#and the countryside did shake with that feedback

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. II)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: Minho is even more determined to make you see the good in love after falling for you, while you’re too preoccupied with thinking you’re not good enough for him.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, pining

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), hand job, fingering, like two seconds of nipple play, slut shaming, swearing

♡ Word count: 13.2k

♡ A/N: I got such a great response on the first part 🥲 thank you to everyone who left feedback. It means a lot more than you realize. I researched what to do on a trip to Japan so extensively just to write this part that I got sad I’ve never traveled there 🫠

← part I ♡ part III →

The night after you and Minho watched the light show, you stayed awake until four in the morning with your roommates as Eunha cried about her ex-boyfriend. You’ve never been the type to hope for someone’s misery, but that guy is deserving of every terrible thing that could happen to him.

After she calmed down, you fell asleep together on the couch. You only managed to check your phone in the morning, finding it thrown on your bed along with your bag. Minho’s string of messages put a smile on your face. You could use the time away from everything, even if it was only for a weekend.

You agreed to his strange invitation without thinking twice. You did, however, insist on paying for your hotel room. Chan was already being far too generous in offering you his place on a trip he had paid for.

Soon enough, two weeks flew by and the Friday of your trip finally arrived.

You’re already waiting outside of your house when Minho’s car arrives. He greets you with a hug, taking your backpack from your hands and placing it on the backseat. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re settled in your seat, and only then closes the door and walks around the car. It’s something he does every time you go out together and it always makes you smile, even though it’s such a minor detail.

“You know, you’re my first friend who can drive,” you comment as he enters the car. “You shot up a lot of spots on my favorite friends’ list just by saving me from taking the bus.”

Minho chuckles. “And here I foolishly thought you liked me for my personality,” he feigns offense, shaking his head. “I actually only know how to drive because of my mom. I was moving to the countryside, and she got really worried I was gonna be stranded there, so she gave me a car when I graduated.”

You raise your brows. “You lived in the countryside?”

“Yep, I moved to Gurye right after graduating high school,” he explains simply, starting the car.

You nod slowly. Truthfully, you wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to seem intrusive. Minho had never told you a lot about his life before starting university — the only things you know are that he has three cats back home in Gimpo and started college late for some reason. You figure he’s a private person who will hopefully open up to you once he’s ready. You couldn’t blame him either; you also desperately pretended as if your life before university didn’t exist.

As you two sit in the car, moving slowly through the awful Friday night traffic, you feel the familiar thoughts of panic overflow your mind. This trip felt almost romantic; just you and Minho in Japan for an entire weekend. You should be running away from shit like this, should be shutting him out before anything more than friendship blossoms between the two of you.

Your fingers pick on the fabric of your sheer tights, pulling and pinching apprehensively as your mind races. Because, at the end of the day, Minho is still a guy. He’s still capable of breaking your heart in the same ways it was broken before, and maybe even in new ways. He could still cheat on you, fall in love with someone else, treat you like nothing more than an object or a nuisance in his life, wake up one day and simply decide he’s had enough of you.

But he’s also Minho.

Your heart quickly countered every single reason your brain came up with on why you should run away from the situation.

How could Minho, who believes that love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself, cheat on you?

How could Minho, who told you that love makes it so that you can only see the one you love, fall in love with someone else?

How could Minho, who does stupid romance movie shit like opening car doors and pulling out chairs for you, insisting that he should walk on the street side when you’re together, reading classic novels, learning how to cook so his mom doesn’t have to, all while having three fucking cats, possibly break your heart?

Part of you hates how you have to do mental gymnastics to even consider allowing yourself to feel something more for a guy, but a bigger part knows the hurt that inevitably comes with love isn’t worth it.

You hear a soft chuckle beside you, and you lift your gaze to find Minho smiling at you as you stop at a red light.

“Is that a style thing?” He asks, gesturing toward your thighs with a nod. You furrow your brows. The light turns green, and his attention is back on the road, a grin spread across his lips. “Ripping holes in your tights. Is that a style thing?”

You look down toward your legs and grimace as you realize you had mindlessly torn two holes in your tights while overthinking. You mentally curse yourself.

“I’m cold,” you lie with an awkward giggle. “Was trying to warm myself up.”

Minho hums, stepping on the brakes as you encounter another traffic jam. He unbuckles his seat belt, turns his body toward the back seat, and retrieves his jacket before draping it over your thighs. He shoots you a small smile and turns his attention back toward the road.

The side of your brain that was against Minho and anything romantic with him just a few moments ago is completely swallowed up, dissipating as you ultimately admit to yourself that you don’t hate the prospect of this being a romantic trip as long as it’s with him.

God, you really don’t hate it one bit.

You two finally arrive at the airport just in time to board your flight with no issues. You’re not big on flying, but the flight is just a little over two hours, and Minho is such a calming presence next to you. He quietly read you some harlequin romance he picked up at the airport bookstore, and you two laughed a bit too loudly at the over-the-top plot and theatrical writing. The two of you were taken aback as the book turned out to be erotica, but hearing Minho dramatically read to you in a whisper about the hunky love interest and his manhood made you laugh until tears formed in your eyes.

After that, you two somehow end up talking about your lives back home. Minho shares how he always cooks Christmas dinner for his family, and his favorite part of the night is always the praises his grandmother throws his way. He explains that although he started cooking simply to help his mother, he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. He said he missed doing it every day, having stopped because his roommates had begun treating him as nothing more than a personal cook. You listen to his every word with a smile on your face that you can’t hide. It feels like he’s slowly opening up more to you about his life outside of university, and even something as small as this detail about his home life makes you feel closer to him.

The flight is so pleasant that you only realize you’ve landed once you see Minho unbuckling his seat belt.

You two take an Uber to the hotel, arriving in thirty minutes — you insist on paying since you’re basically here for free. You stare out the car window in awe the entire ride, Minho fondly laughing at your amazement.

As you arrive, you struggle with your backpack, pulling it out of the backseat with such force you would have fallen backward had it not been for Minho’s hands holding your shoulders. He asks if you’re okay with a chuckle, and you groan about how heavy your backpack is. Packing light wasn’t your forte.

As you two walk toward the hotel entrance, the weight on your shoulders disappears suddenly. You furrow your brows and look behind you. Minho had nonchalantly picked your backpack up by the handle and lifted it off your shoulders, carrying all the weight in his arms. You bite back a smile, murmuring a thank you. He just nods, like he hasn’t just done yet another thing you thought only happened in books written by women.

You feel that damn pinwheel return to your chest, making you feel a kind of thrill that you haven’t felt in a while. A good kind.

The hotel is relatively small, clearly on the cheap side, although it’s still quite charming. Minho mutters an apology as he catches you looking around the place.

“It was the only place I could afford being a broke college student,” He explains with a sheepish chuckle, and you shake your head.

“It’s lovely. I’m so happy to be here, I think I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Minho is the one who checks you in, speaking in near-perfect Japanese to the front desk clerk. You focus on the wood chipping on the table and bite the inside of your cheek as you inwardly berate yourself for finding it so damn attractive. It was different from your classes or your small study sessions. You had never truly grasped just how good Minho was until right now. You didn’t understand a word he said. All you know is that he sounded too sexy for his own good while saying it.

Minho hands you the key and tells you the room number, and you finally make your way up the stairs. He walks beside you the whole way, and you wonder if his room is on the same floor as yours or if he’s just doing this so he can hold your backpack off your shoulders.

As you reach your room on the third floor, he stops you before you can insert the key into the door.

“Before you go inside…” He trails off, pursing his lips before letting out a sigh. “I — we could only afford to pay for one room, so this is actually our room.”

Your eyes widen for a second before you nod slowly. “Oh. It’s… okay,” you assure him, although there’s very little confidence in your voice. The prospect of sharing a bed with Minho makes you nervous, but not for the reasons you thought it would.

“There are two beds! Of course,” He assures you, and you mentally slap yourself on the forehead for feeling disappointed at this information.

It’s because you’ve exclusively been having sex with Hyunjin for so long, you reason with yourself. Your hormones must be making you stupid, making you want something more with someone else who isn’t him.

Yeah, that’s it.

Minho’s your friend, after all. It wouldn’t make sense for you to want anything more with him.

It’s just your stupid hormones.

You turn the key and open the door, stepping inside the tiny room with Minho. The two beds were so close together due to the room size that they might as well be just one. The only other piece of furniture is a bedside table, which basically connects the two beds.

It’s only once you slide your backpack straps off your shoulders that Minho lets go of the handle, and you toss it on the plain white sheets of the bed to your right by the bathroom door.

Feeling a chill run through your body, you let out a groan. The heater in your room is clearly not the best.

“Tights and a skirt weren’t the right choice for this weather. This shitty heater also isn’t helping,” you grumble.

Minho chuckles behind you, and you hear the sound of the bed springs as he all but throws himself onto the bed. “Poking holes in your tights probably didn’t help either,” he jokes, and you force out a chuckle.

It seems you chose today to act like a complete idiot.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom to change into your warm sleep clothes. The first thing you notice as you walk out into the room again is Minho’s bright orange sweater with a cat knitted on the front. He’s lying down, his back resting on the wall since the beds don’t have a headboard, and the color of his sweater might be a bit offensive to the eyes, but it’s quickly forgiven once you take in the kitten adorning the fabric.

You giggle, and he looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours.

“Your sweater is really cute,” you tell him as you sit down in your bed, crossing your legs in an attempt to warm yourself a bit more.

Minho grins. “I know,” He says smugly, “It reminds me of two of my cats because of the color.”

“You know,” you hummed, “You never showed me any pictures of your cats.”

You watch as his eyes light up at your words. He locks his phone before quickly turning it to face you, showing you his wallpaper. Your lips stretch into a fond smile as you analyze the picture: Minho holding an orange and white cat close to his face with a grin, a butterfly filter cutely adorning his nose.

“This is Soonie, he’s the first cat I got,” He explains, turning his head so he could look at the screen as well, “I was thirteen when I adopted him, and I remember begging my parents for almost three months until they agreed. In the end, they loved him so much they allowed me to adopt another one.”

Minho unlocks his phone and opens his gallery, flipping through his pictures like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You purse your lips. It feels like you’re intruding, even though he’s the one who hasn’t moved the screen an inch. You couldn’t think of one person you’d trust enough to so freely view every single picture you had on your phone like this. Minho really was something else.

Most of his gallery is composed of blurry food pictures mixed with pages and covers of books and computer screens filled with codes. Until he reaches a point — before he started university, you assume — where the only thing you can see is pictures of cats.

He stops scrolling and clicks a picture of the same orange cat, this time wearing glasses and a hat. You snort because, of course he dresses his cats in clothes.

“Soonie is adorable,” you beam. Minho furrows his brows and shakes his head, looking at you like he’s offended.

“This is Doongie,” he states like it’s obvious, “The second cat I adopted.”

Your brows furrow as well. “Minho, that’s the same cat.”

He clicks his tongue, closing the picture and scrolling before opening another one; two orange and white cats lay together on a cat tree. Your lips fall open.

“See? This one is Soonie, he has a white nose. And this one is Doongie, his nose is orange,” He explains, and you nod, knowing full well you’d be dead if your life depended on distinguishing these two cats. “Doongie is the middle child, so he’s more temperamental.”

You stifle a giggle at him talking about his cats like they’re his children, much like you do.

He closes the picture once again and scrolls down further. His fingers hover over a picture for a couple of seconds, like he’s hesitating before he ultimately opens it. The screen fills with the image of a younger Minho smiling while holding a gray cat. His wire-frame glasses were round, unlike his current ones, and his black hair used to be shorter. The picture has clearly been cropped, only half of the cat’s body still visible.

“This is Dori. He’s the last cat I got, and he’s actually the only one I call my son.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “I adopted him with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted a dog, but I fell in love with Dori as soon as I laid eyes on him on the website, so she had no choice but to accept him.”

You watch as he smiles at the picture and the memory. You absentmindedly fiddle with your fingers on your lap, an all too familiar ugly feeling bubbling inside you. Jealousy. Not because Minho mentioned a girlfriend — you wish it was as simple as that. Jealousy consumed you when you were forced to face the reality that people have healthy relationships, where one partner sacrifices their own desires just to please their loved one. Where you make plans to adopt a kitten together just so you can call it your son. You know damn well you were never even close to having something even remotely similar to that.

You shake the feeling off, forcing out a smile. “He’s really cute,” you tell Minho, “And he’s my favorite, ‘cause at least I can tell him apart from the other two.”

Minho chuckles, scrunching his nose as he locks his phone and rests it on his thigh.

  You two settle into bed after Minho walked you through the day he and Chan had planned for tomorrow. He had organized everything neatly in a travel planning app — from where you would be going down to an estimate of how much you would be spending. You always preferred roughly planning things out mentally whenever you traveled, mostly enjoying going with the flow.

Among all your coincidentally similar little incidents, you finally found something in which you two are complete opposites.

That should, in theory, annoy you, but you can’t help but find his meticulousness endearing. You can just picture him searching tirelessly online, crunching numbers and jotting everything down. The image is too adorable for you to be mad.

“Guess we finally found somewhere we’re different,” you mention with a smile as you tuck yourself into your sheets. Minho remains sitting on his bed, putting his glasses on their case.

He hums. “Rather than different, maybe we just complement each other in this case? You hate organizing, and I fucking love to do it, as you just saw,” he chuckles, “We’d be a great team. I plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”

You nod with a smile, going over the places he chose in your head. You were excited for all but one: the very first one on the list, Inokashira Park.

“You know,” you start with a sigh, Minho’s eyes finding yours in the dimly lit room. “I never talk about this, but I weirdly feel like I can tell you anything. Nobody from our friend group knows this but…” you trail off, gripping the scratchy fabric of the comforter. “One of my ex-boyfriends cheated on me during a family trip to Japan when I was seventeen. I found out ‘cause the girl he hooked up with tagged him in pictures on Instagram. They were together in Inokashira Park.”

Minho hums, his eyes studying your face. After a beat of silence, he shrugs.

“We can skip that if you want to. I just—” He purses his lips, shifting on the mattress. “I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of the experience just because of a bad memory. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You nod, taking in his words. He was right. You were positive none of your exes ever deprived themselves of going back to places where they cheated on you, so why should you? They were the ones in the wrong, the ones who hurt and betrayed you, so why should you be the one to bear the trauma?

Minho rests his back against the wall, playing with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Is that why you don’t believe in love anymore? Don’t feel like you have to answer! I just… I wondered…” He faltered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I wondered what could have happened to make you feel that way.”

