this new path he chose was becoming a professor. Sure, he had guest lectured before but he had never been a full blown professor. In preparation he reviewed his curriculum at least a hundred times to make sure it was perfect and rehearsed his first lecture.

While he should be happy and excited for a new start, he can't help but feel that it's all too bittersweet for his taste.

It had been five years since you left him. You walked out because you became unable to deal with his bustling lifestyle, and he understood. But now, here he is, forced to slow down and without you by his side. Spencer had effectively lost the two most important things in his life.

His alarm finally sounds and knocks Spencer out of his thoughts, and quickly gets ready for his first day of teaching.

- - - - -

Your pen glides across the paper in front of you quickly as you glance at the clock to see how much time you have left. Five minutes. You can do this.

After you quickly scribble your name on the card, you slide it in the envelope and rush out of your office with the card and laptop in hand. Students and faculty alike scatter through the halls, eager for the first day of classes.

You find the office you're looking for and slide the envelope under the closed door. Hopefully the new professor hadn't been in yet, you hope the card will be a nice surprise for them.

Two weeks ago at the faculty meeting it was announced a new professor was hired in your department. They wouldn't divulge a name, but you didn't think it mattered much, everyone likes a greeting card. And you hope it'll make the new professor feel right at home.

After dropping the card off you make your way to the lecture hall, excited to meet the new faces of students for the semester. Though this is only your third semester of teaching, it feels like you've been doing this a lifetime and it doesn't even feel like a job most times. You think you finally found your calling in life, and it's the first time you felt real happiness in years.

Once your lecture is over, you make your way to the break room for a much needed cup of coffee. As you sit down at one of the tables your coworker-turned-friend Jamie walks in with a smile on her face. Her first day must be going well.

"It's good to see you." You stand to hug her.

"I have a feeling this is going to be the best semester yet." Her smile is wide and bright, her enthusiasm starts rubbing off on you.

"Why's that?" You ask, sipping on your coffee as you sit back down. Jamie takes the seat across from you and leans close.

"You know the new professor they hired?" Her voice lowers so that people can't eavesdrop.

"I know they hired one but I have no idea who." You tell her the truth.

"Well whoever does the hiring around here deserves a raise. He's hot. And I mean like, hot hot." Her words pique your interest, and suddenly you wish you had stuck around to meet the man in person.

"Hmm maybe we'll have to make a habit of walking by his office." Your own smile breaks out across your face.

"Perhaps we will." The two of you laugh together and you think Jamie might just be right, this might be the best semester yet.

- - - - -

The second day of the semester went well, as did the next, and the one after that. Your students all seem to be excited for the course content, except a few, and you're excited to see the projects they come up with.

With a smile on your face from a successful lecture full of intellectual conversation, you retire to the break room for a little bit, before your next lecture. The air outside is getting quite cold and so you settle for a warm tea today.

However, your peace doesn't last long as Jamie walks in minutes later. She takes a seat across from you and sets her laptop down on the table.

"What do you have there?" She asks, gesturing to your cup. You look down at the tea that still has steam rising from it.

"Oh, just some tea." You answer and venture to take a sip that burns your tongue.

"It's a good day for it too." She says as she rises from her seat to grab a cup as well.

When she returns the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. Jamie works on her notes while you enjoy the peace. You don't even look to see who entered the room when the door opens.

But, Jamie's not-so-subtle kick under the table gives you a clue as to who it might be. She's been pestering you all week about finding the new professor, and you're willing to bet he just walked in.

Casually, you look over and see a tall, slim man pouring a cup of coffee. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, and you watch as he pours sugar into the cup; an ungodly amount of sugar. Your stomach twists nervously as the man's silhouette and coffee order seems all too familiar.

Unable to tear your gaze away, you watch as the man finally turns around and meets your eyes. And it's like the world has stopped spinning, your heart has stopped pumping, and you can no longer remember how to breathe.

Spencer Reid is standing ten feet away from you.

His forest-colored eyes are just as beautiful as you remember. Gold tones still as soft as honey, green hues reminiscent of fresh spring grass. And it catapults you to the first moment you met him.

It was a nice, sunny day and you had decided to go to the park to finish your book. You had been inside for far too long and it would have been a waste to not enjoy such a lovely day. And to take full advantage of it you wore your favorite sundress.

You had picked a spot on a bench that was partially shaded from the sun and you enjoyed the sounds of nature as you turned each page. That was until someone stood in front of you and blocked your light. You closed the cover of your book and looked up to the handsome man in front of you.

"Hi, I'm Spencer and I um, I just thought I'd come and introduce myself." You hear the nerves in his voice and see them in the way he scratches as the back of his neck.

"Hi Spencer, it's nice to meet you." You smiled up at him.

You had always thought it was endearing how nervous he was to make a good impression and you've never been able to forget the fullness your heart felt that day. But then your mind plays a cruel joke, and suddenly your head is filled with the moment you left him.

No matter how hard you try to forget, you will always remember the tears running down his cheeks and the way his voice cracked as he begged you to stay. It took every ounce of strength you had to follow through with your plan.

Every now and then you think long and hard about if you had made the right decision. You still hold a deep love for Spencer, but with the lifestyle he was living and the future you wanted, eventually the two of you would have drove each other to madness one way or another. It was in the best interest of both of you to separate, or at least that's what you had convinced yourself of.

Jamie clears her throat and you're swiftly brought back to reality. She looks between them two of you, both frozen in place like statues. Now that you look at him, really look, you see how much he's changed and how much he's stayed the same.

His hair is longer, he's filled out just slightly more, his fashion sense is relatively the same and he still has kind eyes. He's still your Spencer, the one you left all those years ago.

"I can't, I have to, I have to go." You clumsily stand from your spot and rush out of the door.

Your chest begins feeling heavy and tight, your palms sweat and your heart races. Getting to your office is your only priority. Shaking fingertips grasp the edge of the solid wood desk, your eyes squeeze shut and all you can hear is your thumping heartbeat.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jamie's voice sounds muffled to you, and you pay her no mind. Your only focus right now is to breathe again.

Minutes could've passed by, or even hours, before you finally feel your senses coming back to you. Your muscles ache from the tension, and you open your eyes to find Jamie standing right next to you, her hand resting on your shoulder. Blinking a few times, you try to remain calm as the nerves tangle your inside.

"Hey." Jamie speaks softly. Glancing at the clock on the wall behind her, only five minutes passed.

"Sorry about that." You stand up straight and try to regain your normal composure.

"What happened?" There isn't a trace of judgment to be found in her voice, just concern and curiosity. With a sigh, you sit on the edge of your desk and cross your arms, unable to meet her gaze.

"That was Spencer." You plainly tell her, knowing she will understand.

Over the course of the past year, you and Jamie had grown quite close. The two of you swapped stories of your pasts; you know about her exes and she knows of yours. At first, you had worried she might judge you for breaking off an engagement over a man you willingly left, but instead of judgment, she met you with understanding. And you were ever so grateful for that.

"Oh." Her tone is heavy, and all you can do is nod your head.

How are you supposed to continue working here when he shares the same halls? And had he known that you were here? Surely he recognized your name on the card. He had to have known. And yet he never sought you out once. Your mind wrestles with why that may be. Perhaps he didn't want to see you after you broke his heart, maybe he had looked for you but you were out of office. A million different scenarios fill your mind at once.

- - - - -

A week passes without seeing Spencer again. Physically, of course, but you saw him plenty in your dreams. You had been free from dreaming of Spencer Reid for about seven months now, until a week ago and now he's all you can dream about.

While you sleep you're met with different scenes, each of them about how your life might've looked like if you had stayed. Some scenes are sweet and tranquil, while others are full of fighting and misery. And you aren't sure which ones are worse.

One night you had felt particularly curious and you found yourself looking at his Instagram again. You navigated to the pictures he's been tagged in and noticed all the ones you had seen previously are no longer posted. A quick trip to the woman's profile shows that she is with a new man now, and there's no trace of Spencer left on her account. From the looks of it, Spencer never got into another relationship after her.

A part of you is relieved he hasn't moved on. For if he moved on a second time, it would have solidified to you that he truly has moved on. After all, you were never able to move on after you broke off the engagement with your last boyfriend.

Getting back together with Spencer never seemed like a viable option until now. Now he no longer lives on the fly, there's no risk of him getting called away for weeks on end. No, his schedule is normal now, a solid, unchanging schedule, one that allows for personal time. This idea had been blossoming in your mind for a few days now, after you had been able to process that he works at the same university.

Now, even while you're awake you daydream about being back together with him. In your mind, he's able to be home every evening now, he's able to be there for holidays and birthdays. There would be no more occasions spent alone. The thought of that warms your heart, but it's always quickly refuted by a tiny voice in the back of your mind. Why would he want you back after all? You had walked out on him and broke his heart, there's no reason why he would desire to have you back.

And so you live partially in sadness and partially in happiness, feelings changing on a whim depending on which thought intrudes into the forefront of your mind. You can tell others are noticing how you've withdrawn, but thankfully they haven't said anything yet. Even Jamie has been giving you more space than normal. You feel bad for distancing yourself, and promise yourself that you will try harder to get back to normal.

Normalcy is what you're hoping for tonight. It's the university's annual holiday dinner, hosted at a local five star hotel and catered by a Michelin star restaurant, you wouldn't miss it for anything. Jamie had texted you earlier asking if you wanted to carpool and when you check your phone you see that you only have fifteen minutes left before she's going to be here.

The dress code is black tie formal, and you enjoy getting dressed up, you don't get to do it often. For tonight you had decided on something simple, yet elegant. The floor length dress hugs your body just right, and the heels sparkle tastefully with every step you take. Finalizing your look, you put on a pair of earrings that catches the light beautifully. Before you go to wait for Jamie, you take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, you feel content with how you look, excited for the night to come.

"There are more people here than there were last year." You say to Jamie as you two wait to be seated. There's easily double the amount of people here, word must have got out about how good the food is.

"Tell me about it." She looks around at the other faculty members who are also dressed to the nines.

"Ladies, if you are willing, we have a group table that is ready to be sat." A posh waiter interrupts your conversation politely. Jamie and you look to each other and shrug.

"That's fine with me." You confirm, and Jamie nods her head. The waiter smiles,

"Right this way." He leads you through the hotel's reception room, lights dim with a string quartet playing in the background. As you pass by the musicians, you can't help but wonder how much money the university allocates to this night, and if it could perhaps be better spent. But that thought doesn't last long once the fresh bread basket is placed in front of you.

"So good." Jamie says through mouthfuls of warm, toasted bread. All you can do is nod in agreement, enjoying how the butter and bread compliment each other well.

Other faculty members begin being sat at the table with you, and you greet them all though you haven't a clue who they are. Everyone at the table gets swept away in their own conversations, so much so that you don't even realize who they had sat right next to Jamie, and you probably wouldn't have noticed for a while if Jamie's body language didn't give away that something was wrong.

Your eyebrows crease at the sudden tension in her shoulders, the tightening of her jaw. Her eyes grow wider just slightly, as if she's trying to communicate something telepathically. Your eyes sweep to the right and find nothing out of the ordinary, but once they move to the left you realize that what was supposed to be a good night, might end up being a terrible one after all. Of course the universe would have fated that Spencer get sat at this table as well.

You avert your gaze from him quickly, feeling your face flush red. If it wouldn't be considered rude, you would get up from this table right now and go back home. But you know Jamie has been looking forward to this dinner all year and you don't want to let her down because of your personal problems. If you just keep your focus on Jamie, maybe tonight will be more bearable.

Keeping your eyes off of Spencer is easier said than done you come to find. As if it's a habit, you find yourself stealing glances at him. He's decided on a nicely tailored suit for tonight, and the warm lighting compliments the golden hues in his eyes. And it's because he looks so good that you can only half pay attention to the words coming out of Jamie's mouth for the rest of the night.

The table's food arrives and your one glass of wine turns to two, which turns into three. Jamie has had more than you, and has used her newfound confidence to go mingle with the other faculty in the open part of the room. Typically, after the dinner, the floor opens for dancing and socialization, neither of which you feel like doing now. Slowly, but surely, the others at the table leave to go mingle as well, leaving only you and Spencer at the table together. With this realization, you finish off your third glass of the night and wonder where to get your fourth.

Just as you're about to get up and track a waiter down, you hear Spencer clear his throat. Like a deer caught in headlights, you look at him with wide eyes. He's already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Something makes you sit back down though you know you should be running the other way. Seconds tick by like hours, you watch with intent eyes how he licks his lips, a nervous habit he's always had. And finally, he breaks the silence.

"Hello."

- - - - -

Spencer had never been one for fancy outings, especially outside of work hours, but tonight he is happy to make an exception. Ever since he saw you in the break room you're all that he can think about; more so than usual.

Over the years he had kept light tabs on you, asking Penelope every few months how you were doing and if you were still in the area. All she ever said was that you're doing well and you're still around. And that was enough for Spencer, he could live with that vagueness. Until he set eyes on you again. Now, you consume his thoughts every second of every day.

He had never stopped missing you, loving you. No, he still searched for things that reminded him of you. The blankets you had picked out all those years ago are still draped over his couch. And now there's a shred of hope blossoming within him that his apartment may be your shared space once more.

The only issue is that he's not even sure you want him back. He doesn't know if you're seeing somebody else, or if you even want a relationship at all; especially with him. After all, you had left for good reason so why would you want to come back?

The pessimism and optimism wrestle in his mind as he finishes tying his tie in the mirror. Spencer hadn't been working at the university long enough to have any real acquaintances or friends, and usually that would stress him out. But tonight, all he's focused on is you.

He wants to see who you show up with and get a gauge of your feelings towards him. Spencer is still fairly confident he can read your body language. And he promises to himself that if you show up with a man, or act disinterested, that he will leave you alone and look for another job. After all, you were there first and he doesn't want you to feel suffocated in your place of work. Plus, he knows he wouldn't be able to share the halls with you without speaking to you. The wound would never heal, but then again, he's had five years to heal it yet it remains open.

Spencer hands the valet his car keys as he walks inside the high-end dinner. The lights are moody and it feels like something straight out of a movie. He joins the line to be seated, and there he spots you for the first time, looking around and talking to Jamie.

On his first day Jamie had found her way to his office to introduce herself. She taught in the humanities department and was friendly enough, Spencer liked her, he thought she may prove to be a helpful friend to have around. His nerves were still at an all time high as she explained who had offices in this hall as well, and his interest piqued when she mentioned your name. He contained his surprise and thanked Jamie for coming by. Once he opened the card that was left on the floor of his office, it was glaringly obvious you had no idea he was the new guy, for you had signed the card,

"We're so glad to have you here, can't wait to meet you! Welcome to the team!" Followed by your signature. He would recognize that signature anywhere. He remembers seeing it scrawled across sticky notes you used to leave in his bag, ones he would find while he was out working a case. He always looked forward to finding those notes, it was like having a piece of you there with him. And if he's honest, they still reside in an interior pocket of his bag, he could never find the resolve to get rid of them.

He watches as you and Jamie get seated, and he feels nerves creep up his spine. What if this all ends badly? He doesn't want you to run out of the even like you did the break room, no, that was the last thing he wanted to happen. All he wants is to gauge your reaction when you notice him, that's all. That will be enough for him to make his decision.

After a few long minutes had passed, he was finally being seated. While he followed the host he scanned the room for you but failed to see you amongst the sea of people. Surely you were here somewhere. Thanking the host as he took his seat, he took a deep breath and became acquainted with his surroundings. This was a large group table, there are likely others to be seated around him, so maybe he will make some new friends after all.

He's just about to open the menu when he catches the glimmer of jewelry out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he sees that it's you sitting just across from him. He's been sat beside Jamie, and he can tell from their stiff posture that they've both noticed him.

Averting his gaze quickly, he tries to think of how to handle the situation but comes up with no good answers. So he settles on just trying to make it through the dinner and to get a decent read of your body language without you noticing him looking at you.

All of which is easier said than done. Every time he goes to sneak a glance at you, it seems that your eyes are already on him. He doesn't miss the way your drinking increases or how you fidget with the necklace resting on your chest.

The night passes unbearably slowly until it seems like it's coming to an abrupt end. Jamie leaves the table to talk to other friends, leaving just you and Spencer alone at the table. Unable to keep his eyes off of you any longer, he glances over and sees you finish off your third glass of wine for the night. And judging by the way your eyes dance across the people in the room, you're on the hunt for another, likely because his presence has unnerved you.

You go to stand from your seat when something inexplicable happens. Before Spencer can comprehend why he's doing this, the word just tumbles out of his mouth, just a simple,

"Hello."

The word seems to have made you sit back down, and he quickly assess that as being receptive to what he has to say. You clear your throat, buying yourself some time before answering.

"Hi." Your voice is airy and like music to Spencer's ears. How he's missed hearing your voice.

The shred of hope within him grows, and he only hopes this conversation goes well.

- - - - -

The two of you are unable to break each other's gaze. Your eyes stare into his with intensity and your heart pounds in your chest. For a second you're worried you might have a heart attack because of the quick pace.

"You look lovely tonight." Spencer tells you, a ghost of a smile teasing the edge of his lips. You glance down at your dress.

"Thank you, you clean up pretty well too." You tell him the truth.

You're not sure where this is going to go, you feel as if you're treading in dangerous waters and you're not sure if you're going to be rescued or swallowed up. Spencer glances down at the tablecloth and smiles softly.

"Thank you." He says, looking back up into your eyes.

The two of you fall into a silence and you're not quite sure what to do from here. There's so much that's left unsaid but you don't know if you have the nerve to say any of it. But after a few minutes pass without anything, you rise from the table, unable to be so close yet so far from him.