“Well, that was just one of five times when love proved to kind of hate my guts,” you chuckle. You didn’t understand why, but the words you held back for so long were bubbling at your throat, ready to spill out. And you were willing to let them. Even if only to a certain extent, you were ready to talk about this pathetic side of your life. You would rationalize it all later. Right now, you simply wanted to talk.

“I’ve had five boyfriends in my life, and they were all terrible in some way. I know, it’s a lot of relationships considering my age.” You scrunch up your face, cringing when you voice out the number.

Minho chuckles, and you’re ready for him to agree.

“It’s really not. There’s no right or wrong number of people to date during your teenage years or your twenties.” You open your eyes to find him leaning on his side, looking at you dismissively. “Some people date more, some date less, some people don’t even date at all. Either way, it’s fine.”

Your lips open and close, then open again. You had always expected people’s reactions to be the same as the ones you heard during high school. From your classmates to your ex-boyfriends, even your friends at the time, they all seemed to be in unanimous agreement that you were at fault for having dated so much in such a brief period. You never thought that maybe people with different opinions existed. And that, maybe, those people would be the ones who you care the most about.

Thinking about it now, after hearing Minho’s words, you were certain neither Eunha nor Soojung — or any of your friends, for that matter — would ever think badly about you or shame you simply because you’ve had five boyfriends. It seemed silly even to think that way now.

It was sad how much your teenage traumas undeniably affected your perception of reality.

Minho is the one to break the silence, his soft voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise you, the memories we make on this trip will be good enough that they override this lousy one,” he vows with a small nod. “And, more than ever before, I truly hope I can change your view of love.”

You smile at his words. “I surprisingly feel my thoughts about many things changing. Love is one of them.”

“I’m glad,” he hums, finally slipping under his covers. “Y’know, love isn’t only romantic. You say you’re closed off to love, that’s really a lie,” he states matter-of-factly, a smug grin spreading across his lips. You bite back a smile and raise your eyebrows at him. He continues, “The love you feel for your family and your friends, platonic love, that’s also love. I’ve been around you long enough to know just how much you love your friends.”

To say you loved your friends almost didn’t seem sufficient. After graduating high school, you left behind all the judgmental and toxic friends you had. You are immensely grateful to have found such good people at university. Eunha and Soojung were the housemates of your dreams, the three of you so different that it truthfully shouldn’t work, but it simply did. Hyunjin becoming your best friend was also a surprise; he was younger than you, and you had never been friends with a guy before — in part thanks to your jealous boyfriends — but he carved out a space for himself in your life and refused to leave. And you were so thankful for that.

And then there was Minho, who had come out of the blue into your life and just as suddenly became such an important person to you. From the way you two first met to your little similarities and how well you got along in such a short time, it was as if fate pulled you toward him.

You smile.

“I do love them,” you tell him, fiddling with your fingers under the white comforter. “And I love you, too, Minho. You’re my friend, after all. In a way, you’re already succeeding in changing my view of love just by being you.”

Minho’s eyes blink rapidly as he looks at you, his parted lips making him look like a confused child before they close. He hums, nodding as a small smile spreads on his lips, which quickly grows bigger and bigger until he’s basically giggling. He hides his face behind his hand, clearing his throat. You feel warmth spread across your chest at the sight. You’re sure if the lights were brighter, you’d be able to see his ears turning red.

You shake your head with a chuckle. The mood has suddenly become a bit too emotional, and you still find yourself running away from these things. However, you were proud of your progress tonight. Talking about love and your past — especially regarding your ex-boyfriends — was already a huge step for you.

You hope Minho knows he’s part of the reason you’re able to take this step in the first place.

“Okay, your turn.” You sit up on the bed, the white comforter pooling on your lap. “I’m curious too, y’know. You’re such a love enthusiast,” you tease him with a grin, earning you a chuckle from Minho, who throws his head back. “Tell me about your romantic experiences.”

He mirrors you and sits up on his bed. “Experience. I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he corrects you, “We met on the first day of high school and began dating the year after that, when we were sixteen. We were together until I was just about to turn twenty-one, so…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was quite the long first relationship.”

“My five relationships combined didn’t last as long as that.” You click your tongue, and Minho lets out a breathy laugh. “Why did you two break up after being together for so long?” You blurt out before you can process the words inside your head. Annoyed with your own self, you scrunch up your face. You really chose today to be an idiot. “If that’s okay for me to ask! Sorry for being nosy, I’m just— I guess I’m curious.”

Minho smiles at you, a fond smile he always shoots your way whenever you are word-vomiting. Much like your other friends, he had quickly adapted to your habit of spilling out words before thinking about them.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Basically, she wanted a quiet and simple life in the countryside, so I did that for her,” he explains, shrugging dismissively. So that was the reason he had moved to Gurye after finishing school. “I began saving up money at eighteen with my job at the convenience store while she gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood, and we moved on her twentieth birthday. I figured I could just do programming jobs from home, anyway, so I completely gave up on my plans to attend university…” Minho trails off, his voice all but a whisper at the end of the sentence. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips as he continues, “I kind of wanna kick myself in the face for that now. It fucking sucks to have started university so late, but it was my own decision. I guess you say stupid shit when you’re nervous, and I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

You had never met someone who would abandon so much of themselves for the person they loved. It made Minho even more admirable to you. However, even though it was his own decision, he clearly came to regret it. People often say love is all about compromises, and you couldn’t help but feel like Minho had been the only one to give up anything in this scenario.

“Were your parents okay with you two making such a drastic move?” You question, your curiosity bubbling inside your chest.

Minho scoffs. “Of course they weren’t. Especially my dad. But we were nearing our twenties, so there wasn’t much they could do to stop us.”

He drums his fingers on his thighs, and you wonder if this subject brought back sour memories — or maybe even good ones he just didn’t like remembering because they had become part of the past. You want to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, but he’s continuing his story before you can speak.

“We adopted Dori and left a week later. We were pretty much broke. All we could afford was a small cottage that hadn’t been renovated in over a decade, but we were happy,” Minho’s voice is soft as he speaks, a smile forming on his lips as he stares ahead, almost as if he’s reliving those moments in his head. “We talked about growing old together and raising our kids in that cottage. And we — god, looking back, this was so stupid it’s fucking funny,” He chuckled, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. “We were actually trying to get pregnant. We barely had money to feed Dori and ourselves, yet it still crushed us every time that test read negative.”

You feel your expression change, a blend of astonishment and admiration washing over you. They must’ve truly been in love. You felt a slight pang of hurt and envy run through your body; it truly was so easy for other people when it came to love.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you lament, although you’re not sure if you’re talking about the pregnancy or the entire relationship.

Minho shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Don’t feel bad, it was a blessing in disguise. I can’t imagine how the fuck we would ever manage to raise a baby at that time.”

“It seems like you two had the perfect relationship.” You force out a smile, waging war against your bitter jealousy.

“It was perfect, until it wasn’t,” Minho shrugs dismissively, “We began to fight a lot after a while. Haneul would always get upset at me for not doing things the way she thought I should do them, down to replying in a way that didn’t fit with what she had hoped I would say. And I was the same, always getting frustrated when she disagreed with me, even if it was about something silly like what to have for dinner. We used to be able to talk it out and come to an agreement in the past — it wasn’t for nothing that we were together for so long — but being in that little cottage, just us two all the time, it became suffocating.”

“Is that why you two broke up?”

Minho nods. “We realized we were merely playing house. Neither of us was happy anymore,” he explains, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “It was like we each had a script inside our heads of what the other should say or how they should act. It wasn’t healthy anymore, so we mutually decided to end things before they got worse.”

Your fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the white cover. You had always been envious of this type of relationship, but you never thought to think about the fact that they can also come to an end. It always seemed to you that your relationships never worked because they weren’t perfect, like the relationships you saw in books or movies — like the one Minho had described with his ex-girlfriend.

You never once rationalized that even perfect things can ebb away. That nothing lasts forever, even if it seems utterly ideal.

“I know how terrible breakups are,” you tell him. “I can only imagine how much worse it must’ve been to you two after so many years together.”

Minho shakes his head with a smile. “I never really felt hurt by it. It was such a perfect breakup she even let me keep Dori without going through a custody battle,” he jokes, raising his eyebrows at you.

“How can it not have hurt you?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You were in love, planning to start a family, and you tell me it didn’t hurt when it ended? That’s bullshit, Minho.”

He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to find the words to explain to you. He hums. “Well, I loved Haneul. I loved her so very much, with every fiber of my being. She was my first love. My mom once said we were probably a couple in another life as well, and I fucking loved that,” He chuckles, “The idea that someone was destined for me and I was destined for them, that we were fated to find each other and be together across lifetimes.”

“Like soulmates?” You ask.

He nods. “Soulmates, yes. That’s what we were. And, after we broke up, I realized maybe people’s understanding of soulmates is wrong. At least to me,” He shrugs.

You let out a chuckle. He really turned a terrible situation into a chance to reevaluate his beliefs. It was the most Minho thing you had ever heard.

“How are people understanding it wrong, then?” You question him, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking at him. Minho mirrors your actions, a grin etched onto his lips. 

“Well, for starters, you can have many soulmates in one lifetime.” You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly adds, “For example, Haneul was my soulmate and there’s no doubt about it in my mind. But it ended, because it was time for it to end. I learned everything I had to learn with her, and she did the same. We couldn’t grow together anymore, so there was no point in staying together.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “I never thought of it that way. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a soulmate is unique.”

“It may be so to some people, but I find that way of thinking a bit unfair,” he shrugs. “Haneul found someone new. Wouldn’t it be unfair for me to say her new relationship is inferior to ours simply because we were soulmates? We were soulmates, but our time to be together has passed and she’s with the soulmate she’s supposed to be right now.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against your cheek. “I guess it does make sense.”

He shrugs, feigning smugness. “I am quite the smart man.”

“What about you?” You question, smiling at him, “Have you ever found a new soulmate after that relationship?”

Minho clears his throat, his gaze shifting to look at where his sock-clad feet poked out from underneath the comforter. You could swear you see a tiny smile on his lips.

“I think I did,” He answers with a questioning lilt. “There were some signs, and a lot of things that aligned.” His gaze lifts once more to meet your eyes as he continues, “Makes me think maybe I’ve found her.”

As you take in his words, jealousy rears its ugly head, the feeling almost swallowing you whole. You gnaw on your bottom lip. The way Minho made you feel at times was questionable at best, but you chalk it all up to your jealous nature. You’d always gotten jealous when your friends found new friendships or when they started relationships.

However, that feeling was a bit different from the one currently making you want to bite your lip until it bled out of sheer and petty jealousy.

You let out a heavy sigh, pushing all those thoughts into a neat little box inside your head and locking them up.

“You’re really lucky,” you tell him, and Minho cocks an eyebrow. “That’s why you think love can only be good, because your only experience with it was long-lasting and good until the very end. I’d much rather have love fizzle out than have it end in a way that ended me as well. That’s how it’s always been with me, and I guess that’s why I came to hate love a little bit.”

Minho smiles at you, a genuine smile that reaches his brown eyes. “Well, sometimes love lasts forever,” he asserts, “So you shouldn’t think about how it’s going to end.”

You can feel the pinwheel inside your chest spinning, causing your heart to skip a beat and your cheeks to blush pink. Forcing out a chuckle, you lie on your bed and pull the covers up to your nose.

“You’re back to your hopeless romantic ways.”

“I never stopped,” He corrects you. He lies down as well, facing you, his hand reaching out to turn off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. “Even when I thought you had a boyfriend,” Minho continues, “I was still able to be a hopeless romantic.”

You feel your eyes widen at his words, thanking the darkness that covers you both as confusion and shock swim in your eyes. Did Minho subtly admit he liked you? Were you reading too much into things? Why did this not scare you? It should scare you, should make you terrified, as this is the very thing you’ve been running away from.

You were probably over-analyzing his words.

But why did you hope that wasn’t the case?

The two of you wake up early, hitting the streets of Tokyo immediately after getting dressed. Minho’s list definitely made things easier, with you two hopping from place to place before crossing them out one by one on his phone. Your favorite so far had been the cat café you two went to for breakfast, where you spent the entire hour watching Minho petting and playing with the kittens, the smile on your lips so fond that it probably made you look stupid.

But as you walk around Inokashira Park, that quickly drops to second place on your mental list. It was a beautiful place, especially in the late afternoon sun. As soon as you arrived, Minho took your hand in his without a word. It was unexpected, to say the least, but you were even more surprised to find yourself liking the gesture. You squeezed his hand, smiling at him, before lacing your fingers together.

Your heart was racing so fast you were certain that damn pinwheel brought along a friend today.

After walking around for a bit, Minho abruptly stopped, letting go of your hand and moving to stand behind you. You furrowed your brows as his hands came to cover your eyes. With his lips incredibly close to your ears, he whispered, “I have a surprise. It’s a place that wasn’t on the list. A museum I think you’ll like.”

You felt goosebumps rise all over your body at the sound of his low voice coupled with his breath tickling your skin. You silently thanked the cold weather — had you not been wearing long sleeves, Minho would have seen the effect he had on you, and you would’ve had no other choice but to throw yourself in front of a taxi on the way back to the hotel.

The two of you waddled awkwardly, Minho still standing behind you with his hands over your eyes. He giggled the whole way to your destination. You were too immersed in not focusing on how his body brushed up against yours with every step you took to even think about laughing.

His broad chest so warm against your back, his arms wrapped around you, his lips grazing your neck once as he bent down to whisper something about the museum being just around the corner, and his lower body continuously brushing and rubbing against your ass as you two walked. You had to fight the urge to push your body against his every time that happened, wondering if that would be enough to get him hard.

After Minho’s supposed confession last night, your mind had truly thrown every bit of worry and shame you felt about being attracted to him out the window.

It felt almost liberating, being able to say fuck it and simply feel.

So you were attracted to Minho; why should it be a big deal? You shouldn't deprive yourself of these silly experiences just because love scares you.

Maybe being scared was okay sometimes. Maybe it was worth it for the right people.

Just as your mind was running wild with thoughts of Minho’s body pressed up against yours, his voice whispered in your ear again. You had arrived, he announced, removing his hands from your eyes.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you made out the words on a wooden sign before you. Minho had taken you to the Ghibli Museum. Before you could stop yourself, you were throwing your arms around his neck with a gasp.

You could just kiss him at that moment. That was how happy you were.

After walking around the museum with a smile engraved onto your lips, your cheeks hurt in the best way possible. Minho hurried you as you looked through the overly expensive gift shop, reminding you that the swan paddle boats would be closing soon. You whined but ultimately had no choice but to leave the shop as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Mourning the loss of a Soot Sprite plush perfect for your collection, you grumbled to Minho about how he had no heart as you two ran across the park.