"Goodnight, I hope you enjoy the rest of the dinner." You keep your exit friendly and turn to go stand on the curb and wait for an Uber. You don't want to end Jamie's fun, you'll just send her a text that you caught a ride home.

The night air is chilly and it sends a shiver up your spine so you wrap your arms around yourself. You unlock your phone and are just about to request a ride when you hear footsteps coming from behind. Looking to your right you see Spencer, lips parted and eyes scanning your face.

"I can take you home, if you want of course. I drove here and it wouldn't be a problem at all. I was probably going to head out soon anyways." His words are rushed and slightly jumbled, but send butterflies straight to your stomach.

"That would be nice." You accept his offer, feeling the familiar tingle of nerves engulfing your body. He nods and smiles before offering you his arm to take.

Hesitantly, you reach out and loop your arm with his. He's warm and oh so familiar. The two of you walk in stride together, and you take a shaky breath to keep your emotions in check. A gentle breeze carries the scent of his cologne into your nose and it transports you back to a time you reminisce about frequently.

You look up at Spencer as you walk, noticing how much more grown up he looks now. Stubble lines his jaw more noticeably, his arms feel sturdier, the smile lines by his eyes more prominent, but still the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes on.

Feeling your gaze on him, he looks down at you and smiles kindly. Your eyes burn and you look forward, seeing his car only a few rows back. It almost doesn't feel real.

Spencer opens the door for you and you sit in the passenger seat. Before he gets in, you pinch your leg harshly, reminding yourself that this is very much real and is actually happening. Suddenly your palms feel sweaty and your throat feels tighter. The sound of Spencer closing his door snaps you out of it.

Without asking for directions, Spencer drives off into the night. The streetlights offer a warm glow as he passes street after street. You pick at the edges of your nails as he drives, not feeling confident enough to say anything, you honestly don't even know what to say. And you're so distracted you don't even realize where he's taken you until he turns the car off. Looking out the window, you see his apartment building.

"If you want, I'd like for you to come inside for a little bit. If not, just tell me where you want me to take you." His voice wavers with nerves. The car is dark, but you're close enough to see him. Nodding your head, you reach for the doorhandle.

"I can come in." Your voice is like a whisper.

You follow Spencer up the stairs to his apartment, and you take it all in. You never thought you'd see this place again. Stepping inside, you see that not a lot has changed. There are some new pictures on the walls and there's an entirely new bookcase in the living room, but it's almost just as you left it. A moment frozen in time.

Spencer drops his keys on the counter and hangs his coat on the rack beside the door. You take a deep breath as you realize the last time you two were here together, he was pleading with you not to leave.

"Would you like any water?" He asks and you shake your head,

"No, I'm okay, thank you though." You decline and watch as he loosens the tie around his neck.

"I didn't know you pursued teaching." He ignites the conversation again and tries to make it all seem more casual by rearranging things that clutter the dining table.

"Yeah, I started about a year ago."

"Do you like it?" He asks, pausing his rearranging to give you his undivided attention.

"I do. Well, so far at least. Each semester its like the courses become richer with content and I just love seeing the passion some of them have. It's inspiring. Why'd you start teaching?" You open up a little in an attempt to shake the tension that hangs in the air between you. Spencer chews on his lip before answering.

"We were working a case and I got shot in the knee, and it ruptured some tendons. And my choices were to either work strictly behind a desk or pursue something else." At the mention of him being shot, you eyes widen and your jaw falls slack.

"You got shot?" An all too familiar feeling of anxiety shoots through you and you remember how many nights you stayed awake contemplating that very thing happening.

"I did, but as you can see it wasn't fatal." He cracks a small smile, but all you can think of is how easily he could've been taken from this world.

"Well I'm glad it wasn't." You truthfully tell him. A life without Spencer in it is quite miserable, but living in a world without Spencer would be like swimming in a lake of fire; torturous and inconceivable.

"Me too. But it forced me to put things into perspective, to slow down and enjoy what life has to offer." You're not sure if his choice of words is intentional, or what exactly he means by telling you this. But there's a small, optimistic part of you that can only imagine why he's saying these things.

"I'm sure it's not an easy adjustment." You elect to skirt around the question you want to ask, not knowing if you're just being foolishly hopeful or not. Spencer nods and motions to the living room,

"Would you like to sit down?" He asks, looking down at the heels you're wearing.

"That would be nice." You say and sit down on the leather couch, where you always used to sit. It almost feels like the couch remembers you. And your eyes catch the blanket draped over the back, you remember it well as you have the other one still.

Spencer sits next to you, the two of you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. It takes everything within you to not just lean into him and act like nothing ever happened. You miss him so much, you miss his touch, you miss his kisses, you miss his love.

"How have you been?" The question feels out of place, but you're not exactly sure of what would feel right. Meeting his eyes again, you tell him the truth.

"There have been a lot of ups and downs. Long story short I pursued a new career, as you've found out, moved two different times, visited Europe, and then I was engaged but broke it off." Your voice dies at the end, still feeling guilty over breaking yet another heart with the failed engagement.

"Engaged?" Spencer's voice is tight and filled with worry.

"I was, but I couldn't follow through with it." You tell him. Though you're not sure why you're spilling everything, but it just feels like the right thing to do.

"Why not?" He asks, his eyes dancing between your eyes, your hands, and your lips. You shrug,

"He just wasn't the right one. But how have you been?" You ask, already knowing about one girlfriend he had. Spencer's eyebrows raise,

"Well, I stayed with the FBI up until just recently, I made some friends and lost some, and I had a girlfriend, but that didn't end well either." He says though you're sure he's summarizing dramatically, as you had also done.

"Oh. Well I'm sorry about the FBI and about your, your girlfriend." The word is almost impossible for you to say, but you force yourself to.

"Don't be sorry. I guess she just wasn't the right one." He whispers as his eyes finally land on your again.

Your lips fall slack and you can't help but look between his eyes and lips, remembering what they felt like over every square inch of your body. And it's as if Spencer has his own gravitational pull, but you find yourself leaning further and further towards him until his hand lands on top of yours.

His larger hand completely engulfs yours, and you look down to see him holding your hand with such gentleness. The feeling of his skin on yours is almost enough to bring you to tears. Five years you had spent trying to remember what he felt like, yearning to have him in front of you, to be able to see him, hear him, smell him, have him again.

By the time you look back up from your hands, his other had already come up to your face to cradle your jaw. Your lips meet his tenderly, softly, as if you were both afraid the other would jump away.

But instead, it's like you melt into each other. With your free hand, you grip the front of his shirt and pull him closer. Your lips fall into a long forgotten rhythm as if no time had passed. His lips as soft against yours and you feel his hand let go of your own and wrap around your waist. Pressed against one another, you wish this moment would never end.

Your lungs burn for oxygen, so you pull away from Spencer's kiss and rest your forehead against his. You keep hold of him, afraid that if you let go that you'll wake up from some kind of cruel dream. With closed eyes, you take it all in, it's so much more than you could've ever dreamed of.

"I've missed you every day for the last five years. And I am so sorry that I drove you away." Spencer's voice wavers. Leaning away from him, you hold his head in your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. There are tears in his waterline, and the tremble in his lower lip makes your own eyes water.

"Spencer, oh Spencer." You say as tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. You rest your head against his shoulder and the two of you cling to each other as you cry.

"I have spent every single day missing you and loving you. And I'm sorry I walked away." You say as another round of tears fall down your face, landing on his shirt. Instead of answering, he just holds you tighter, and whatever you don't express in words is made clear in the way you two meld together.

"I love you so much." He eventually says, letting you adjust in his grasp.

"I love you, Spencer Reid." You tell him, knowing that it's the full and honest truth.

You're not sure what you did to deserve this opportunity, to be reunited with the love of your life, but you choose not to question it. Instead, you kiss him again and know that this time you're not going to let him go. All you know is that you're his, and he is yours, until the end of your days.

And that is more than you could have ever wished for.

- - - - -

Three months after being reunited, you and Spencer had fallen into a comfortable routine. You had moved back in after the two of you had a long discussion about what the future of your relationship means to the two of you. Both of you agreed that nothing on this planet was worth jeopardizing the relationship, not after the most agonizing five years without each other.

You're beyond happy that you finally get to come home with him every day, that he's able to be here for holidays and everything in between. The two of you do your best to make up for lost time, you relish every moment you get with him, no matter how small or insignificant that time may be.

Everything had changed in the five years that you spent apart, and you both had grown up in several ways. Not drastically, but enough that you needed to get to know one another again. Date nights are spent talking about newfound interests and what has remained the same. Nothing feels strained or forced anymore, it's all tranquil and full of love.