You made it just in time, being the last ones in line on the pier. Minho insisted on paying for your tickets, and you agreed only after he explained it would be your compensation for the loss of your precious plushie.

And now you sit beside him on a swan paddle boat, failing miserably at containing your giggles as Minho adjusts his life jacket.

“You know,” He starts with a dramatic sigh, “You’re not gonna be laughing if we crash and you drown.”

You poke his arm, making him look at you just as a smile spreads across his lips. “I’m only laughing ‘cause you look real cute.”

You begin to paddle, and it is surprisingly easy — especially because Minho is the one guiding the boat with a steering wheel. The scenery is quite dull because of the cold season, with most trees already bare of leaves and the sky a blend of pale blue and white.

“I wish it was spring,” Minho speaks beside you as if he’s read your thoughts. “The cherry blossoms are fucking gorgeous.”

You look over at him, his eyes fixed ahead as he steers the boat around the pond. His glasses reflect the pale sky and obscure his eyes, but you’re sure he’s blinking rapidly like he usually does whenever he’s focused.

“Did you come here with your ex-girlfriend in spring?” You blurt out.

Minho’s lips stretch into a grin as he turns to face you.

“No,” he answers simply. “But I want to come with you.”

It’s only then you realize he had been doing most of the work paddling, as he easily controls the speed at which the boat glides across the water, slowing down until you two are stopped at the edge of the pond.

Your mind races, but not as hard as your heart does.

“With me?”

“With you.”

His eyes are fixed on yours, and his left hand grips the steering wheel tightly. You part your lips, but only silence is stuck in your throat. Drawing yourself out of the impromptu staring contest the two of you had gotten into, your eyes shift down to stare at your purse which lay across your lap.

You softly utter the only two words your mind can conjure up. “Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Minho’s voice is also quiet. You hear him shuffling beside you, turning his body so he fully faces you. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you’re protecting yourself, but I’m—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and your eyes shoot up to find him biting his lip, his brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. “I like you so much I think I might implode if I do nothing about it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. There is still a part of you that’s screaming out run away, this is terrifying, you’re on your way to another heart-wrenching breakup — but that part has become so minuscule, so insignificant now, it feels like nothing but muffled background noise inside your head. Because a much bigger part of you is begging for you to just say, “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

Minho’s hand leaves the wheel and gingerly touches your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin before he closes the distance between you. It isn’t the first time you kiss Minho, but it is certainly the first time your entire being is fully enveloped in only him; from the way his slightly chapped lips still felt so soft against your own to how his strong hand finds your waist and pulls you closer to him.

And his taste. Minho coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and licks into it, your senses being taken over by the taste of the watermelon candy he’d been eating all day until you’re positively drunk on him. Your heart racing and your hands shaking like a teenager having their first kiss.

You go to grab his shirt, desperate to pull him even closer to you, but your hands collide with the damn life jacket he’s wearing. You whine into the kiss, annoyed, and Minho only chuckles against your lips. He bites your lower lip, pulling softly before releasing it and pressing another kiss to your pout.

“I take back what I said, the life jacket isn’t cute,” you mumble against his lips. His smile grows, and his lips crash against yours again, his hands tangling in your hair.

He groans into the kiss, barely pulling away before whispering, “Don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

You hum. “Well, you can kiss me anytime now.”

Minho’s lips spread into a grin, and he closes the small distance between you for one last kiss before he pulls away, your noses brushing. His eyes are dark yet soft, as if longing and affection had melted together.

“I want to be with you,” He says, “But I want you to think about it before you say anything because I know how scared you are of love. And if by the end of our trip I haven’t given you enough reasons to give me a chance, I’ll let you go and move on with my life. If you want to stay friends, I’ll happily do that. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll also respect that.”

Your heart swells with his words because Minho is the complete antithesis of everything your ex-boyfriends taught you that men were.

And, for the first time in so long, you feel the kind of nervousness that’s nothing but good. The kind that leaves you with trembling hands, a racing heart, and a dizzy head. The kind that only love can provide.

Despite his request, you’re eager to answer him right then and there, but just as you’re about to speak, the sky roars and dark clouds gather above. You jump in your seat at the sound, and Minho’s hands instinctively wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. You smile, simply nodding your head and giving his lips a small kiss.

Minho struggles a bit, but he’s eventually able to turn the paddle boat around, and you two begin to paddle back toward the pier. The light rain quickly becomes heavy raindrops drumming on the roof of the boat, and you dread the walk back to the hotel as neither of you thought to bring an umbrella.

“Y'know,” Minho starts. “There’s a myth here in Japan that says if you ride this boat with a girlfriend, then you’ll break up soon. I kinda always believed that.”

You let out a chuckle. “Really?”

He hums, nodding his head. “So I’m choosing to also believe that if you ride it with someone you like, they will become your girlfriend soon.”

Minho turns to look at you with a smile as you stop at the pier, removing his life jacket and exiting the boat without another word. You bite the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt at holding back a smile. Minho helps you out of the boat, his hand taking yours and pulling you toward him gently.

You two run back to the hotel, Minho holding you close to him with his hand around your waist. The streets are mostly empty as people squeeze under bus stops and shop awnings to shelter from the rain, and it almost feels like you and Minho are the only people in Tokyo that night.

You two giggle the whole way to the hotel. Even when you are struck with the realization that the power has shut off on the entire street upon arriving, you simply turn to each other and laugh even more.

You clumsily manage to take a brief shower in the darkness, changing into your sleep clothes as quickly as you can. You realize with a grimace that if your room was cold before, with the shitty hotel heater on, it’s basically turned into an icebox now.

Wrapping yourself up in your comforter, you shiver with a groan just as Minho walks out of the bathroom.

“Bet you miss that shitty heater now, huh?” He jokes, and you faintly make out his silhouette in the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

You let out another groan. “I'm gonna freeze to death tonight. I've made peace with that. Thaw me with a hairdryer in the morning, please.”

Minho chuckles, sitting on his bed as he checks his phone. You make out his features in the moonlight coming from the window, and he’s wearing another sweater, black with more cats printed on it.

Such a cozy, warm-looking sweater. You curse yourself inwardly for only packing t-shirts to sleep.

As he locks his phone, an idea hits you, and your words are faster than your thoughts — as they always seem to be whenever you’re around Minho.

“Can I lay with you for a bit?” You ask, “Just for a bit, until I get warm? My bed is right under this damn window, and I don’t have any sweaters I can sleep in, and I know I joked about making peace with freezing but—”

Minho cuts you off by calling out your name with a chuckle. “It's okay. You don’t need to make up a thousand excuses. I'm cold, too,” He says simply, scooting to the side to make room for you in his bed. “Come here.”

You smile, ripping the covers from your body quickly like a band-aid and all but jumping from your mattress to his. Minho instructs you to lie on the left side of the bed, facing the wall. You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s like the sidewalk thing. So I can protect you if a serial killer comes into our room.”

“Oh, so a serial killer’s gonna come into our room?” You ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as you scoot on the bed and slip under the comforter. 

“Well, I—” Minho stammers, pausing with a sigh. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table before he continues, “I don’t know, okay? I just… wanna take care of you in every way possible. Even in this weird scenario that my mind made up.”

His words slip out of his lips quickly, much like yours do when you’re nervous and can’t make yourself stop talking. You wonder if your habit is rubbing off on him, and you can’t help but smile.

As Minho settles into bed, you feel your body stiffen up. The two of you lay on your backs next to each other in the cramped bed, and you feel like you can’t move. Hyunjin was the first guy you ever slept next to, and even then, it was after you two had already had sex, so there was no room for feeling awkward. With Minho, everything feels so new. If kissing him had made your hands shake, laying next to him makes your whole body tremble.

You lay like that for a while, watching as the thunder lights up the ceiling until Minho turns to lie on his side.

“Wouldn’t we get warmer if we cuddled?” He trails off in a whisper, clearing his throat after his words leave his mouth. 

You open your mouth to answer but know you’ll only end up word-vomiting again with how nervous you feel, so you simply nod, turning so you’re facing Minho as well.

His arms quickly find your waist, pulling you closer to him until your noses are touching, and you feel his breath on your lips as he lets out a sigh. Before you can make sense of what’s happening, Minho presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, making your mind go hazy. You two stare at each other for a beat, your lips agape and eyes wandering through each other’s features until he breaks the silence.

“You make me nervous,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding it towards his chest. You feel his heart beating quickly through the thick fabric of his sweater. “In the best way possible.”

You smile, whispering back, “You make me nervous, too.”

Clutching at the fabric of his sweater, you pull him closer to you, slotting your lips together once more. Minho’s hands hesitate, his left hand barely touching your back before he changes his mind and grazes your shoulder with his touch, only to settle for cupping your cheek. You smile into the kiss, taking his hand and placing it firmly on your waist. He grips the fabric of your shirt just as you did and brings your body flush against his.

The kiss is hurried, as if you two will be forced apart tomorrow and this is your only chance to feel each other. Minho licks the seam of your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasp. His firm grip on your waist, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, and how with every stroke of his tongue, he devours you almost greedily — it’s downright impossible to keep the whine that forms in your throat from slipping out, Minho’s mouth swallowing the muffled sound.

And then he’s pulling away, and you’re left chasing his lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at that.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He suggests, his voice breathless. You can’t help but wonder if you practically moaning while simply kissing him had made him uncomfortable, and you inwardly berate yourself, mortification washing over you.

So you only nod, turning to face the wall so you can properly cuddle this time. Minho wraps an arm around your waist, and you wait for him to pull you closer, but he never does. You furrow your brows. Was it that bad? You can’t be faulted for reacting like you did, especially with how he kissed you. So you take it into your own hands to shift closer to his body. Your lips part as you feel his hard member pressing against your lower back.

Oh. 

So that’s what’s going on.

You bite back a grin, feeling Minho tense up behind you.

“And here I thought you were like a romantic lead in a PG-13 anime,” you joke, smiling as he chuckles, clearly more at ease. 

He uses the hand that had been resting against your stomach to pull you even closer to him, pressing his body against yours. “I am romantic,” He whispers, lips close to your ear. You only then realize he’s hovering over you. “But I’m still human.”

You fight back the urge to shudder at how his voice drops an octave, all low and soft, and, god, how his breath grazes your neck.

You search your brain for something to say but come up empty. Being nervous has rendered you speechless for the first time in your life.

“Let’s sleep now, okay?” Minho presses a quick kiss on your cheek. “I’ll lie far—”

“I can help you,” you blurt out, turning to face him. Going to sleep is the last thing you want right now. “If you want.”

His eyes wander across your face as he pulls on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush things.”

“There are ways to do this that aren’t… rushing.”

Minho hums, but his eyes are now fixed on your lips. You move to lie on your back, and he slowly climbs on top of you.

“As long as it’s okay with you, I don’t care what we do,” he whispers. You smile, pushing his black hair away from his face with your fingers.

“It’s more than okay with me,” You answer simply, using your hand on his hair to guide him down into yet another kiss. 

You can feel him still hesitating, so you grab a fistful of that silly sweater of his and pull him closer to you until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, breaking the kiss. Minho nods hastily.

“Yes, please,” he groans, “I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

With a breathy chuckle, you move your hand between your two bodies, cupping him through his sweatpants; he’s even harder now, and you subconsciously bite your lip. He closes his eyes, his left hand resting on your waist before squeezing lightly as he hides his face in the crook of your neck with a shaky sigh. It might simply be because it’s your first time being intimate together, but Minho’s timidness is genuinely endearing to you.

Your palm grinds against him gingerly, and his body trembles under your touch. His hand travels from your waist toward your lower stomach, and you let out a quiet gasp as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. He lifts his head off your neck, his face so close to yours you can feel his unsteady breathing on your lips.

“Can I touch you, too?” He whispers, and you nod a bit too eagerly. 

“If you don’t, I think I’ll die too.”

Minho grins, his head dipping lower until his lips are pressed against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You’d be lying if you said finding Minho so hard after only kissing you hadn’t turned you on — kissing him alone also made you more aroused than you were willing to admit. But you were more than ready to go to sleep without doing anything about it after offering to help him, so the fact that he wants to do the same for you makes your head spin. This was not on your bingo card of things that could happen during this trip.

He pulls your shirt up slightly, only enough for him to slip his hand inside your sweatpants. He hesitates twice before cupping you through your underwear. His dark eyes meet yours, whispering against your lips, “You’re fucking soaking through your panties, and you weren’t gonna tell me?”

You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing. Wasn’t he shy just two minutes ago? Your mouth opens to answer him, but your brain is far too cloudy to form any coherent sentence, so you settle on a nod. He hums, pressing a kiss to your agape lips.

Once you feel his thumb tentatively brush against your clit through the thin fabric, you find the courage to slip your hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers immediately brushing against his member. Minho shudders at the touch, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Your brows shoot up at the fact that he had foregone wearing boxers, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

“I never wear underwear to bed, so don’t think I was trying to seduce you,” he jokes.

“Too late,” you hum, “I was seduced the moment I saw your bright orange cat sweater.”

Minho grins, sucking your lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side painfully slowly, his middle finger gliding from your entrance toward your clit and spreading your arousal. With a sigh, you bring one leg to wrap around his waist, and he adjusts himself so he’s properly hovering over you. You take this opportunity to slide his sweatpants down his hips, his hard cock finally free from its confines. He groans low in his throat, his tongue suddenly licking into your open mouth as his right hand intertwines with your left, your fingers locking together. He presses your clasped hands onto the mattress beside your head.

Your hand now glides through his length, the palm of your hand beginning to rub at the head of his cock and Minho sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss, his eyes remaining closed. Pressing your thumb to the slit, you gather as much precum as you can and spread it through his member. You quickly find that it’s not enough, wanting it wetter and messier and—

Minho whines as you stop touching him, eyes shooting open. Bringing your hand to your lips, you lick a stripe on your palm and let a glob of spit fall on it before finding his cock again, wet both with your saliva and his precum as you begin to stroke him gingerly. With a quiet moan, Minho’s hips buck up at the touch and he kisses your lips again. You giggle into the kiss, inwardly thanking Hyunjin for teaching you that guys love sloppy shit like this and, in turn, making you realize you do too.

You avert your eyes from his intense gaze as his finger moves to find your entrance, pushing in slowly before moving at a steady pace.

He squeezes your hand. “Look at me,” his voice is all but a whisper, low and hurried. You turn to lock your eyes on his once more, immediately biting your lips to stop a moan from slipping out of your lips as his thumb begins to rub your clit in circular motions, and he slips another finger inside of your aching cunt. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep yourself from vocally begging him not to stop.

You focus on your own hand as you stroke his cock, your steady pace gradually quickening. Minho’s pace mirrors yours, and soon the small room fills with the noise of his finger swiftly pumping in and out of you mixed with the sound of your hand stroking him.

“What do you like?” Minho asks suddenly, his breath hitching as you tighten your fist around his cock. Your mind is far too clouded by desire and pleasure to fully comprehend, so you hum, your brows furrowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours with a quiet moan and curling his fingers inside you, causing your eyes to shut tightly and a whimper to escape your closed lips. “Look at me, baby,” he repeats himself, his voice firm and his shy demeanor having completely shifted. You slowly open your eyes. “What do you like? I — fuck,” He curses as your hand twists on the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, tell me.”

You’re definitely not used to being vocal about what you want or like during sex; your ex-boyfriends always too selfish, and Hyunjin too confident for you to even have had the opportunity to do so. Coupled with just how good you felt, you know you won’t possibly be able to speak a word without moaning the way you’re trying so hard to avoid. You settle for guiding his hand, which was tangled in yours, under your shirt. Minho immediately massages your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple as his eyes find yours once more.

You feel as if his gaze is setting you ablaze, his eyes boring into you. It felt as if all his desire was accumulated in his dark eyes, clearly visible in how he watches you like he’s drinking in every last drop of you through his stare. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before; it makes you feel so wanted, so desired, as if the only thing Minho could ever need in this moment is you. That alone makes your body tremble, your left hand holding onto his shoulder for purchase as you feel you might float away at any second.

If you were told a couple of hours ago that something as simple as having Minho’s fingers inside you would have you so euphoric, you most definitely would have laughed.

Minho groans into your open mouth, his breathing heavy and his brows drawn together tightly. You force your lips shut once more as his thumb rubs your bundle of nerves more hastily. Your hand leaves his shoulder to tangle in his black hair, futilely attempting to tug him even closer to you before you kiss his agape lips that spill out groans and sighs like a mantra.

It’s almost all-consuming. His fingers inside of you, the warmth of his hand on your breast, his cock pulsating beneath your touch, his hot breaths that fill your lungs as he sighs into your kiss, and his eyes — his damn eyes that look at you as if he wants to eat you whole.

You finally allow yourself to moan as you feel your orgasm building up, whimpering his name against his lips as your strokes on his cock turn messy and desperate among the copious amounts of precum. Minho growls, pulling your hand from his hair — his grip on your wrist so firm it stings a little — before he pins you down to the mattress, fingers messily intertwining with yours again.

This time, you’re unable to restrain your whimper at his actions; Minho had always been gentle and sweet, something as simple as him pinning you down to the bed has you clenching around his fingers. This duality of his you just discovered is something that stirs up curiosity inside of you.

“I’m gonna come,” He announces with a sigh, his hand squeezing yours. You can only nod as you melt around his fingers, your whole body trembling. Minho soon follows, his cum spilling into your hand and your shirt, a low guttural sound leaving his throat.

His eyes only leave yours as he leans down to connect your lips again, giving you small kisses before a stifled laugh escapes him. You furrow your brows, and Minho grins.

“Sorry for getting your shirt dirty,” He mumbles against your lips, the two of you unwilling to move for the time being.

You shake your head with a chuckle. Although you cringe slightly as you feel the fabric of your shirt stick to your stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Minho shifts on top of you, and you only then realize his fingers remain inside of you. Your body jolts faintly at the stimulation, his name falling from your lips in the form of a whine. He grins at you again, all lopsided and handsome, before bringing his hand to his lips. You watch with agape lips as his tongue flicks out to lap at his fingers before sucking on them with a hum, his eyes locked onto yours once more.

Once again with this newfound duality of his. He’s pure romance and gentlemanly behavior, but seemingly so alluring and shameless in bed. The way he looks at you alone makes you clench around nothing as if you didn’t come mere minutes ago. And it’s such a simple act — you can’t count on one hand the number of times you watched as Hyunjin licked his fingers clean after being inside of you — but the contrast of his calm and endearing everyday personality and him suddenly pinning you to the bed or licking your cum off his fingers while looking into your eyes makes this entirely different.

You would’ve never expected this from Minho, and it makes your brain stir up with thoughts of what he would be like while eating you out or while fucking you. Would he pin you to the bed again or pull your hair, or maybe—

The sound of him clearing his throat interrupts you from your thoughts, and you only now realize you had been staring at the ceiling while fantasizing about Minho fucking you. Great.

Once your eyes meet, he’s quick to avert his gaze. “I will, uh, pay to wash your shirt when we — when we get back,” Minho stumbles over his words, his eyes now fixed on your shoulder. “If you want. But, like, I got it dirty, so…” He trails off, and you purse your lips to muffle the giggle that bubbled up your throat as it seems all the confidence he had only minutes ago had dissipated into dust and left his body.

He was back to his usual self. You can’t help but smile as you realize you adore any version of Minho.

He pushes himself off of you, muttering that he’ll be back before disappearing into the small bathroom. You remove your soiled shirt, wiping your hand on it, only to blanche at the sight of the logo printed on the fabric. It’s one of Hyunjin’s shirts that you had stolen ages ago. You mumble a string of apologies to him as you pull the covers off your body. After discarding it on your bed, you change into the first t-shirt you fish out of your backpack, worried Minho might come into the room and see your naked chest — as ludicrous as that was, seeing as he was knuckles deep inside of you less than twenty minutes ago.

Minho returns to the bedroom just as you’re closing the zipper on your bag. He silently takes your hand in his and wipes it with a towel, his head lowered as his eyes focus on his actions. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“There’s really nothing there anymore,” you inform him. “I wiped most of your cum on my shirt.” You nod toward the crumpled-up fabric thrown across the bed. Minho’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a small noise, nodding his head slowly before ultimately pressing his lips together. Under the faint moonlight that lights up the room, you almost miss how his cheeks dust a shade of pink. You smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. Minho hums, smiling back at you and dropping the towel on top of your shirt.

Soon, you find yourself back in bed with him, Minho pulling you into his chest, his hands now offering you pleasure by gingerly massaging your scalp. You are almost asleep — listening to his heartbeat through his sweater, smiling at the soft snores that escape his parted lips — when it dawned on you.

You notice just how different being with Minho had been. How kissing him alone made your hands shake, how even without being fully intimate, the way you felt with him tonight was incomparable.

Minho’s words from months ago about how sex with someone you love eclipses the feeling of sex with any other person linger in your memory. You hum, a smile on your lips as your eyes flutter closed again.

Before they shoot open.

Because holy shit.

If it felt that way with Minho, it can only mean you’ve fallen for him.

Awakening to the sound of the heater’s soft hum, you feel Minho’s arm tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. His gentle breathing brushes against the nape of your neck, and you cautiously turn your head, careful not to wake him, only to be greeted by his tender eyes already gazing at you with a soft smile. Cuddling with Minho is another thing that feels different. You feel safe, adored from how he holds you to the way his eyes look at you.

As he realizes you’re also awake, he suddenly turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as his ears slowly turn a light shade of red. You frown, chuckling a bit at his actions, before settling yourself across his chest.

“The power came back a while after you fell asleep,” he explains.

You giggle as you assume maybe he’s shy because of what happened last night. But your smile fades as your mind begins to overthink, your subconscious screaming that maybe you should feel shy, embarrassed. Weren’t you too easy? Letting him touch you like that after just a few kisses. Does Minho think you came into bed with him for that reason?

You think back to the last boyfriend you had, who berated you for how ‘whorish’ it had been when you asked to have sex with him instead of waiting for him to initiate it. And how your first boyfriend would tell you — every chance he got — that you acted like a slut, touching him as if you knew it would make him have sex with you. How, at the end of your relationship, he told you maybe you acted that way because you knew that sex was all you were good for. How another ex had laughed as he told you that even though you went through so many guys, you still managed to be a terrible fuck, and that was the reason he had to cheat on you.

There were also the murmurs around your school whenever you started a new relationship. Another one? She’s boy hopping so much she’s gonna get through our entire class in less than a year. Some girls just can’t stand to be alone, it’s kind of sad.

At some point, you had detangled yourself from Minho, now lying on your side and looking out the window. You never understood why so many people thought that way. You had five boyfriends from fifteen to eighteen, and in each of these relationships, you were either cheated on or broken up with in a less-than-pleasant way. But you did have the awful habit of jumping into relationships with little thought, often because you felt incomplete without a romantic partner — as romantic as high school relationships can be, anyway. Being single and content for almost four years now, you were proud to have worked on that.

But you still can’t shake off the feeling that maybe you were a bit too… forward. You were single, sure, but you were quick to jump at the opportunity to have Hyunjin as a fuck buddy. Perhaps people were right about that.

“Is everything okay?” Minho’s voice pulls you away from your racing thoughts. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I just zoned out.”

Sitting upright on the bed, you stretch with a sigh. Minho takes your hand before you can realize it, placing it on his chest and gently playing with your fingers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. You gnaw on your bottom lip, pulling at the skin until it stings.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night,” you blurt out. Minho’s gaze shifts to focus on you, confusion swimming in his brown eyes and his hands halting around yours. Oh god, why did you say that?

“Forward?” The question trails off his lips, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

With a sigh, you grimace at your own words. “Yeah, forward, like I was throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if it came off that way. I swear I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“You know what I mean, Minho,” you mumble, but his eyes remain swarmed with confusion. 

“I really don’t.”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, annoyed not at him but at yourself for having brought this up in the first place.

“You know, Minho,” you groan, “Forward, like, slutty. Like I asked to come to your bed just so you would fuck me.”

His expression softens, his eyes widening. He sits up as well, his hand still clutching yours.

“Why the fuck would I think that?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What happened last night was completely natural. We made out, we got horny, we took care of it together. You didn’t even ask me to touch you, I did it because I was dying to do it. You weren’t forward — you weren’t slutty.”

You feel the heavy veil of worry lift off your shoulders at his words. It was definitely going to take a while for you to work on that aspect of your trauma. This had never been an issue with Hyunjin since you were pursuing nothing more than a sexual relationship with him — things were different with Minho.

Minho was the complete opposite.

After countless moments of your heart racing and your hands trembling because of him, you finally confess to yourself that your affection for Minho extends well beyond platonic feelings.

With a small smile, you slowly nod your head. “Sorry for bringing this up, I just… didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

Minho smiles, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “That wouldn’t have made me think badly of you. I’m not some Victorian man who thinks women should be burned at the stake for showing their ankles,” he chuckles, and you bite back a laugh. “Even if you had been slutty, so what? I’d like that just as much.”

You playfully hit his shin under the comforter as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Minho was unquestionably different.

“We gotta get to the airport soon,” he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head, carrying your hand along the way. “I had to book the earliest flight I could to save up some money.”

With a frown, you retrieve your phone from under your pillow and check for the time: seven-thirty a.m. You feel a pang of guilt as you recall how you are essentially on this trip for free.

“Why didn’t Chan help with the tickets?”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek before his lips stretch into a barely-there grin. “Chan was never coming to this trip,” he blurts out. You feel your lips fall agape.

“What?”

“I… planned this trip by myself. Only for you and me,” he explains. “I wanted to get far away from everything that distracted us so I could concentrate on showing you the good side of love like I’d been trying to do with all those fruitless attempts at taking you on dates.”

You take in his words and find yourself smiling at the gesture — the white lie Minho told pales in comparison to everything else he has done for you, both during this trip and since you met him. Truthfully, you didn’t even realize he had been taking you on dates. You mentally slap yourself in the head for that, believing he simply wanted to spend time with you as a friend.

“I’ll pay you back for my part of the trip as soon as—”

Minho’s voice interrupts you with a drawn-out ‘no.’ He smiles as you stare at him, puzzled.

“This entire trip must’ve been so expensive, Minho.”

But he’s unrelenting, shaking his head with a squeeze of your hand.

“I told you,” he says simply. “I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1 @malunar28replies @jazziwritesthings @finchyyy @bloom-ings @linocz @minhochaos @lastgreatamericandynasty1

#stray kids #stray kids fic #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fic #lee know fluff #lee know #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know imagines #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut

[thatsdemko]

cruel summer - a.leclerc

masterlist

t-swift inspired works list

requested: n

pairings: Arthur leclerc x gasly!fem!reader

warnings: nsfw + not intended for minors + mentions of alcohol + teasing + mentions of flings/hookups

a/n: yes my tags are under f1 I just don’t know how many people view the f2 works tags. wrote this at 5am a couple weeks ago! feedback is always appreciated xx

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

you’re not looking to fall in love you’re just looking for something fun for the summer. after having dealt with a harsh break up, the last thing you need is a man occupying your mind.

that’s until the annual gasly and leclerc siblings vacation in Italy. Arthur was just facing a fresh new start after a rough breakup as well, and a month in the countryside couldn’t have sounded more appealing. he’s also not looking for anything serious.

that’s until he sees you curled up under the blankets around the bonfire, body leaning against his older brother, Lorenzo. the orangey red flames reflect your beautiful features to him, and all of a sudden any idea of a summer fling has fallen short. he’s now realizing maybe there’s a chance to fall in love again.

you’re sipping on the last of the limoncello when Lorenzo calls it a night for himself. he presses a kiss to your forehead and wraps the rest of your blanket around your body. Charles nods along saying it’s late for him, but you and Arthur could stay longer. and you do.

“you’re not tired?” he asks, watching your tipsy body sway in the chair. your brother, Pierre, takes your glass from you officially cutting you off for the night.

“don’t need to get wasted on the first night.” he shakes his head in disapproval, and it’s his turn to head in for the evening. the three older boys have a big day ahead of them, they planned to head into town and do some racing while the two of you hung back.

“I should probably go to bed too.” you sigh watching the flames dance around the fire pit. you look up to see Arthur’s fixated on the flames too. you’ve noticed the distant lost look in his eyes, you didn’t question his appearance, you’re sure you look the same. it’s a cruel summer so far, and god you’re hoping it turns around.

—

it’s 3am when you find yourself tending to your drunk cravings. you tossed and turned in the bed trying to fight sleep, but the liquor still in your system was craving something salty.

you’re sitting at the dinning room table attempting to make as little noise as possible with the bag of chips in front of you. the house is silent, the only thing that fills the air is the sound of light snores and now you’re loud bag of chips.

it wakes Arthur up— but to your lack of knowledge he’s already awake. he hadn’t been able to sleep, your face in the glowing lights of the fire still dance around in his mind. the words of his ex girlfriend telling him he was “unlovable” linger in too, he tries to fight the words and the pictures, but falls short.

he throws the covers off his body, deciding maybe a movie or a television show would tire him out. he wasn’t expecting to see you awake in the kitchen, crumbs of chips around your lips while you munch on them. god even half awake his heart nearly beats out his chest.