One night, after you had gone to bed early, Spencer finds himself sitting at the dining table with a velvet box in his hands. He opens it and looks over the ring he had bought over five years ago. And now he knows that it will finally reside on the hand it was meant for. With a smile on his lips, he slides the box into his suit pocket for the date he planned for tomorrow.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fanfiction #taylor swift #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #Spotify

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sissyisawitch · 4 months

Text

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Relationship: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Summary: After leaving everything behind and starting a new life almost three years ago, MC returns to Hogsmeade for Christmas Eve. Little does she know that her brief return will be enough for her past to catch up with her…

Word Count: ~9.4k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol in the beginning? Otherwise it's just pure pining and fluff

Author's Note: Special one shot because I just love Christmas. It should've been even longer, but I had to shorten it, or I'd never have managed to post it in time for Christmas. Anyway, I had a blast writing it, and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did!

I wish you all a wonderful Christmas!🎅🎄 Lots of love💕

“Oh, MC, I can’t get over how much we’ve missed of each other’s life. You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you!”

MC and Poppy sat in a cozy corner of the Three Broomsticks, whose dim lighting and soft hum of conversation provided a comfortable backdrop for their reunion. Excitement and laughter had been echoing for the past hours, as the two best friends shared their numerous respective adventures, and reminisced about the wonderful times they shared while at Hogwarts.

“Life sadly took us on separate journeys after graduation, there was no other way… But I'm so grateful that we haven't lost touch.” MC said as she took a sip of her third Butterbeer of the afternoon. She had never realised how much she had missed the sugary drink, especially after being away from Hogsmeade for so long. It tasted of the good old days when she spent the entire day shopping with her schoolmates, before going for a collation to relax and forget about the homework they had to do.

After Hogwarts, Poppy became a renowned Magizoologist, following in her grandmother's footsteps, like she had always dreamt of doing. As for MC, she had taken a very different path. Barely a few weeks after graduating, the girl had decided to leave everything behind and embark on a life full of travel and adventure. She never stayed in one location for very long. Her aim was to discover as many places as she could.

Now, the only thing left of her former life was her best friend Poppy, and the letters they regularly exchanged. It was for her that MC had exceptionally returned to Hogsmeade, to see her on this Christmas Eve.

“Merlin… I didn’t realise it was so late already.” MC sighed as she looked out the window. The evening sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow through the pub windows.

Poppy grimaced in response, as if a bittersweet realisation came to her, “Time flies when you’re having fun. I wish I could stay longer... but Gran hasn't been well lately, and I've already left her on her own all afternoon...”

“Don't worry, Poppy. I totally understand.”

“I'd love to offer you a place to stay, especially since it’s Christmas Eve… but as I said, it's complicated at the moment.”

MC offered the girl another genuine and reassuring smile, “It’s okay, I don't mind. I've managed to find a room in an inn for a couple of days.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Poppy smiled back, although ruefully.

After paying for their drinks, the two girls made their way out. They stood on the porch on the Three Broomstick in contemplative silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions. The time had come to bid farewell once again.

Poppy took a deep breath, as if to get rid of the lump in her throat, before breaking the silence, "MC, it's been wonderful catching up with you. I wish we could freeze time and stay like this forever."

A wistful smile played on MC's lips. "Life moves on, though. We have our own journeys to continue."

Poppy hesitated before uttering her newt words, “…Don't let it be another three years before our next reunion."

“It won’t. I promise.” MC replied weakly, having to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back her tears. She had never been very good at goodbyes.

Maybe that was why she had never said one to Sebastian.

With a lingering hug, they exchanged a few more words, promises to stay in touch, and expressions of hope for the future. It was nightfall when Poppy finally disapparated, leaving MC alone on the village streets, which were neither crowded nor deserted. Most of the people still outside were on their way home, or off to enjoy a late drink with their friends.

MC walked for a while, before stopping at a vantage point overlooking the quaint village which was bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights that shimmered like a galaxy full of stars. Tremendous decorated Christmas trees could be found on every street corner, perfectly matching the garlands of fir branches that linked the roofs of the various cottages. It was even possible to find some snowmen that were bewitched to fill the air with the enchanting melodies of Christmas carols. The whole scene resembled a holiday postcard brought to life, especially with the thick blanket of snow covering the village.

It was magical. Literally.

As MC gazed at the picturesque view, memories started flooding her mind. The charming village setting reminded her of the spirited Christmases she used to share with Sebastian, spending the best part of their day at Zonko's trying to find a way to prank Ominis, before heading off to Honeydukes to buy Chocolate Frogs, just in case the blond ended up sulking for too long. The inseparable duo then made it back to the Great Hall just in time for the big Christmas feast, where they joined Ominis. The smell of roasted turkey, and the sound of familiar laughter echoed in MC’s thoughts.

After dinner, the group of friends used to return to their common room and sit down by the fire. She could almost hear the crackling of the fireplace, and feel the camaraderie that accompanied their joyful exchange of gifts. After that, Ominis fell asleep very quickly, and MC and Sebastian usually took the opportunity to get a little closer. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the sensation of his shoulder used as a pillow against her cheek, while his woody cologne invaded her nostrils.

MC could never escape these kinds of memories, especially when she was in Hogsmeade.

Everything always led back to Sebastian in Hogsmeade.

That was why she had refused to set foot there for so long.

To forget the insurmountable heartbreak of never having her feelings returned by the love of her life, MC had decided to start a new life. She had wanted to move on, to forget her feelings for Sebastian, but she had known that this would prove to be impossible with him in her life. She had therefore decided to make a clean break – because she knew that bidding Sebastian farewell was not a skill she possessed – and to disappear brutally. To make her plan even more effective, she had also cut ties with Ominis, seeing as he was Sebastian’s best friend, and MC had felt awkward to put him in the middle of her drama. The only thing MC had kept from her old life was Poppy... now her one and only friend.

MC had then spent years travelling around the world, searching for a place where she would feel comfortable enough, and that she would love enough to want to settle there for the rest of her life. The goal to her quest was to find a place that felt like home.

After almost three years, she still had not found her home.

“Ow!” MC suddenly exclaimed. Someone forcefully colliding against her back disrupted her reverie.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you.”

MC turned at the sound of a deep masculine voice. Indeed, the man could not possibly have seen her, for he was carrying a large pile of children's toys in his arms, up to his eye level, thus blocking his field of vision.

The man shifted the pile of toys into one of his arms instead of both, moving them away from his face to take a look at the unlucky person he had just unintentionally bumped into.

Next thing MC knew, before she could even realise it, MC found herself face to face with none other than Sebastian.

His chocolate eyes widened in recognition as they locked onto hers. An amalgam of shock and bewilderment flashing across his face, washing away his previous apologetic look. He was so flabbergasted that he forgot about the packages in his hands, which began to wobble. MC rushed closer to him, to put the parcels back upright, and prevent them from shattering on the floor.

“…MC?” He asked hesitantly, never tearing his gaze away from her, just to make sure he was not dreaming, that his former best friend was well and truly standing in front of him.

“Hi.” She smiled softly at him. She could not believe that she had not recognised what had once been the only voice capable of soothing her even on her worst days. To be fair, it had changed remarkably. It was more intense, manly... even sexy.

“You’re back?” He questioned eagerly, a beaming grin breaking through the initial stupor.

MC nodded in response. She could not bring herself to tell him that it was only temporary, or even worse to admit to him that she had not come back for him, that she had never had a single intention of ever seeing him again. She could not be the one to wipe that gorgeous smile from his tantalising lips. It would break her own heart all over again.

As she kept staring into those familiar eyes, a rush of emotions overwhelmed MC. The old crush she had once harboured seemed to reignite with an unexpected intensity. It was unbelievably insane that just one glance at him was all it took to make her flamboyant feelings for him resurface. She thought she had managed to eradicate them, but she had actually only been able to bury them deep inside.

However, with that also came the horrid realisation that Sebastian was carrying a large number of toys in his arms. As MC looked once again at the eye-catching bundles in his arms, reality struck her like a cold breeze.

There, nestled in his grasp, was the object of the rude shock that life had evolved without her, in ways she never could have foreseen. Obviously, these toys were for his children, meaning that Sebastian was also married and had a loving wife waiting at home for him.

MC, still quite in denial, racked her brains to find another rational explication, but there was none. There was no other option because Ominis always said he never wanted kids in order not to pass on his ‘cursed Gaunt genes’. As for Anne… well last time MC had heard of Anne was the day Solomon Sallow died. After that, she had severed all contact with everyone except Ominis, who had promised her not to divulge any information about her whereabouts.

MC’s heart sank as her mind kept repeating itself that Sebastian had moved on, embracing a world that now included the joy and responsibility of raising a family.

“Merlin, MC! I thought I’d never see you again! You’ve missed so many things, there’s so much I need to tell you! Do you live here now?” If Sebastian had ever held a grudge against MC for disappearing without warning, no trace of it was visible. His excitement was taking over completely.

“I have a room at the Hog’s Head.”

“What? The Hog’s Head?” He exclaimed in horror – rather dramatically if you asked MC – “You can't possibly stay in this dodgy shithouse!”

MC was surprised by his crude words. She was used to his outspokenness, but she had not expected to hear it again so soon after such a long time. She could only shrug sheepishly, “I don't really have much choice... Sirona didn't have any more rooms available for me. Everything was booked up… you know… with the holidays.”

“Ah... Well, I can't exactly let a lovely lady like you sleep there. I've got room at home, you can come if you like.” Sebastian puffed out his chest, putting on his false air of chivalry.

MC tried her best to conceal the blush creeping up her cheeks, but alas, she could do nothing about her nervous stammering, “Oh… Oh, I… I don’t wanna bother you. Besides, the Hog’s Head’s not that bad…”

“Don't say no. Please. Really, I insist. We could spend the evening drinking and catching up… What d’you say?” Sebastian gave her the sad puppy eyes, and MC could feel all her resolve slipping away at the same second.

Thinking about it twice, the Hog's Head was truly, absolutely dreadful. The few times MC had been there, she had been catcalled far too many times for her liking.

So yes, she knew that staying with Sebastian, his wife and their children was going to be pure torture, but MC still preferred that to the risk of being mugged or assaulted by one of the Hog's Head patrons.

“Okay.” She ended up saying, forcing a smile that masked her internal turmoil.

“Brilliant!” Sebastian looked so excited that it would not have surprised MC if he had started jumping up and down. “Have you got any luggage you need to pick up in your room before going to my place?”

“No, I've just got this." MC replied, pointing to her small rectangular shoulder bag, barely large enough to hold a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. “I travel light.”

“Perfect! Well then, if you will follow me, my lady.” He offered her his arm with a wink, and after a brief moment of surprise, she accepted it.

Sebastian made it so effortless to fall back into their old dynamic, that it made it just as natural and easy for MC to do the same. It was like they had never been apart.

They walked together, sticking close to each other, in the same way they used to do when they were still teenagers. As they strolled through the streets of Hogsmeade, MC assumed Sebastian was taking her to a Floo Flame. The girl was therefore genuinely caught off-guard when he stopped in front of her. a small house typical of the village – made of stone with an excessively pointed roof – and took out a key to open the front door.

“Ladies first.” Sebastian's face lit up with pride and joy, while he let MC in first, still the perfect gentleman as usual. Even married, he could not help being flirty.

Before entering, MC took a deep breath to try and calm her nerves, in anticipation of meeting the woman who had succeeded where she had failed, the woman who was better enough than her in Sebastian's eyes to have succeeded in stealing his golden heart.

However, instead of coming face to face with her nemesis, MC found herself immersed in an intimate reflection of Sebastian's essence, overwhelmed by how homey it felt. The house was truly cosy, but a little small for a family in MC's opinion. But then again, it had to be remembered that Sebastian was used to small spaces, having lived in his little one-room cottage in Feldcroft for most of his life.

The living room had the charm of disarray, with stacks of well-read books scattered on the coffee table next to empty mugs, suggesting that Sebastian had not lost his messy habits. The smell of the fireplace and coffee intermingled, creating a comforting atmosphere that reflected precisely the way Sebastian always managed to put MC at ease.

MC guessed that the upstairs, which was in fact a mezzanine, must be the bedroom. She did not dare go upstairs to respect his privacy, but from the ground floor, she could see the top of bookshelves reaching up to the pointed roof, proof that Sebastian was still as thirsty for knowledge as ever.

All these little details showed MC that, although his life had evolved, the man standing a few steps away from her was still her beloved Sebastian.

Sebastian, observing MC's reactions, could not suppress a grin, "It's not much, but it's home. You can have the bedroom, and I'll sleep on the couch.”

On further inspection of the house, MC came upon the kitchen, which was open to the living room. She could not help noticing that the worktops bore the marks of failed culinary experiments. Some pans with burnt bottoms were abandoned on the counter, and dirty cutlery had accumulated in the sink. In short, the kitchen was a mess, just as Sebastian could be in other people's lives.

However, what stood out most to MC was the absence of signs of shared living. There were no visible traces of another person – no stray belongings, no indications of a partner or children. It was as if the whole house resonated with Sebastian alone, as if his whole person had become woven into the fabric of his environment.

As MC continued to stare in silence at his topsy-turvy house, Sebastian scratched the back of his neck nervously, “Don't pay attention to the shambles, please. I didn't clean up... since I wasn't exactly expecting any guests.”

Instead of reassuring him as she would have liked, MC's curiosity was quicker to take over her next words, “Where’s your wife?”

“My wife?” Sebastian frowned.

“Yes. The woman you married.” She added bitterly. Her curiosity slowly lowered its mask to reveal its true self of authentic jealousy.

He looked away, but MC could still see that he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face, “I’m flattered you think I’m charming enough to get a wife, but I’m afraid there’s still no Mrs. Sallow. Besides Anne, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian chuckled at her enigmatic reaction.

“I thought the toys were for your kids…” She admitted shyly, pretty embarrassed after making so many wrong assumptions about him.

“My kids? Bloody hell, MC, you sure have high expectations for me!” Sebastian exclaimed, clearly amused by the situation. “But no, I don't have kids. The toys are for my niece.”

MC was gob smacked, eyes wide and mouth agape, “Your… niece? You have a niece? Anne had a child? Wait, did she get married? With who?”

“That’s a lot of questions.” He smirked playfully at her, while looking for a bottle in one of his cabinets. “But I think you can guess the answer to the last one.”

MC looked down at her feet, taking a moment to think, when realisation hit her like a bolt of lightning. She turned her head back to Sebastian so fast it almost gave her whiplash, “Ominis?”

“Bingo.” Sebastian replied casually, uncorking a bottle of Firewhiskey. “And he took Anne's name. He's Mr. Sallow now.”

“No way!” She gasped, letting herself fall limply onto the sofa out of utter stupefaction.

“Yes way.” He laughed wholeheartedly, sitting down next to her and pouring two glasses of alcohol for each of them.

"How? When?"

"Apparently, after fifth year, they did more than just keep in touch."

MC took her glass in hand, but did not drink from it. She had far too many questions on her mind to take the time to have a sip, "But how did they deal with Anne's curse?"

"It disappeared once you killed Rookwood, since he was the one who cursed her. Apparently, magic disappears with the caster. I learnt all this a few months after graduation, when Anne got back in touch to invite me to their wedding…”

Sebastian suddenly paused in his explanations to down his glass of Firewhiskey in one gulp.

“She wanted to invite you too… I had to explain to her that you'd disappeared without warning." He continued, looking pained, and MC suspected it was not just because of the bitterness of the alcohol.

"I'm sorry." MC winced at her own words. She was pathetic to listen to, using the most clichéd and basic phrase. But it was all she could muster to respond, because it was exactly how she felt. She was profoundly sorry. Sorry to the people she cherished the most, for abandoning them without looking back. But also sorry for herself, because she now had to accept the bitter realisation that she had been absent for so many crucial milestones of their lives.

Sebastian only shook his head, avoiding her gaze and preferring to stare at his empty glass, "Why did you do that? Why didn't you say anything? I was worried sick ‘cause I thought something bad had happened to you, that some Ashwinders were still out there, and had kidnapped you. I spent months looking for you... I'd even asked the Aurors to search for you.”

MC sipped her drink slowly, using the alcohol as a distraction from the painfully heartbreaking explanations of the man sitting next to her

“…They eventually found you overseas. In perfect health... and in perfect company so I've heard. That's when I realised that you hadn't been taken away, but had gone away of your own free will.” Sebastian poured himself another glass before throwing it back again.

“I'm so sorry.”

He scoffed bitterly, “I don't want to hear that you're sorry. It's no use. I just want to know what you were thinking when you left.”

This time, it was MC's turn to down her glass before pouring her heart out in the most honest way possible, "I just needed to get away from everything, from the past. I just wanted to start again."

Against all odds, he nodded understandingly, "Wish I could stay mad at you for it... but I won’t say that I don’t understand."

What he did next surprised MC in the most pleasant way. Sebastian reached out towards her, placing his large hand on top of hers, which was resting on the brown leather of the sofa. Even if his hand was calloused and weathered by time and experience, MC was amazed by how perfectly it fit around her own.

"What matters is that you're here now." He offered her a tender smile that warmed her heart in the most appeasing way. Only he could do that to her.

"I am." MC smiled in return, even more brightly. It was contagious. She turned her hand over and intertwined their fingers together.

As their conversation died down, MC could not help but steal a moment to observe the transformation in Sebastian’s appearance. The once-adorable teenage boy she remembered had blossomed into a handsome man. His features, chiselled by the passage of time, sculpted a strong jawline that added a touch of rugged refinement to his countenance. The shadow of a beard adorned his face, giving him a distinguished and slightly mysterious air. Sebastian's tousled hair fell with a casual elegance, framing a face that bore the subtle imprints of life's experiences, such as a scar on his eyebrow arch that MC had never seen before.

The only remaining trace of the boyish charm that MC had cherished years ago, was the constellations of freckles that beautifully decorated his face. They had always made MC weak in the knees, but the butterflies in her stomach were multiplied tenfold now that they were highlighted by his light tan.