“did I wake you?” you ask, guilt washes over you watching him shake his head as he slips into the chair across from you. you tilt the bag in his direction but he declines.

“I was already awake.” he explains watching you devour the salty treat in front of you. he studies how you waste no time to chew before shoving another one in your mouth. he watches you close your eyes in satisfaction of the salty cravings being met.

“how’s your summer been so far?” you ask deciding to fill the silence between you both, growing a little irritated of listening to the light snores.

“could be better, you?” he asks reaching across the table using his thumb to wipe the excess of chip and salt that linger your lips. you nearly stop breathing when his thumb comes in contact with them, his thumb is soft and gentle against your lips. his skin just brushes your chin, heart beginning to pound like crazy over this act.

“yeah same.” your breath is uneasy as you exhale when he finally pulled away. he chuckles to himself watching your pupils dilate, mouth slightly agape, and eyes lustful. he watches you fix yourself and your tipsy state returns once again.

“happy to be out here, away from the world.” he looks out the window adjacent to the table. stars fill the sky, you couldn’t see stuff like that for days in the city. he loves his summers in the countryside; just drinking, tanning, swimming, and most importantly now you. you and your little bikinis your brother warns you not to wear, you and your tight skirts, you and your beautiful figure. he can’t wait for a whole month of it.

“it’s going to be a fun month.” you sigh relaxing into the chair finally full from all the salt and crunching. he takes the bag of chips from you beginning to munch himself.

“yeah? what do you plan to do?” he asks leaning forward. maybe you could be his summer fun, his one time thing that he’ll maybe regret later on, but he won’t now. not when you’re this stunning and so beyond out of his world.

you shrug, “I don’t know, have some fun.” you smile pushing yourself up from the chair feeling exhaustion finally hit you. “I’m just looking for fun.”

he watches you walk away, you’re almost up the stairs when he adds one more thing. the last thing to say before leaving you to dream of tomorrow, “I know how to have fun, y/n.”

“goodnight, Arthur.”

—

you’re laying against your towel, back facing the burning rays, while the four boys play spike ball. the noise of their laughter and grunts are disturbing of your attempt at peace.

you give in to the sound of the wave crashing against the sand and decide to take a swim. you feel a familiar pair of eyes watch you walk past the four boys. you’re wearing the tiniest of bikini bottoms, and a top that’s a size too small for your chest. arthur noticed, of course he noticed. after yesterdays conversation all he can think about is ruining that stupid “bro code” Pierre made him promise to. he promised to never date or mess with his sister.

except it’s summer time, those rules don’t apply to a fun summer, right? he just wants something to occupy his mind, and you already said you’re not looking for anything beyond fun. he’s the perfect contender for this summer job.

“focus, arthur!” Charles fakes a throw at his brothers head, the younger boy flinches in reaction. he nods along going back to the game, but out of the corner of his eye every time the game stops, he sees your body floating across the cool salty waters.

“I think I’m going to go for a swim.” arthur announces when the three others call it a day on the game. they nod along watching him make his way towards where you are. you’re standing, feet sunk into the sand, allowing the waves to crash against your body, every so often going underneath to hear the muffled sounds of the waves crash against the sand.

when you look over towards the boys you notice they are all hanging around on their towels, and one leclerc is missing. your eyes dart around the beach before feeling someone yank your leg from under the water. it’s him.

“you scared me.” you laugh watching him come up for air, wet hair pressed against his forehead. he takes the palm of his hand brushing the hairs back, chuckling at your scared state, hand over your sunburnt chest.

“that was the point.” he says, noticeably moving his eyes up and down your body. taking in the way your bottoms nearly fell down your hips, and the way your top lifted upwards exposing your under breasts.

“cannot believe Pierre let you leave the house like that.” he licks his lips shaking his head, watching your already red face become a darker shade just by his comment.

“well he doesn’t own me.” you say, his body drifts closer due to the waves, you don’t mind, you allow yourself to be taken by them nearly stumbling into his chest. he’s praying to god your brother isn’t seeing this.

“you’re right, but maybe he should’ve said something because the things you do to me. god,” he exhales, a smirk forming his lips as he shakes the dirty thoughts, “it’s unholy.”

you exhale an uneasy sigh feeling warmth spread across your chest, heart rate picking up. you want this, god you want this with him, “tell me about them.” you run your fingers down his abs, they run over every divot and peak of his body.

“why don’t I show you tonight?” he takes his index finger resting it underneath your chin, thumb stroking the side of your face. you can’t say any words just nodding in agreement.

“can’t wait.”

—

the dress you’re wearing flows with the wind, all five of you moving around the winery watching the sunset. you think he’d behave himself this close around your brother, but he allows his arms to slip around your waist every so often, and hand squeeze your ass in any private moment. he’s tearing your patience, and that dress of yours is testing his.

pierre leaves you with the leclerc brothers to go to buy a bottle of wine for you and your family to take back home. you nurse the last couple of sips in your drink listening in on the three boys conversation. your eyes gravitate towards him, his white linen shirt has two buttons undone exposes his cross necklace, and his sun kissed chest. he knows what he’s doing, just like you knew what you were doing when you slipped on the dress with a low v. you’re both making each other beg.

“I’m going to go see what’s taking him so long.” Charles mutters leaving the three of you alone. Lorenzo makes an excuse you can’t remember because now it’s just you two. and he’s already whispering dirty secrets in your ear.

“we are in public, Arthur.” you giggle feeling his hot breath against your ear, it tingles a sensation throughout your body that trickles down your spine.

“I want to take you in this winery.” he whispers, hands pushing the few hairs that brushed in front of your face with the wind. you want him. god you want him bad, you can feel warmth spreading against your panties.

“my brother is here, you can’t.” you hiss, you want to break gaze from him, check on the status of Pierre and see if he’s coming back. but your eyes stay glued to those beautiful thick pink lips. god, you want him to take you in this winery.

“whatever happened to having fun? you don’t want to meet me in the restroom in say five minutes?” he checks his watch beginning to set a timer, he taps it and turns away. on his way inside he runs into Pierre telling him he’s using the restroom before they all leave, and now you’ve got five minutes to make that same excuse.

you sigh unsure what you’ve got yourself in to, but five minutes pass and you’re now heading to the private restroom. softly knocking on the door praying this is the one he’s in, and to your luck he is.

he opens the door and you slip in before anybody could notice, he presses your body against the wall, hands pulling the material of your dress up your thighs while you’re undoing his belt. this is the fastest you’ve got things done, you don’t have much time knowing the three out there would get suspicious.

“I can’t stand you right now.” he mutters, when he finally rips the wet material that’s against your throbbing pussy. you could whine you’re so needy for him.

“you’re cruel, leclerc. teasing me like that.” you spread your legs for him, his fingers grip your thighs as he enters you. you’re doing everything you can to keep yourself quiet— that includes biting the collar of his white linen shirt practically leaving teeth marks.

his thrusts are quick and short, he doesn’t have much time but he’s still showing you how he feels. his tip nudging your clit, pleasure washing over you. you bite down even harder on his shirt feeling tears well against the brims, you so badly want to scream, you can feel your legs beginning to shake. he’s too good for you, he wants to take his time get every part of your memorized.

“that’s it, come on.” he whispers still edging you on, hands twisted in your hair he watches you relax against him. teeth unclenching his shirt, your body practically exhales on him. your head hits the wall when he pulls out rushing to find toilet paper to clean you up.

“such a good girl.” he mumbles, the sandy paper gently brushes against your inner thighs. he helps you return back to your normal state, combing out any knots in your hair, both of you now leaving the restroom.

“wasn’t that fun?” he asks, you have a few more feet until you’re in front of your brothers and this talk couldn’t go on anymore. you just let out a dry laugh shaking your head.

“yeah if you didn’t have to take me so quickly.” you nudge his shoulder with your elbow. Pierre catches your eye, and he knows somethings different. you weren’t this happy nearly an hour ago when you arrived to the winery, and he’s not stupid when he sees the teeth marks in Arthur’s linen shirt.

“do I need to remind you that my sister is off limits to fuck with?”

“you’re a little too late, because I already did.”

No rules, in breakable heaven

It's a cruel summer

With you

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc smut #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc drabble #arthur leclerc fic #arthur leclerc fluff #f2 imagine #f2 #f2 x reader #f2 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 driver x you #f1 imagines #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #f1 smut #f2 smut #formula 2 #formula 1

[bluekittyworld]

Still with YOU.

Hi! I have had this idea for a while, I am just trying to put into words for this fanfic.

Pairing: Devil Jimin x Human (f) Reader

Warning: 18+ (some chapters include smut and death)

Genre: Angst, Yandere, Smut (Fluff if you squint your eyes)

Please any feedback will be appreciated! Your words and likes motivate me to write more :)

Also please don't copy, or post/translate my work on other platforms, thank you.

Happy reading, and PLEASE give me feedback, tysm <3

Approx. 6 chapters, 14k words

Summary: Growing up, you didn't embrace religion as fervently as your grandmother did, but her deep faith often led her to take you to Sunday prayers. The Church is where you met a Priest named Jimin, you couldn't shake the strange attraction you felt towards him, a magnetic pull that seemed to defy reason.

Jimin takes you through each sin, corrupting your soul, in the end do you ultimately end up in hell?

Masterlist

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 [End]

At the tender age of four, you had an imaginary friend like many other children do. He was a comforting presence, older and wiser, and you cherished the time spent playing together in the backyard treehouse that had stood for years before your family moved in.

But as you grew older, the visits to the treehouse became less frequent, overshadowed by the weight of tragedy and loss. The untimely passing of your parents in a tragic car accident cast a pall over your once vibrant world, stealing away the joy and innocence you once knew.

In the wake of such devastating loss, even the simple pleasures of childhood seemed to lose their lustre, leaving you adrift in a sea of grief and sorrow. The treehouse, once a sanctuary of imagination and play, stood silent and forgotten, a poignant reminder of happier times now lost to the past.

You moved into a cottage where your grandmother lived after the incident, you were just 9 years old. The cottage was situated in a small village just a couple of minutes away from the church.

Growing up, you didn't embrace religion as fervently as your grandmother did, but her deep faith often led her to take you to Sunday prayers. Despite not having many friends your age in the countryside, where mostly retired individuals resided, you found solace in the companionship of your grandmother's friends.

Over the years, you formed close bonds with them, cherishing the warmth and love they showered upon you. Their affection filled a void in your life, offering a sense of belonging and acceptance that you had yearned for. Yet, amidst the love and care they provided, you couldn't shake the lingering feeling of longing, a desire for deeper connections and a sense of purpose that seemed to elude you, maybe because your parents left you so early?

As adulthood beckoned, you made the conscious choice to pursue your studies through online lectures, opting to remain close to your grandmother rather than venture onto a distant campus. Some might have labelled you as immature for your decision, but you knew that your grandmother was your only family, and her time with you was precious and limited.

The thought of leaving her side, even for the pursuit of higher education, filled you with a sense of dread and guilt. You couldn't bear the idea of being apart from her, especially knowing that her time on this earth was drawing to a close. In your heart, you knew that being by her side during her final days was the most important thing, and you were willing to sacrifice other opportunities to ensure that she was not alone.

As your grandmother's health declined, it became increasingly difficult for her to visit the church on her own. Recognizing the importance of her faith in her life, you took it upon yourself to accompany her to Sunday prayers each week.

With the arrival of a new young priest at the church, you couldn't help but notice a sudden surge in the number of elderly ladies attending the services. It amused you how the presence of a handsome man seemed to reignite their religious fervour.

Shaking your head in amusement, you guided your grandmother to her favourite spot in the front row, ensuring she was comfortable before taking a seat beside her. Despite the comical circumstances, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the community of faith that had become a source of comfort and solace for your grandmother.

“I am Jimin, and I will be reading the passage from the Bible today” the young priest introduced himself and a sense of familiarity washed over you. His smile, warm and genuine, seemed to pierce through the crowd, locking onto your gaze with an intensity that made you slightly uncomfortable.

Despite your unease, there was something about him that tugged at the edges of your memory, a nagging sense of recognition that you couldn't quite place. How could you feel like you knew him when you had never met him before?

As Jimin began to read from the Bible, his voice resonating through the hallowed space of the church, you couldn't shake the feeling of being drawn to him, as if there were some invisible thread connecting the two of you across time and space. It was a mystery that lingered in the recesses of your mind, waiting to be unravelled.

Lost in a trance-like state, you found yourself more captivated by Jimin's physical presence than the words he spoke. His flawless, almost golden complexion seemed to glow in the soft light of the church, accentuated by the pitch-black cascade of hair that framed his strikingly dark eyes.

Your gaze lingered on his plush, pink lips as they moved in rhythm with the words of the passage, each syllable rolling off his tongue with a mesmerizing cadence. The sight of his Adam's apple bobbing with each word only added to the allure, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame.

It was as if time had slowed to a crawl, the world around you fading into insignificance as you became lost in the ethereal beauty of this enigmatic man before you. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the intoxicating pull of his presence, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume all reason and restraint.

Feeling the weight of Jimin's gaze upon you, you were jolted out of your reverie by the sound of his throat clearing. Heat flooded your cheeks as embarrassment washed over you, realizing that he had caught you staring.

Quickly averting your gaze, you focused intently on your hands, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you tried to regain your composure. Determined not to get caught in his gaze again, you kept your eyes firmly fixed on your lap, refusing to let yourself be distracted by the captivating presence of the young priest.

As Jimin continued to read from the Bible, the words washing over you in a blur, you silently resolved to maintain your focus and avoid any further embarrassment. After all, you couldn't afford to let yourself get caught in his spell again, no matter how tempting it may be.

As Jimin made his rounds, handing out toffees to each granny with a considerate and sweet demeanour, you couldn't help but admire his thoughtfulness. It was clear that he knew how to brighten their day with such simple gestures of kindness.

When he finally reached you, his touch lingered a moment longer than necessary as he held onto your hand. Startled, you looked up to meet his gaze, only to find him squeezing your hand with a playful smirk playing on his lips. Confusion swept over you like a tidal wave, leaving you to wonder if perhaps there was more to his actions than met the eye. It certainly didn't feel like your imagination running wild.

Lying in bed that night, thoughts of Jimin lingered in your mind, his actions replaying over and over again like a broken record. Despite your best efforts to push them aside, you couldn't shake the strange attraction you felt towards him, a magnetic pull that seemed to defy reason.