MC internally begged herself to stop ogling him before she fell further under his spell (if that was even possible, considering how head over heels she was for him).

She poured herself another drink and cleared her throat, “You said you wanted to catch up over drinks, right? Go ahead. Tell me about yourself.”

As Sebastian spoke, MC found herself captivated by the way he carried himself – his confidence unaltered after all these years, and the assurance with which he gestured. There was an understated magnetism in the way he spoke, a reflection of the man he had become since they last parted. As he easily recounted all he had achieved, MC marvelled at the beauty of the journey that had transformed him into the person sitting in front of her.

And so, MC listened attentively, desperate to know everything she had missed about him. She thus learnt that, after Hogwarts, Sebastian had joined the Auror recruitment programme. His first reason was that it was a profession he was passionate about, and that allowed him to do what he loved all day long. The second reason – and perhaps the most important – was because he knew that this career would help him to achieve noble things. In other words, it was his way of making amends for all the mistakes he had made in the past, in the hope that Anne would eventually forgive him too (which had taken a long time, but eventually worked out).

After having been accepted into the programme, Sebastian knew that he would not be able to stay in Feldcroft, firstly because the cottage held too many painful memories, but also because it was now Anne and Ominis' shared home. Consequently, he had found himself a small studio in London, not far from the Ministry. However, even after spending several months there, it just never felt like home to him. He resented the lack of green space, and the fact that he always had to check that none of his Muggle neighbours noticed that he was a wizard. So he moved again.

Looking for a place that was both in the heart of the Highlands and still bustling with life, Sebastian found only one possibility: Hogsmeade. The small, all-wizarding village met all his expectations, and the Ministry was easy to reach thanks to the Floo Network. And so, Sebastian moved into this small cottage, perfect for his life as a bachelor.

“So Auror Sallow, huh?” MC said playfully. “Well, can Auror Sallow win a duel against Ancient Magic Prodigy MC?”

“He sure hopes he can, since it’s supposed to be his job.” Sebastian laughed along with her.

“Do you want to put yourself to the test?” She cocked an eyebrow at him mischievously.

“You know I never shy away from a duel.” He replied with the same spark of deviltry in his eyes.

Without wasting any more time, Sebastian stood up, then turned to MC, holding out his hand to help her up. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough to make MC's cheekbones turn pink, as would any act of affection she received from Sebastian.

The two took their positions, taking a few steps apart before facing each other. It had been years since they last engaged in the exhilarating dance of magical duelling, a pastime that had once defined their youth, especially after being named Crossed Wands champions for three years running.

"Ready?" Sebastian grinned, the confidence of experience illuminating his eyes.

"Always." MC replied, wand at the ready, and they prepared to rediscover the thrill that had bound them together in shared laughter and friendly rivalry.

Ever the perfect gentleman, Sebastian let MC commence hostilities.

“Expelliarmus!”

“You're off to an easy start.” Sebastian laughed after brushing the attack off with a simple Shield Charm. “Confringo!”

MC deflected the spell just as easily, smirking right back at him, “You're off to a predictable start.”

A symphony of lights ensued, as sparks and spells flew, and the air shimmered with the energy of their magical prowess. MC’s spells were fluid and controlled, a testament to the skill she had honed over the years. Sebastian, however, moved with a newfound grace and precision, his every movement reflecting the growth and mastery he had attained thanks to the Auror training.

The duelling only grew in intensity as the two friends weaved intricate spells, each trying to outmanoeuvre the other. Laughter and teasing remarks echoed through the night as memories of their youth resurfaced in the midst of their magical exchange.

After several long and intense minutes of competing against each other, Sebastian unexpectedly directed his wand away from MC, aiming instead at the ceiling, and more precisely at the chandelier hanging from it.

“Glacius!” The candles obviously failed to resist the ice and were instantly extinguished on contact, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

Distracted by the newfound refined strategy established by Sebastian – which he had no doubt learnt to put in place at the speed of light during one of his courses – MC did not notice Sebastian disappear under a Disillusionment Charm, which was all the more effective as there was hardly any light in the living room, apart from the orange flames crackling in the fireplace.

With a final, masterful flick of his wand, Sebastian cast the final blow, “Depulso.”

MC found herself propelled to the floor, her back slamming against the sofa. Judging by the underwhelming low force of the impact, it was easy to guess that he had restrained himself, so as not to hurt her.

“Looks like I've had my long-awaited revenge for fifth year. I've finally bested you in a duel." Sebastian, breathing slightly heavier but grinning ear to ear, extended a hand to help her up.

MC, refusing to admit defeat, grabbed Sebastian's hand but only to make him fall to the ground beside her. She rolled them over until she was astride him, holding him firmly down.

She grinned down at him, “Really? Because I actually think I’ve won.”

He barked a laugh, “And I think you've forgotten the rule that you're not allowed to use physical violence in a wizard duel.”

“Since when do we play by the rules?”

Their gazes met for the umpteenth time that night, but this time was different. It was as if time had come to a standstill, as if the world had momentarily stopped spinning for them, just to let them savour the closeness of the moment.

MC kept staring into Sebastian's chocolate eyes, and was truly taken aback by what she saw in them. His eyes, once full of youthful curiosity, now sparkled with a different kind of radiance. They shone with a brightness that seemed to reflect the happiness and contentment he had found in his life. The laughter lines around his eyes only enhanced their glow, and as MC looked into those bright, expressive eyes, she could not help but feel a sense of joy for the man who had evolved from the adorable teenage friend she once knew, into the confident and content individual currently lying on the ground beneath her.

In those eyes, she saw the echoes of the genuine happiness that had transformed Sebastian into the person he was meant to be, the person she should have met from the very beginning of fifth year, if only Anne had never been cursed by Rookwood.

But now Sebastian was completely fulfilled with every aspect of his life. It was as plain as the nose on his face. And the feeling was made all the clearer by the fact that his lively eyes were perfectly matched by his wide toothy grin, which shone brightly even in the middle of the darkened living room.

After eventually snapping out of her thoughts, MC pulled herself away from Sebastian and helped him straighten up, “I’m proud of you, Seb, of what you’ve become. The future Mrs. Sallow will be very lucky to have a capable man like you by her side.”

Sebastian sat down next to her on the floor, facing the fireplace, and back resting against the sofa behind them, “She’ll never be as lucky as Mr. MC will be. I hope he’ll realise he’s got the most brilliant witch of the world by his side.”

MC grabbed his arm and hugged it close to her chest, while hooking her leg over one of his. Their limbs were tangled together, clinging to each other. Sebastian seemed to have no objection to this new positioning. In fact, he seemed quite delighted as he wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the girl next to him.

“What d’you think he’ll be like, my future husband?” She asked quietly.

“He’ll have to be right for you.” He replied all too solemnly.

A small laugh escaped her, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it has to be someone who will know how to take care of you, and give you everything you need to be happy, without a single shred of hesitation. It will be someone who's worthy of standing by your side and will be able to protect you from any danger… so basically someone who'll be able to defeat me in a duel."

"Seems like I'll be stuck with you for the rest of my life, then." MC continued to smile, but it was no longer in amusement. It was something more akin to contentment.

Sebastian mirrored her expression, "Perhaps you will. I can’t imagine it'd be too bad, would it?"

"Apart from your occasional bad temper, I think I could take it." She rested her head on his strong shoulder.

MC was not sure whether it was the fatigue accumulated from her perpetual travels, or the feeling of being in a warm, comfortable home, or even the fact of being reunited with Sebastian (it was probably all three), but her eyelids became heavy without her even realising it, leading her into a peaceful sleep.

“I'm going to celebrate Christmas at Anne and Ominis' house tomorrow. You're coming.” Sebastian declared out of the blue, without realising that the girl had started dozing off.

“What? No, Seb, I can’t do that. I can’t just barge in when I wasn’t invited.” MC mumbled groggily.

“You don’t need an invitation, MC. It’s you. You’re always welcome.” He retorted instantly, as if it was the most common fact to ever exist. “Plus, they miss you, so they’ll be the happiest people in the world if you show up.”

“I won't even have a present to give them...” She muttered like a pouting small child, which made it impossible for Sebastian to hold back a chuckle.

“You're back. Believe me, that's better than any present you could buy.”

Sebastian's fingers subconsciously started tracing invisible shapes on her arm, effectively lulling her back to sleep.

❄∗❆∗❅⁂∗☃∗⁂❅∗❆∗❄

The next morning, MC was woken by the few rays of winter sunshine that the curtains had failed to hold back. Keeping her eyes closed to enjoy a few more minutes of rest, she rolled onto her stomach and was pleasantly surprised by the feel of soft sheets against the skin of her face. But what struck her most was that she could smell Sebastian's perfume all around her, as if she were immersed in one of the bottles.

Completely enveloped by the sophisticated fusion of woody undertones and hints of vetiver, and the enigmatic charm it carried, MC opened her eyes and realised that she had indeed spent the night in Sebastian's bed. On seeing this, MC let herself think that Sebastian had slept in the same bed as her, and that perhaps, with a little bit of luck, he reciprocated her feelings.

A flutter of anticipation flickered within her, one that prevented her from staying in bed any longer. Without wasting any more time, MC descended the mezzanine stairs to the living room, where Sebastian was already sitting on the couch, Daily Prophet in hand.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Sebastian greeted her with a smile when he noticed her standing at the bottom of the stairs.

MC realised he must have been up for quite some time, for he was freshly cleaned up – the lack of stubble which had been present the previous day was testament to it – and already dressed up for the imminent Christmas reunion. He was clad in a tan windowpane shirt, coupled with a gingerbread brown vest matching his tailored pants. The choice of colours could not have been more perfect. All those shades of brown brought out all his most majestic features: his unruly yet soft hair, his freckled skin, his warm and reassuring eyes…

Sebastian was making it humanly impossible to tear one’s gaze away from his god-like appearance, and MC could not resist making a comment about it.

“Morning, handsome.” She smirked playfully back at him.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Better than ever.” MC admitted, a discreet pink tinting her cheekbones. “Just a question, though. How did I get up there?”

“I carried you, of course. Couldn't let you sleep on the floor. What kind of host would I have been?”

“And… you slept…?”

“On the couch. Just like I told you I would.” Sebastian smiled tenderly.

“Right.”

And with these few simple words, reality dawned on MC. Disappointment settled in, like a gentle snowfall dampening the warm embers of her previous hope that Sebastian harboured feelings for her.

The truth was that he had chosen the sofa over sharing the bed with her, a sign that he still viewed MC as nothing more than a friend. The girl felt her heart tug, like a reminder of why she had chosen not to be part of his life any more.

MC took a deep breath, “I'm gonna go and get ready, so we don't arrive late at Anne and Ominis'.”

“Anne likes us all to be dressed up for Christmas. We can go and buy you a dress at Gladrags, if you'd like–”

She immediately shook her head, “No, no, it's fine. Don't worry, I've got everything I need.”

MC took out her wand and pointed it at her small shoulder bag on the floor. With a simple flick, the object grew tenfold in volume until it reached the size of a suitcase. MC opened it, revealing that the bag had been enchanted to be bottomless, and she climbed inside it before disappearing. All that could be heard was the sound of her footsteps, and her bustle as she went through all sorts of outfits.

“Talk about travelling light.” Sebastian snickered.

A few moments later, MC emerged back from the suitcase as if climbing a ladder, wearing an ankle-length cotton mahogany dress. The corset hugged her waist perfectly, and highlighted her bust with its square neckline and short puffed sleeves. The dress was nothing extravagant, but the fact that it fit her like a glove was what made it so charming.

“Is this dress all right? Think it'll be nice enough for Anne?” She gave it a twirl, so that Sebastian could see it from every angle, before putting on a black cloak to protect herself from the winter cold.

“It looks great. You look great. Well, not great, actually. I mean– More like stunning. You look stunning, you do. We’re even matching. The colour, I mean. Because obviously you look better than me.” Sebastian stammered awkwardly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of shyness. “Merlin, this is awful. I need to learn to shut up.”

“It’s alright. I understood what you meant, that's the most important thing.” MC could only chuckle at his new bashfulness. She found it absolutely endearing.

Sebastian took a deep breath before speaking more clearly, “What I’m trying to say is… You're beautiful. You’ve always been.”

“Thank you, Seb.” She met his gaze, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

He tried to divert attention from his nervousness by slipping on his long black coat, and grabbing the wrapped gifts for his niece, “Ready to go?”

MC nodded in response, waiting for Sebastian to apparate them. She expected him to grab her by the arm, but instead he wrapped an arm around her waist. He brought her small figure close to him, as if he wanted to make sure that she would be comfortable during the apparition, that there was not even the slightest chance for her to get splinched.

With a loud crack, the world began to spin. Next thing she knew, MC was standing in the middle of the snowy village of Feldcroft. As she tried to right herself, she staggered slightly, dizzy from the apparition, whose effects were far more brutal when someone was doing it for you. Fortunately, Sebastian still had an arm wrapped around her waist to cradle her against him. With his other hand, he grabbed her elbow to steady her.

Once Sebastian was certain that MC was all right, he guided her towards the Sallow cottage, which she had not seen for years. From the outside, it looked much bigger than she remembered, particularly because it had an extra floor. Sebastian explained that he had helped Anne and Ominis enlarge it after their wedding, so that they would have enough room for their future family.

Sebastian was the first to set foot on the cottage porch. He hid MC behind him with his body, to create an effect of surprise, then knocked on the door. It was Anne who answered, appearing in the doorway wearing a sublime ankle-length midnight-blue velvet dress adorned with cultured pearls.

"Sebastian! I told you to buy only one present! She's going to end up spoiled rotten if this keeps up." Anne exclaimed without even greeting her brother.

"She's my only niece. Who am I to spend my money on if not her?"

"How 'bout your sister?" She raised an accusing eyebrow at him, while clearing him of all the packages in his arms.

"Ah, but I've brought a surprise for you too. Look what I found last night…" He intoned with amusement, and stepped aside to reveal MC. "A lost soul who wanted to spend Christmas alone at the Hog’s Head!"

"Oh my, MC!" Anne swiftly pulled the girl into a bear hug. "Ominis, come here!"

"What is it, sweetie?" The blond man called from afar, carrying his daughter in his arms.

Judging by the way he had stopped dead in his tracks, coming to an abrupt halt, MC knew that he had sensed her presence thanks to his sentient wand.

Sebastian decided to take his brother-in-law’s daughter off his hands, so that the two friends could reunite peacefully, "Hey, little monster! Wanna give a hug to Uncle Seb?"

Meanwhile, MC approached her old friend and spoke softly, "Hello, Ominis."

Knowing that Ominis was not very comfortable with physical contact, especially with people he did not know well, MC was not sure how to greet him. So it came as a great surprise when he made no hesitation whatsoever and took her in his arms, holding her tightly.

"I should be telling you off for disappearing... but I'm not going to. Not today." Ominis whispered in her ear.

She chuckled lightly, "I'm happy to see you too."

"Let me take your coat." He offered after pulling away.

MC untied the ribbon from her cloak, and handed it to Ominis. She then turned to Sebastian to pick up the toddler in his arms, so that he too could remove his thick winter coat.

"Hi, little princess. I'm a friend of your mummy and daddy, and your uncle Sebastian too." MC cooed in a honeyed voice. She could not help noticing that the little girl in her arms was the perfect amalgam of her two parents. She had all her mother's features, but with meadow-blonde hair and grey-blue eyes like her father.

"Unkie! Unkie!" She pouted and made big gestures with her arms to indicate that she wanted to go back to her uncle. She truly was an uncle's little girl.

"I'm here, baby.” Sebastian immediately took her back into his arms, after giving Ominis his coat, to cradle her. “You don't have to be scared of MC. She's really nice too, you know."

"Auntie?" The one-year-old asked hesitantly, reaching out to wrap her hand around MC's index finger.

"That's right, that's Auntie MC." Sebastian encouraged her. It was impressive how he naturally had his way with kids.

It may have been silly, but something as simple as being called Auntie by a child she had just met, as well as by Sebastian, awakened something in her, a sense of belonging that had been dormant for a long time. She truly felt like a fully-fledged member of this family.

Anne suddenly let out a sigh, "I'd love to be able to celebrate the reunion with you, but I've still got lots of things to do in the kitchen. Sebastian, can you look after the baby while Ominis lays the table?"

"I'll come and help you, Anne." MC declared.

"Thank you, MC. You're too kind." Anne exited the living room, followed by MC.

“So… You and Ominis, huh?” MC started once they were alone. She was sitting across from Anne at the small kitchen table which was covered in food stains from preparing the meal.

Anne immediately shook her head, “Oh, no, no. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about my marital life later. Let's talk about how you ended up here with my brother after all these years."

"We ran into each other last night in Hogsmeade. He offered me to sleep over, and we basically spent the better part of the night talking." MC shrugged.

"And?” Anne pried impatiently. “What happened?"

"Nothing. What do you want to happen?”

“Nothing. It was just a random question.” Anne replied coyly while she finished icing the Yule log. “So, update me as well. Where are you in life? Have you met anyone?”

“No, not at all. I haven't really had time for that.”

“That's a shame.”

“What – uhm – What about him?” MC did not look up from the kilted soldiers she was preparing, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Needless to say, it was a failure.

“Who?” Anne feigned ignorance.

MC heaved a sigh, deciding to finally meet her friend's gaze, “Sebastian. Has he met anyone recently?”

Anne bit the inside of her cheek, "I think you should ask him directly."