You scolded yourself for harbouring such feelings towards a man of the cloth, reminding yourself of Jimin's role as a priest—a figure of reverence and devotion, not someone to be viewed through the lens of attraction.

Yet, try as you might to suppress those forbidden thoughts, they continued to bubble up to the surface, refusing to be ignored. In the quiet solitude of your room, you found yourself grappling with conflicting emotions, torn between the dictates of reason and the undeniable allure of desire. It was a battle you knew you couldn't afford to lose, but one that seemed to grow more challenging with each passing moment.

The following morning you woke up just past the afternoon, you felt a little lazy today oddly, normally you were always energetic and an early bird.

You heard your grandmother talking to someone, a male to be specific. Confused by the unfamiliar voice, you decided to investigate, not particularly concerned about your appearance. After all, your pyjamas were decent enough, and you quickly tied your hair into a messy bun before heading out of your room to see who it was.

Jimin was sat there having tea with your grandmother, you never regretted a decision so much before, you wished you had put a bit more effort into your appearance.

“Good afternoon _____” Jimin smiled and showed his pearly whites.

Did he really have to acknowledge your presence you thought.

Feeling too embarrassed to say anything, you meekly smiled back.

Jimin nodded “Your grandmother makes lovely tea, come join us.”

He patted the seat next to him, as soon as you were about to make an excuse…

“Yes, dear sit down, I brought your cup already” you grandmother said.

Jimin patted the seat next to him again, you awkwardly sat down, you felt a bit too warm being so close to him.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed around you, you found yourself lost in thought, quietly sipping on your tea as your mind wandered once more to Jimin. Despite the reverent atmosphere of the room and the presence of the holy man beside you, your thoughts strayed to decidedly less holy territory.

In your peripheral vision, you caught glimpses of Jimin, sitting beside the esteemed figure with an air of casual confidence that only seemed to enhance his allure. Despite your best efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, your mind couldn't help but drift to the image of him, a tantalizing presence that stirred something primal within you.

As you sipped on your tea, the warmth of the liquid failing to dispel the heat that suffused your cheeks, you couldn't help but entertain the not-so-holy thoughts that danced through your mind, fuelled by the magnetic pull of Jimin's presence

You finished your cup of tea, setting it down with a delicate clink. Summoning up the courage, you stole a quick glance at Jimin, only to find him already looking at you, that infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

For a moment, you entertained the idea of smacking that smirk right off his face. But then you realized, with a sinking feeling, that he seemed to have a knack for reading your thoughts. Or at least, you hoped not.

Finally you excused yourself, and went back to your room. At last you felt a bit cooler and those unholy thoughts calmed down a little.

Later that evening your grandmother said that she promised Father Park that you would help him with church duties. Who even was he? You thought to yourself.

“Who is Father Park?” you asked.

“Jimin, his full name is Park Jimin” your grandmother replied with a smile.

“Park Jimin” you whispered; even his name was as beautiful as him.

Then it suddenly hit you that your grandmother volunteered you to help him out, you felt so uneasy around him because of your own mind.

“Do I really have to help him?” you pouted.

“______, sweetie, it’s good to help others and you needed some sort of volunteering for your scholarship application, this is a great opportunity for that too” she replied.

She did have a point, so you just thought to give it a go for now, you could always quit later, right?

As Friday dawned, anticipation hummed in the air, a tangible excitement flowing through your veins as you made your way towards the church. With each step, you rehearsed the words in your mind, preparing to greet Jimin—Father Park—with the proper respect and deference befitting his position.

"Hi, Father Park," you whispered to yourself, the words rolling off your tongue in practiced cadence, each syllable infused with a sense of reverence and warmth.

As you neared the church, your heart quickened with anticipation, the echo of your rehearsed greeting ringing in your ears like a silent mantra. And as you stepped through the threshold, ready to embark on another day of volunteering alongside Jimin, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within you, eager to see what the evening would bring in the presence of the enigmatic Father Park.

He was expecting you and was waiting just by the door.

As you approached the church, you couldn't contain your excitement and blurted out, "Hi Jimin!" Instantly, you mentally scolded yourself for not sticking to your rehearsed greeting.

Jimin's smirk only deepened, teasing you with his playful demeanour. "Hi _____," he replied, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Someone seems excited. Come to the back; we have a lot of scrolls to arrange by dates." His smile was infectious, melting away your annoyance and replacing it with a warmth that spread through your chest. With a flutter of anticipation, you followed him eagerly, eager to spend the day by his side once more.

As Jimin guided you through the corridors of the church, a familiar warmth enveloped you once more, causing a light sheen of perspiration to form along your hairline. Despite the coolness of the surroundings, the intensity of his presence seemed to ignite a fire within you, sending waves of heat rippling through your body.

When you reached the small room, well it wasn’t exactly small, but the large boxes placed around left little room to manoeuvre. As you surveyed the cluttered space, Jimin's sudden touch on your arms sent a jolt of surprise coursing through you, causing you to freeze in place.

“Umm… what are you-” you said.

“You look like you’re feeling really warm so I thought you might want to take off your jacket” he cut you off, was his voice always this attractive?

You took a step away from him, and took off your jacket, he held his hand out indicating you to give it to him, he hung it neatly on the hook behind the door.

As Jimin explained the task at hand, gesturing towards the box of scrolls with an air of casual confidence, your attention wavered, drawn inexorably to the sight of his hands—those elegant, mesmerising hands that seemed to possess a grace all their own. Despite your best efforts to focus on his words, your gaze remained fixated on the subtle movements of his fingers as they gestured and emphasized various points.

Nodding absentmindedly in response to his instructions, you found yourself lost in a haze of fascination, utterly captivated by the sight before you. Surely, arranging scrolls by date order couldn't be so difficult, not when Jimin's hands were there to guide you, effortlessly navigating through the task with a skill that bordered on the sublime.

You were now arranging the scrolls. The cool, aged parchment felt delicate beneath your fingertips as you carefully laid them out on the expansive wooden table before you.

The musty scent of history lingered in the air, mingling with the faint fragrance of incense, creating an atmosphere of reverence and tranquillity as you worked, you arranged them in a meticulous order.

“_____” Jimin spoke.

“Mhm?” you replied, trying to concentrate on the scrolls and not him.

“How was your childhood?” he asked.

What a random thing to ask you thought.

“It was okay, my parents passed away when I was nine years old” you replied.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but before that when you were younger, did you have many friends? Imaginary friends like some people say, even though they might be real.” He said mindlessly.

You stopped arranging the scrolls and looked at him, that is such an oddly specific question.

He chuckled, “Sorry you don’t have to answer it.”

“I did have 2 friends, and I think I had an imaginary friend too, I don’t really remember much, my memories are all mixed up from the trauma of losing my parents.” You replied a little emotionally. Jimin looked into your eyes, his gaze softened a bit, he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear and patted your head… what was that for, it’s not like you’re five, you’re a grown woman, you thought.

As you returned home after your volunteering session, a sense of contentment washed over you. Surprisingly, the experience hadn't been as bad as you had initially feared; in fact, you found yourself considering the possibility of returning again. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you reflected on the past two hours, realising that you had actually enjoyed spending time at the church, particularly in Jimin's company.

Throughout the week, you found yourself eagerly anticipating your next encounter with him. There was something about him that made you feel at ease, something that drew you to him like a moth to a flame. You found solace in sharing your stories with him, comforted by his attentive ear and understanding demeanour.

Unbeknownst to you, however, your growing affection for Jimin was leading you deeper into his web of deceit. Little did you realize the true nature of his intentions, or the dangerous game he was playing. As the days passed and your feelings for him intensified, you remained oblivious to the lurking shadows that threatened to consume you whole.

Chapter 2

Masterlist

A/N: how was it? :) the next chapter will contain smut, only read if you're 18+

#jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin x oc #park jimin #superntural #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin smut #bts jimin #bts #rm #jin #suga #jhope #taehyung #jungkook #jimin yandere #yandere #jimin devil #bluekittyworld

[bountydroid]

Special Delivery

Professor Aesop Sharp x reader

Description: Y/n is the designated Hosgmeade delivery girl. Desperate to stay in the area after graduating from Hogwarts, she traveled the countryside to make things easier for the shop owners. Although, her favorite deliveries go to her old professor, who she has been harboring a crush on for years.

Notes: This is my first real fanfic so please give me feedback! I decided to take the lack of Sharp fics into my own hands.

Part 2

"This delivery of Invisibility Potion goes to Professor Sharp, apparently, this week's lesson for his 6th years is on invisibility, and making them all himself would've been a hassle. He wants each student to have a sample to start with...." Parry Pippin drones on and on but y/n stopped listening as soon as she heard Professor Sharp. She loved potions class when she attended Hogwarts and started to harbor feeling for the stoic professor during her 7th year.

"Of course! I will do it right away, sir!" She interrupts, eager to start the walk to the castle.

Pippin eyes her suspiciously but eventually hands her the potions. "alright, just be careful. There has been an increase in poachers around the forest. Don't wander off the road."

"Yes, Mr. Pippin!" She chirps. Quickly showing the potions in her bag.

Once her bag was practically overflowing with potions, she haphazardly threw the bag over her shoulder, making the shop proprietor grimace as she hurried out the door. Y/n likes to count the lanterns on the way to Hogwarts, a quirk she picked up when she was a 4th year. It helps her know precisely how far left she has to go to reach her old home. She wasn't particularly good at anything during her school years. She wasn't dumb but wasn't exceptionally bright either. That is how she ended up graduating with zero prospects and a worry that she would have to leave her parents in Hogsmeade Valley. Thankfully, with a bit of persistent annoyance from her, she convinced the shopkeepers to let her help out so she could afford to stay at home and help her parents with the bills.

Finally, y/n steps onto Hogwarts grounds. She smiled to herself as she watched all the children playing outside on this lovely sunny day. Being in Scotland, there isn't a lot of sun so everyone likes to take advantage of when there is. She smiles as she remembers all the times she played Summoner's Court during class with Professor Ronen.

"So many stairs," Y/n grumbles, holding on tight to her bag straps as she makes her way to the potions classroom. She pokes her head in just enough to see.

"crap" she thinks to herself, "he's in the middle of class". Before she can make her exit, Professor Sharp's eyes meet her. He softens a bit, having previously been giving a student detention for snarky comments.

"Miss L/n come in." He states as he turns to grab something from his desk drawer.

"I am sorry professor I did not mean to interrupt," she says shyly as she shuffles her way to his desk.

"Well, it's too late now y/n" he jests.

Y/n blushes, both from embarrassment and the use of her first name. "I am very sorry, professor." she squeaks out.

He softly smiled at her, letting her know she was not mad at her. Y/n smiled back, her cheeks still rosy from the encounter.

"Come. We will put the potions in this cupboard." Professor Sharp said putting his hand on her lower back to usher her to the corner of the room.

Y/n was acutely aware of the whispering students watching them as she starts to unpack her bag. Her hands were shaking as he watches her, aware of how the students are making her uncomfortable.

"The next person to make a noise gets detention!" He said suddenly in a stern voice. His eyes never leaving y/n.

They unpack the rest of her bag in silence, sharing soft brushes of each other's hands and small smiles as they worked. "I am sorry about them." He finally says.

This startles her, used to the comfortable silence she says "Nothing to be sorry about professor, I was a student not too long ago myself." she tried her best to give a convincing smile. "I am flattered that they would think you would feel that way about me." Y/n says before she realized what exactly came out of her mouth. She froze in her spot as the realization washed over her, turning her face completely red.

"I would think it should be the other way around, don't you? The idea that a young woman like yourself would be interested in an old bat like me?" He whispers, attempting to keep the conversation away from nosey students.

Y/n feels like she is stuck in place, completely shocked by his statement. "You are not an old bat!" She says a little too loudly, turning a few heads. She looks at him shyly, only to see him smiling down at her. "I just mean that you shouldn't talk down about yourself. You are wonderful, professor."

He grimaces "You know, I am not your professor anymore. You do not need to call me that."

"Sorry. It's a habit." she says as she finishes unloading her backpack. "Sorry again for the disturbance."

She starts to make her way to the door, but she stops right in front of it. "I was wondering, actually -" She stops herself from finishing. "Nevermind" y/n says as she rushes out the door.

"Y/n wait!" Sharp shouts at her as he follows her out the door, as fast as his bad leg would let him. "What is it?"

"It was a stupid idea don't worry about it." She babbles, embarrassed at her own outburst.

"Please." He says, grabbing onto her shoulder.

"I guess I was just going to ask if you would ever like to go out for a butterbeer?" Y/n says, barely above a whisper, staring down at her shoes.

"Y/n look at me," Sharp says sternly. She reluctantly meets his eyes as he says "I would love to."

#professor aesop sharp #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader #aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #hogwarts legacy

[bbyquokka]

☁️ — comfort with ot8

➥ pairing: ot8 x GN!reader

➥ genre: fluff | angst

➥ synopsis: how skz would comfort you

➥ warnings: insecurities | mention of exercise in changbin's section | feeling 'under the weather' | off days | self doubt | pet names

➥ words: 3.1k

➥ a/n: ive been feeling a little meh lately. writing this gave me some comfort and i hope you also find comfort in it

Feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

➥ m.list – ➥ you can also read it on my ao3

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Chan꒱ ↷

Concerned. He hadn't heard from you in a while, which is odd considering you two are glued to the hip. You've been ignoring his calls and texts, which only lead him to worry even more.

he thought you needed time alone, for what, he doesn't know. He wishes he knew but unless you tell him, he has no idea

he'd be led to think that he did something wrong. Did he say or do something to upset you? the poor man would be worried out of his mind.

After a week of no contact, he would have the courage to stop by your place, but first, he would shop for a bunch of snacks. Once he saw how drained you looked, he would drop everything and wrap his arms around you. "Chan. I haven't bathed for a week, I smell." you'd protest, weakly trying to escape his grip.

He wouldn't care. seeing you so drained and energy less broke his heart. He'd softly scold you for not contacting him, saying it's important that you don't struggle alone whilst rocking you from side to side.

You'd break down. Broken sobs and hiccups shaking your body. His warmth and scent got the better of you, breaking you down. He'd allow you to cry into his chest, not caring you was getting his clothing wet with tears all the while, soothing you softly.

after your little breakdown, you'd feel better. Chan would wipe away your tears and snot with his hands, making you pull a face. Chan would roll his eyes and laugh saying it's nothing.

"I have some snacks. let's shower and watch a movie together. I'm not leaving until I know you're a million percent okay."