"I'm scared it'll be awkward…"

"Well… if you want to know everything, he hasn’t courted anyone since you went away. He claims that he's not interested in dating, that he’s focusing on becoming a proper Auror first. He always finds an excuse to avoid admitting that he's already got a girl on his mind, but is too much of a coward to act upon it."

MC felt her heart skip a beat. A cold realization settled over her, making her stop everything she was doing. Her heart sank, the weight of unspoken truths pressing upon her, and she forced a tight-lipped smile, concealing the ache within as she navigated the sudden revelation that someone else was in Sebastian's heart, and it was not her.

MC swallowed thickly, "Has he known her for long?"

"Several years."

"And is she a good person? Does she treat him well?"

"He's never been happier than when he's with her." Anne admitted with a sincere smile that contrasted drastically with the unsettled look that MC was unable to disguise.

"Who is it?" She asked weakly, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

"I fear that’s too much information, and that's not for me to tell. Just ask him."

Without another word on the matter, Anne gracefully pivoted, excusing herself to go back to the living room and announce that the meal was ready. MC took a moment to compose herself, swallowing the bitter pill of disappointment before joining the others in the living room.

Seated at the table, surrounded by the warmth of holiday decorations and the aroma of a festive feast, the four friends engaged in a pleasant chatter. The clinking of cutlery and laughter created a veneer of normalcy. They reminisced adventures from their time at Hogwarts, shared stories about their jobs, exchanged anecdotes about Anne and Ominis’s little one, and indulged in the delights of the Christmas meal.

“So, MC, what have you been up to during your travels?” Ominis asked as he had just finished feeding his daughter.

MC swallowed her mouthful of turkey before replying, “Well, you know, trying to explore the world and discover new places. Honestly, I’ve just been searching for a place that makes me want to stay, that feels like home.”

“And have you found that place yet?”

MC was silent for a moment. How was she supposed to explain that she had found this special place years ago, but had fled far away from it, just to search the world for something similar? Because if MC was willing to face the truth, she knew that her home was wherever Sebastian was.

Sebastian was her home.

It was quite ironic that he did not feel the same way about her…

“I… I’m not sure.” MC finally said.

“…Does that mean you’ll be back on the road again?” Ominis questioned again, but this time with caution.

“Yes. I leave tomorrow morning.” MC replied resolutely.

The clatter of dropped cutlery echoed like an unintentional punctuation to the tremendous silence that followed. Eyes widened, gazes met with uncertainty, and an unspoken tension pulsed through the room.

Anne was the first to break the palpable unease by raising her voice, “What? But you just came back! You can’t leave so soon.”

The next sound came from Sebastian's chair legs scraping the floor as he stood up abruptly and threw his napkin on the table, “Excuse me. I need some fresh air.”

His eyes did not meet anyone's as he left the table. Without even grabbing his coat, he stormed out of the house. The door slammed behind him and echoed through the deathly hush inside.

"What’s up with him? Did I say something wrong?" MC asked, disconcerted. She was completely unaware of the weight of her revelation, which had hit her friends like a tidal wave.

Anne huffed in irritation before shouting at her, "Of course you did, MC! You're supposed to be his best friend! Can't you see how cruel you're being to him?"

Ominis rested a hand on his wife's shoulder, "Calm down, sweetie. It's not her fault MC is dense."

"Hey!" The girl exclaimed indignantly, but Ominis ignored her.

"Let me put it simply for you, MC. We were all hurt when you left without saying a word, but Sebastian's been a complete wreck ever since. The usual cheerful Sebastian you know was nowhere to be found for years… until today. And that's only because you came back.”

“And now, you've just brutally told him that you plan to disappear tomorrow, and take his happiness with you! Again!" Anne insisted, determined to keep rubbing it in until realisation eventually hit the girl.

Fortunately, it worked quite quickly, but now MC did not know what to do with herself, "I... I didn't know that... I thought he’d just forget about me and move on."

"I thought you knew him better than that. Haven’t you yet realised that you're everything to him? Because it's more than time you do!"

“I… need to talk to him. Excuse me.”

MC, in turn, rushed out of the cottage, only grabbing Sebastian's coat in her haste.

The freezing air greeted her as she stepped outside, snowflakes landing on her hair and the bare skin of her arms. Thankfully, it did not take her long to spot Sebastian, who had moved slightly away from the house to lean against a tree, his shoulders hunched slightly against the winter chill.

She approached him slowly, but with a determined step, the snow crunching under her feet. She knew he had heard her by the way he straightened up, even though he seemed intent on ignoring her.

“Seb, come back inside. It’s freezing, you’re gonna catch your death.” She implored him, covering herself with her arms to protect herself from the icy wind.

“What’s it to you? You won’t even be there to see it.” He replied even more coldly than the weather, without even turning to look at her.

“…Put on your coat at least.” She insisted, extending it to him.

Sebastian took the coat from her, but instead of putting it on like expected, he draped it over her, so that she would not get cold. His hands lingered on her shoulders, which were now protected by the thick felt.

At last, he met her gaze, his eyes silently pleading with her, “Am I not good enough for you to stay? Not good enough for you to notice me?”

MC grabbed his wrists as if by instinct, “Seb, of course you’re plenty enough. You’re my oldest friend–”

Sebastian sighed in annoyance and pulled away from her, “But can’t you see it’s not enough for me?”

“…What?”

Sebastian reached into his pocket, retrieving a small velvet box. He had always imagined giving her this gift with a broad smile, but now he was opening the box with a rueful frown, to reveal a delicate ring.

“I wanted to give it to you a little after we graduated. I wanted to give it to you to confess my feelings. I wanted that ring to be a symbol of my devotion, and a promise to always remain loyal to you… Turned out life had other plans because you left the day I bought it.”

“Sebastian…” MC croaked out, doing her best to fight back the tears that threatened to fall as she stared at the magnificent jewel that was the poignant representation of all the missed opportunities and lost time.

"Now’s a good time to give it to you, I think. If you’re going to leave again, might as well be honest while I have the chance, before you run away like last time." He said acrimoniously as he placed the ring on her finger.

"Wha…” The shock took away MC's voice before she could even finish her sentence. Her eyes were riveted on the golden band. “What about the girl you like? Anne told me you were interested in someone."

"The girl I like?” He laughed humourlessly. “MC, I've been ridiculously and irrevocably in love with you since fifth year, since the day you kicked my arse in Hecat’s class. You literally knocked me off my feet. I know I didn't always show it well, but it's true, it's always been you.”

MC let out a pained grunt and hid her face in her hands in shame, "Oh Merlin, Seb... I've been such an idiot."

“Why?” Sebastian frowned.

“I've always loved you too. But I was so miserable thinking I'd never be anything more than your friend, that I decided to disappear to try and forget you.”

“And? Please, tell me it didn’t work.” His words came out desperate, almost begging.

She took his face between her hands, and lovingly caressed his cold cheeks, “It didn’t. How could I ever forget you? Being away from you only made me miss you more.”

His hands came down to rest around her waist, bringing her close to his body, in search of both solace and warmth, “It's all right. We're together now. You don't have to leave anymore. All's well that ends well.”

“Well… Not exactly all. You gave me this beautiful ring, and I have nothing to give you in return.”

“I finally have the witch of my dreams back at my side. I couldn’t dream of a better Christmas present.”

Suddenly, MC and Sebastian were interrupted by a cracking sound coming from above them. They looked up and saw a branch of mistletoe sprang out of thin air from one of the branches of the tree they were standing under, its delicate white berries shimmering in the soft glow of the surrounding lights.

Sebastian looked back down at MC, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “Actually… I’ve just thought of a gift you could give me.”

The snowflakes descended gracefully around them, creating a magical scene that mirrored the fluttering emotions in their hearts. In that enchanting moment, with the world cocooned in a quiet hush, MC found the fiery courage and desire to close the thin gap between them. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, and their hearts were set alight, for the moment they had dreamt of most in their lives had finally become reality.

Out of enthusiasm, Sebastian tightened his grip around MC, with his arms completely wrapped around her petite frame, enveloping her in such warmth that she completely forgot they were both covered in snow. He pressed and secured her tightly against him, and lifted her off the ground. Out of reflex, the girl's hands travelled up to wrap around his neck to steady herself. Her fingertips grazed his soft curls, sending shivers down her spine.

Unfortunately, their winter wonderland moment was abruptly interrupted by the joyful cheers of their friends inside the house. MC and Sebastian reluctantly pulled away from each other, and turned in the direction of the commotion to see Anne and Ominis glued to the window to spy on them. The wand in Anne's hand was proof enough that it was she who had conjured up the mistletoe.

MC giggled, looking back at her boyfriend with stars in her eyes, and her hands resting in his chest, “Merry Christmas, Seb.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” He answered softly before leaning in to steal another kiss from her.

MC sincerely hoped there would be another Mrs. Sallow other than Anne next Christmas, for she had finally found her home and never planned on leaving ever again.

❄∗❆∗❅⁂∗☃∗⁂❅∗❆∗❄

Part 2 : Christmas at Home (link)

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