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Minho ꒱ ↷

He has his own love language. it's subtle. He doesn't buy you chocolates or roses and you're okay with that. Sometimes, he finds it a little challenging to show that he loves you, feeling worried that you might not feel it.

but you do. Minho knows you well, too well. He knows you better than anyone else, which is scary but also good. He caught the signs way before you did.

your irritation. sudden outbursts. low moods. no motivation – he recognised it all before you even realized, which is why he came prepared.

"I really don't want to go out, lino. I cannot be bothered."  Minho would protest, whining softly. you didn't have energy to go out in public and be social, it's hard enough to get out off bed in the mornings.

You became suspicious when Minho drove you to the countryside, nothing but trees and hills could be seen as well as small cottages. You'd question Minho but only receive a "you will see when we get there. be patient kitten." 

Soon, you'd stop by a small farm, a small bubble of excitement bubbling in your stomach. So this is why Minho told you to wear your Welly boots! 

Minho knows you adorable animals so he surprised you with a trip to the local farm, which was run by a family. You spent the day petting the cows, feeding lambs and holding chickens. You bought some local groceries, supporting the business. 

Your eyes lit up, a smile never leaving your lips the whole time. This is what Minho loved, he felt proud knowing that he was able to cheer you up again – even if it was just something small.

"I knew you were feeling a little under the weather, so I thought I'd surprise you to help cheer you up again. I hope you loved it, kitten." 

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Changbin ꒱ ↷

You're a fresh couple, dating for only 2 months, however, you have known him for 4 years. Changbin is your workout partner, you both never skip leg day.

However, when you message Changbin out of the blue, claiming you didn't want to exercise, he became concerned. He stopped by your place to be greeted by a sullen looking you. 

"off day?"  Changbin just knew. He's observant, he knows and remembers the littlest details about you. Your cute habits he adores and he can spot when your moods change so it's not much of a surprise to him when he learnt you're feeling under the weather.

He'd wrap his strong arms around you, squeezing you gently. Oddly, his chest would feel soft and squishy despite the fact he works out a lot, but you love it. You have extra pillows in the form of changbin's chest.

"I'm sorry for skipping today. I really want to do something though." a soft, sad mumble. Changbin would shake his head, exclaiming it's okay. As a suggestion, he would say you could take a walk instead.

You'd smile weakly, agreeing before getting changed into something warmer. You'd take a walk up the mountains, Changbin's warm hands always holding yours, fingers interlocked.

He wouldn't want you to leave his side. You'd take cute selfies together, pick some fresh berries whilst talking about this and that. You'd explain how you were feeling and why you were feeling that way. Changbin is a good listener so he would be listening very carefully whilst also giving you advice.

Feeling your fingers turning ice cold, he'd shove his hand and yours into his pocket, a small giggle escaping your lips. Changbin would smile at the blissful sounds, kissing your lips softly.

"That's my love. I'm always with you, babe. Don't be afraid to call me when you feel like this, no matter what time of day it is." 

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Hyunjin ꒱ ↷

You miss Hyunjin. He was away for some art convention, showcasing his works. Of course, you're insanely proud of him for his accomplishments, but you couldn't help but feel a little insecure.

Hyunjin has talent and you felt like you didn't have any. You didn't understand why Hyunjin loves someone like you. You're a simple person, liking the simplest and smallest of things. The littlest of things brings you the most happiness.

you work a standard job, money isn't great but it'll do. Feeling like there are better people out there for Hyunjin left you dwelling on your thoughts which only forced you deeper and deeper into the dark hole of despair.

Sadly, Hyunjin would be away for a few days meaning he would be sleeping at a hotel. a few days is typically nothing, but when you need him, it feels like forever.

you would facetime on the daily, mainly at night when everything was done for the day. You faked being happy, smiling and putting on a show for Hyunjin. You didn't want him to worry about you, he's so busy that you didn't want to add an extra load on top.

he would show you the artwork he planned on showing next, and whilst you felt incredibly proud of him, you couldn't help but also feel jealous and insecure. you started questioning his choice of picking you and your own abilities. So deep in thought, Hyunjin became a distant sound, his words sounding fuzzy.

Your vision blurred with tears. Hyunjin would call your name several times, concerned and worried about you after noticing the way you looked so sad 

"Am i– Am I good enough..?"   the barrier you formed around yourself – cracked. Tears streaming down your cheeks, broken sobs shook your figure. Hyunjin was speechless at first. He'd compose himself, soothing you through your phone screen.

You'd tell him everything that had been playing on your mind, ultimately getting everything off your chest. Hyunjin would sit and listen, nodding slowly, his own heart breaking at the sight of you. He'd do anything to be by your side right now but he can't.

You'd calm down with the help of Hyunjin, snot and tears coating your skin. Hyunjin would spend hours convincing you that you're more than enough for him, telling you that you're capable of anything and everything.

he'd tell you to never doubt yourself, you're perfect the way you are. He'd ask you where Kkami is. you'd point your phone down, Kkami curled up on your lap as you sniffled.

"Whenever I'm away, hug Kkami. That way, I will always be with you, no matter the distance." 

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Jisung ꒱ ↷

Stressed. Your part time job was getting to you, your work colleagues and customers constantly screaming in your face, telling you what you should and shouldn't do – you always managed to do something wrong, even when it was right.

On top of work, you were swamped in your studies. Deadlines after deadlines after deadlines. The teachers assumed you just don't like having spare time or have a life at all. You barely had enough time for yourself. You couldn't indulge in your hobbies, Indulge in self care because you were either too stressed or too tired.

You hated how jisung had a carefree life, how he was able to do the things he loves. You love him more than anything in this world, however, seeing him sitting on the wood floor, controller in hand and his tongue sticking out for concentrating – you hated his carefree lifestyle.

Jisung knew you were stressed and exhausted, he just didn't know how to approach you. He has thought of things that he thinks would make you stress free but once he thought back to it, it seemed like a terrible idea.

He looked back over his shoulder into the office room, seeing you stressed, your eyes darting around your laptop screen. He paused his game, standing up and leaning against the door frame.

"I don't have time to play your silly games, Jisung! can't you see I'm swamped in work! Not everyone can have a stress-free life like you!!" 

your eyes widen in shock, mouth opening and closing as nothing but splutters come out. You couldn't speak, you were too shocked. Jisung didn't say a word. He gave you a single nod of his head and walked away. You'd call for him but he never looked back.

Once alone, your anger would bubble to the surface once again, hot tears streaming down your face and blurring your vision. Surprisingly, you no longer wanted to study. Instead, you burst into silent sobs. You didn't want Jisung to hear you, so you'd muffle your cries with your hand.

Snot, tears and saliva ruining your face. Cheeks and eye puffy, calling yourself an idiot. It's not Jisung's fault you're so stressed but he was just there. He, unfortunately, became the target of your outburst and you hated that. 

It wasn't until you heard the sounds of things falling and crashing as well as a frustrated Jisung muttering "fuck" that you decided to go see what was going on. You were stopped in your tracks when your eyes fell onto a makeshift den, a projector showing stars on the walls and ceiling. 

TV and games console inside the den along with a range of pillows and soft blankets, snacks, drinks, fairy lights, plushies. You would be reduced to tears once again, but this time, tears of joy.

Jisung stood next to the den, gaming controller in hand, loving smile on his lips and wearing nothing but sweatpants (he knows how much you love skin ship). He'd walk to you, wiping away your tears and kiss you softly. You'd go to apologize for your outburst earlier but he would have none of it – he understands you're under a lot of stress

"I know you're under a lot of stress lately. I thought we could spend the time gaming and eating whilst cuddling. Maybe it will help you wind down a little." 

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Felix ꒱ ↷

Sunshine Felix. He is warm and comforting. He has a way with words that instantly makes you feel better, but sometimes, it doesn't always work.

Stuck in a rut. Same routine day in, day out. You didn't know how to break this cycle. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. It's draining to you to the point where you don't have energy anymore

everything you loved, your hobbies, favourite things such as movies, food, etc, became dull and boring to you. You couldn't be bothered to get out off bed, simply because you knew what the day was going to hold.

Felix knew something was wrong. He hasn't seen or heard from you for a while. He knew something was wrong when you sent him a blank text with no kiss at the end. "im fine lix." 

He'd take it upon himself to go to your apartment and let himself in.

He'd walk to your bedroom, gently shaking your figure. You'd sigh softly, explaining you didn't want to leave you bed. Felix furrowed his brows, before disappearing to the bathroom to run you a hot bath. He'd pick out some clean clothing for you before picking you up bridal style and placing you in the tub

He'd wash your hair, giving you a massage in the process, whilst you wash your body. He'd help you dry, put on your clothing and help you with your beauty routine. He'd clean your apartment for you before deciding that it's time to bake.

You'd spend the entire afternoon together, baking an array of sweet treats. Your apartment smelt and looked like a bakery by the time you were both done. Later on, you'd both be curled up on the sofa, Felix holding you close to him.

Sweet treats in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. A fluffy blanket covering you both, skin on skin. His warmth radiates onto you, making you feel at home. Felix is your home. You'd soon fall asleep in his arms, feeling happy and content at long last.

"sleep well, my love. I'll be here in the morning. I love you for eternity." 

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Seungmin ꒱ ↷

He seems like the type to not understand nor like skin ship, however, he is smart. He clicks on and understands instantly. He knows your patterns in behaviour and as soon as he notices a blip, he's quick to catch on.

however, he doesn't press you about it. he has learnt not to. He has learnt that you will come to him when the time is right – when you need him – and he will always be there for you, with open arms. And that day finally came.

Seungmin decided to take you out on a little trip, nothing too fancy, just a nice, casual day out together. You visited bookstores, sports shops and more. You soon both had handfuls of shopping bags, with Seungmin carrying most of yours.

You both decided to stop by the local café. It was small, but cosy. They have the best coffee and desserts in your town, plus, you both preferred going to smaller café chains – you like to support those smaller, feeling like Starbucks and Costa drown out the smaller businesses.

Seungmin and you got talking and it wasn't until you started talking about your week that you realised how lonely you had been feeling. With the days being shorter and nights getting colder, all you wanted was Seungmin. You wanted his warmth, his arms wrapped around you. To see his goofy smile and hear his adorable laugh.

You missed him and you had been ignoring it, drowning it out by overworking yourself. The more you spoke about how you felt, the more real it became. It wasn't until Seungmin reached across the table and took your hand in his, that you realised you were crying.

You would laugh softly, wiping away your tears and apologies to which Seungmin would shake his head at you and say it's all okay. He'd stand up and walk to you, gently lifting you up by your hand and pull you into his chest.

His scent, that warm, cinnamon scent would make you whimper, cling onto him and bury your face into his chest. He didn't care where you both were, he knew you needed him there and then. He couldn't wait to get home and hold you – not yet at least. He'd sway with you slowly, kissing the top of your head as you would let out gently and soft sobs 

"Shh, my darling. I'm here now. you won't ever feel alone every again. I promise to stay by your side, no matter what."

̥۪͙۪◌- ', Jeongin꒱ ↷

Sweet Jeongin. Skin ship is not his favourite thing in the world – at least when it comes to his members. You knew he wasn't keen on skin ship and that was okay with you, however, sometimes, you wish he was.

Sometimes, you wish he would be the one to initiate a hug or hold your hand or just a simple peck on the cheek. You love him and you knew from the start he didn't like skin ship, however you couldn't help but feel agitated and annoyed.

"Why is it always me that's has to be the one to initiate it? why can't you??" you'd snap. You'd have a rough day wanting nothing more than to come home and melt into your partner's arms – but you knew that wasn't going to happen.

As soon as you saw him chewing his bottom lip, nervously, you'd insistently feel guilty, stupid. This is Jeongin, your boyfriend. You love him no matter what, he is perfect to you! You'd apologise deeply and Jeongin being a kind soul, would accept your apology and move on.

Months later, the same situation happened. It was like déjà vu all over again. However, Jeongin was prepared this time. He saw how you came home in a huff, brows pinched together, frustration noticeable on your face.

You noticed he wanted to do something, you could tell by the way he was nervously hanging around you. You brushed it off as nothing – he would have done it by now if it was important.

By the time it was bed time, your frustrations were still apparent. They hadn't subsided like you hoped they would, you even took a shower in hopes it would help relax you – but it didn't. You had your back to Jeongin, trying to fall asleep. Jeongin felt anxious. It's not like he doesn't like skin ship, it's just, he doesn't know how to approach you when it comes to it.

He wants to hold you, to kiss you and have you melt into him, he's just shy. He's never done this before, he's never had a long term partner before so all this – is new to him. You'd feel him shifting around, his arm slowly sliding  and draping over your side. You'd be shocked, blushing softly when you feel him pulling you flush against his chest, crotch against your ass, back against his chest.

He'd hold you tight, his warmth surrounding you. He'd take your hand in his, stroke it slowly as he gains confidence. Soft kisses on the back of your neck, hums of contentment. You liked this and so did he. You felt all your frustrations melt away.

"Its not a case of me not liking skin ship, I do, especially with you. It's just, I'm shy. All this is new to me but I promise you, I will hold you and never let you go." 

#kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #skz #stray kids #skz soft thoughts #skz soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids soft hours #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #skz fluff #skz ot8 #stray kids ot8 #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #lee felix #han jisung #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

[jessicasfilmblog]

Representing the Real

Critique Feedback Form

NAME: Jessica Hynes

PROJECT: Documentary Film

DATE OF CRITIQUE: 27th April

TUTOR(S): Sana Bilgrami, Thomas Sheridan and Joe Li

VERBATIM TRANSCRIPT OF FEEDBACK:

Sana, “I really enjoyed that, I thought it was good that you started off with her talking about having been born during the war. And then there’s a nice slow process of revelation. She moves to this place for peace and then you find out about the firing range. So that’s shocking and you really get the feel of irony. And then you get the whole war thing at the end. So, I think structurally the film works really well. Actually, my main feedback to improve the film is for a start. She starts literally when the film starts, and she starts speaking and she stops when the credits are rolling, and she doesn’t stop for a minute in between. You need to let the Film breathe. You could have cut out some of that and had started with her not speaking. You use the landscape beautifully in your film, I just wanted the film to start with silence. Just hear, you know get constructed, the ready-made sounds of nature and put us in that space. Like using ready made Library sounds. Let us be emersed in that country side before she starts speaking about being from London, and we can see her sitting there. I’m sure you might have a moment of footage when she’s not speaking. I really appreciate that you held the shots, like the cutaways. You said you didn’t treat them like cutaways, and I can see that. So I actually have nothing against the nicely held shots. You let us look at the stream and the mountains and so on. So really well done on that. And I guess maybe in alongside what you would do in those moments of silence, where she stops speaking is let us be emersed in the sound of the countryside, because your whole film is about sound. Your film is quite literally about the sound of silence that she wants, the sound of prayer that you didn’t get and the sounds of gunshots, which we never hear. But we don’t need to hear them. What she says is enough. Those signs. All of that is enough for us to imagine it. But you, your film is just like gasping for the sound of nature. I mean otherwise it’s totally engaging and really interesting. I mean the only other thing I’d say would be if you had any more shots of the temple and the praying that would help give us a little bit more. I liked the interview and the way you set it up and I didn’t mind the sound of the wind. Well, done for improving it, you know it didn’t bother me because we were outside. So yeh that’s my feedback.” 

Joe, “So well done I like the film. The fact that you go all the way to the Scottish Border Its not easy for the shoot so well done. First the film is really about a delay in the voiceover for a few seconds. It’s just too fast and to have the empty shot using music or ambience first and then start the voice. And the other thing about the sound aswell is we are watching things that have sound, like the river, but we don’t hear any sound. So we need that sort of ambient sound. It’s quite bizarre we hear the wind see the wind cut to the river, there is no water. I think you did a good job anyway for most of the film. The water sounds you could have just downloaded you know.”

Tommy, “They have the sound they just couldn’t find it and so it was like the classic sort of sound last thing. And then you don’t have time for this. We know your Editor dropped out so this was really a time issue.”

Joe, “The other thing about the technical aspect was the shaky camera and shaky shots. It happened across the board the whole day. What you need to say is I’m going to be using handheld for empty shots. I will recommend for you to still take your tripod with you put your camera on the tripod and also imitate their movement. That makes is look natural as it’s like hey it’s on a tripod when at the same time you can just imitate a movement. I think that would really help with some of those shaking shots.”

Joe “I mean I have to talk to Tommy about giving you guys extra points for going on this adventure to make the film. Yeah, we will have to talk about it next week. My last point is really about across the board today is really the narratives challenge. It’s the way you tell a story maybe is not fiction film, so we are not conscious of this. You have such a conflict here that the place just next door is a shooting range and it’s a really big issue. Establishing this conflict at the start would have made the interview more intresting to listen to. You don’t establish the conflict; all of this is done through her interview. The gunfire is awesome its such an important element. Why do we not hear gunfire at all? I think there should have atleast been some gunfire or peaceful crowds.”

Tommy, “Ok, So first of all congratulations on the trip down there that was bold. I thought it was a bad idea to go all the way down there so you couldn’t re-shoot couldn’t pick stuff up. And I know you worked really hard while you were there to make it happen. Long Days. So well done. I totally agree with Joe on that. On the technical camera side, I think there was quite a lot of over-exposure what was meant to be peaceful seemed quite over cast. I kind of wanted the peacefulness because the shots and landscape were really beautiful just the brightness and colour and contrast put it down a bit you know. But I did find the cutaways very useful, but I would have left them for longer because of the peace. I kind of agree with more than with Joe than with Sana because of the creative potential with the sound of bullets. Especially because when I saw those metal plates for the bullets, for the shooting range those are like gongs. Like and when you hit them, they make noise and when you hit them from far away. You won’t know this but there are so many overlaps between the gun range and the prayer space and the Buddhist philosophy. So, when she was like ‘they told us to live and let live’ I felt the irony and when they were like ‘it should improve your meditation practices’, you know meditate through gunshots that’s actually kind off true in terms of meditating in noisy places. But I can tell she’s bothered by it being guns and I just think that subtlety is very nice in the storytelling and the storytelling and feel is quite a complex situation which I kind of like the way that it across. Definitely agree about starting later I would have loved; Duncan I know you’re not very experienced and were thrown into the deep end in this project. Sound design in a pro shoot has its own time. You lock the picture which means no more edits are going to happen the have about two to three weeks where it’s just sound design. Go find the sounds that the sound recordist made etc. I feel like this film would benefit massively by sound design. The silence and the noise and all the prayers, all of these things are really sounds driven rather than picture driven, and I feel creative sound design could enrich this so much. I feel like if the film started with birds chirping and silence and the pew and you hear the gunshots it would have been so much more effective. Yeh, I think there’s a lot of opportunity here to work with the sound design potential and work with the peace and non-peace. I thought the dealing from a technical point of view with the sound. I was very impressed with the recording in the wind. Like you can see horizontal laundry you know from the wind and the cleaning up was impressive because it was a very clean sound of that. Really like your pay offline or conclusion over the credits is really killing it. Not in a good way. It really undermines her story, and we should hear it. Then go back to the countryside then go to the credits like really give it breathing space. I’m aware that you were aware for time. Overall, I really thought she was a great character and appreciated all the tough outs you faced along the way, so im aware of that so I thought it was good.

Leo “I think it’s such a fascinating premise and I totally agree what Sana said about giving the film breathing time aswell and giving the peaceful shots some sound design. So, imagine having these beautiful shots. And then in the middle you just hear rapid gunfire, and your audience goes, what is that? What is going on? Then you kind off reveal it. This might not be a shared experience around here, but I think your subject was very boring to listen to. Like she has a very interesting story but the way she speaks dragging on sentences. So, in a sense I agree that you should have cut around it to make it more concise I don’t know how you would have done it. So, in a sense I feel for you because you had a lot of information to coney to make the conflict clear but it wasn’t easy to do so. I feel like it could have benefited from adopting a more abstract, more fictionalised approach to what you were showing. Don’t be afraid to push the fiction aspect a little bit more if it’s necessary. I don’t think in any way it would have been the case of lying it would just be placing sound so you can have at the moment. So, I think this film can be replanned around sound and play with that a bit more. 

MAIN POINTS GLEANED FROM FEEDBACK:

Sound Design: Using sound effects to establish more of the plot. For example, the sound of a gong mirroring the shots of metal plates of the shooting range. More sound design of the cut-away shots, river with no sound etc. 

Give the film some breathing time: Have some peaceful shots of the landscape at the start of the film and create some ambiance using music or sound library sounds. 

Conclusion: Instead of going straight into the credits let Julie finish her sentence and cut away to more scenery before rolling the credits on a black screen. 

Make conflict clear: This could have been done using sound design, making a contrast between the gun sound and peacefulness of the monastery. 

REFLECTION:

The main criticism of our film was the sound design and there not being enough ambient, or complementary sounds in the film to make it appear more finished and add structure to the story that Julie was telling. I think the main problem was that we ran out of time in the edit leaving sound effects a last resort if we had our film finished on time. If we had more time our group would add more creative sound design and discuss creative ways to display the conflict out with Julie’s interview in the film. 

ACTION PLAN:

-Re-edit the film using sounds we recorder on the day or library sounds to create a more ambient film as well as adding more layers to the conflict in the story. Going back to work on sound design will add a more finished feel to the film.

-Go into projects record and label every sound as it makes is so much easier for the editor.

-Make sure you time manage so that the sound designer has enough time to play around after the edit.

[aberrant-eyes]

by AngryMaxFuryStreet

No one seems to know what emotional support is so let me clarify.

What emotional support isn't:

"That's just how things are"

"If you think THIS is bad, just wait until you're MY AGE"

"Just get over it"

"You're too sensitive"

"How long ago was this?"

"Are you taking your medication?"

"People only hurt your feelings if you let them"

"Don't send out negative energy"

"At least you don't have MY problem"

"I went through something similar and I turned out fine"

"I went through something similar, let me tell you about it... (completely dissimilar story)"

"Well I mean you're not entirely innocent here either"

"It wasn't that bad"

"We

Read more

#so dropped the mic #and the countryside did shake with that feedback #stop trying to help me and HELP me! #cw: Normals

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Urban(e)🚬3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; criminal activity; alcohol; PTSD, warnings to be added as series progresses.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features Tommy Shelby x reader. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: when your father went away to serve in The Great War, you took over his side business in the shed. After the war, he struggles to recover from the damage of his trauma as an unexpected investor shows up at your door.

Note: Thanks to all who are following along. I'm having fun writing this show and the time period.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The biting cold of the English countryside sends a layer of dampness through the house and crawls up the wooden walls of the barn. The grass is frosty and yellow from the looming winter. The rains come harder and more often as the chill grows constant.

You sit by the window and stare out at the sky, the sun hidden behind the sheet of billowy clouds. The clink of dishes sounds from the kitchen along with the voices of your family. Much has changed in the month since Shelby’s broker and yet nothing at all.

Your father’s silence permeates the airy rooms and adds another edge to the cold. It’s mostly aimed at you, the one he blames. You didn’t expect any different.

“Waiting for the boss?” your father’s voice cuts through your isolation.

“Da,” you warn as you sit back and sip your lukewarm tea.

He has the grace to look guilty. “Shelby business is dangerous business,” he sits in his rocking chair, now inside to keep it from rotting through the wetter months.

“I know, da, you keep saying,” you murmur, “it wasn’t my choice, just like it wasn’t yours.”

“I didn’t show you how to work a still to work for a man like him,” he growls.

“So what do I do, eh? What are you gonna do? You know that rifle is as good as a feather against those men,” you shake your head, “he takes his whiskey and goes. It’s better than we can hope for.”

“And those brutes he’s left in the shed, yeah, they bother you?”

“I got Ali, da,” you argue, “and you.”

“Mmm,” he hums and nods, “that’s right, so that means you tell me if they try anything.”

“Da, look at me,” you snort, “they’d rather mess with one of our mares, even the stud.”

“You overestimate men,” he shakes his head, “I still don’t like the arrangement, never will, but I’ll be calmer if you keep me aware.”

“Alright,” you say, “you wanna see the new stills? You never did come out.”

“Perhaps,” he answers and closes his eyes, the chair creaking as he rocks, “if my wound does cease its throbbing.”

“Hope so,” you stand and kiss his forehead, “you know, I don’t like him either.”

“Aye, I see it your eyes,” he smiles at the ceiling, “never seen that before. Not in you.”

“Better get ready, those dullards can’t do much more than watch,” you squeeze his shoulder, “I’ll be back at noon, yeah?”

“Might come out,” he says, “might do.”

🚬

Dawson and Darren. Those are the two men sent by Shelby to assist your manufacture. Unfortunately, they’re more in the way than any help. The shining new vats are bigger than their predecessors but the output is just as slow.

You guide Darren for the dozenth time in how to heat the still and the delicacy of your cyclical processing. The repetition seems to do little to seep past his thick skull and your exasperation boils over with the still that’s done the same. Another spoiled batch.

He apologises but you say nothing. Dawson instead begins his reproach as he is the more capable of the two. The heat of the shed speckles your skin with sweat and your frustration adds to your discomfort. You leave the two louts to argue and step out into the brisk air.

You have the crates filled for the pending deliveries while the excess will go to Shelby as demanded. Still, you have an itch to drain them into the mud of the pen and laugh in his face. Your thoughts are always bolder than you. Never overly talkative but wholly stubborn. Your father always said no words could cut as deep as your eyes.

You pull your jacket closed and do up a single button. You smell like rye and dirty hay. You never notice as your nose has taken to the stench of the farm but every now and then, you think you stink of a horse. Better for it, you like your space.

The distant noise catches your ear. At first, you think the wind is picking up and you come around the front of the house. You smell your mother’s stew even from there and hear Ali’s voice through the closed windows as he yammers at your father. Da always says the two of you were different sides of the same penny, though he would add that you were at least a halfcrown. That’s on the days he smiled, as rare as they are.

You see the black dot along the horizon and you know. You sigh and sit on the steps as you await the man. It’s better to keep him without, your father declares the house no man’s land for the Shelbys. You do your best to keep the two veterans apart. For all they have in common, they have more that sets them apart.

You know soldiers, your father’s friends were all in France. They all wear the scars and you hear how they speak. They carry violence even if it's not in their soul. The war made them that way and you knew that too long together and a new battle will break.

The only surprise about Thomas is that he’s alone. He’s not come unaccompanied since his first visit to the farmstead, that day your father made the short voyage back to the trenches. You watch him step out of his car and the metal door slams.

“Your men are in the shed,” you say as you lean your chin in your hand, “figure it was better to let ‘em burn it down instead of me.”

“They aren’t the sharpest but most soldiers only know how to take orders,” Thomas strides up to the steps and props his foot up on the bottom stair. His leather gloves brush over his jacket and he tucks a hand in his pocket, “I prefer to talk to the commander of the troops.”

“Well, there’s bottles for you in the barn,” you say tritely, “not much else to report.”

He looks ripe to smirk but he just shakes his head, “tryna decide if I prefer you silent.”

You tilt your head and shrug. You stare at him as he drags his foot from the worn wood and stands straight.

“Fine, the whiskey,” he flicks you up with two fingers, “I’ve not driven this far to argue.”

You stand and sense movement behind you. You glance back as your father pulls back the curtain to glare through as he stills his rocking chair. He scowls and Shelby waves to him smartly. You give your father a pleading look and he drops the linen back to cover the glass.

“Right,” you sat, “let us get your due.”

Thomas trails behind you, playing at a gentleman as you lead him to the gate and unhook the pen. He’s unbothered as his boots sink into the muck but you suspect he’s walked through worse. You lift the heavy bar across the door and he helps slide it open.

As you enter, Martha, one of the mares, puffs and you pause to pat her nose. He bares her teeth and her tongue swipes your cheek. She’s more likely to bite Ali but you prefer the obstinate creature.

Thomas comes close and puts his hand out to the horse. She chomps at him and he rescinds his hand. He tuts and chuckles to himself.

“Not many horses don’t like me,” he remarks, “same for women.”

“Mhmm,” you mutter and carry on past the stalls, “back here, Mr. Shelby.”

He follows you to a stack of crates covered in patched wool. You pull back the blanket and present the brown bottles to him. He raises his chin and considers his haul.

“That’s yours,” you say, “we keep the locals up in the loft.”

“You need more men?” he unbuttons his jacket and reaches inside. He takes out his cigarette case, clicks it open then closed, and replaces it under his coat.

“To get in my way?” you counter, “no. Mr. Shelby, I don’t think you understand. We get out what we put in, regardless of the size of our stills or the number of our hands.”

“Something I have considered,” he nods, “we’ve got packaging sorted at least. Bottles comin’ in from Manchester, labels too.”

“You’ll still get the same,” you affirm.

“First step, many to come,” he points a finger, “tell me, you have any dresses?”

You look at him dully. He lets a small grin play on his lips.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Might,” you answer shortly.

“Oh, well, I think you might search it out,” he says, “don’t think this,” he pinches the seam of your jacket sleeve, “will go well with society.”

You narrow your eyes and pull away from him.

“Take your whiskey, Mr. Shelby,” you cross your arms.

“A car will fetch you, Friday, I expect you to dress like more than a farmhand,” he carries on, “you’ll come to Birmingham and we’ll review our new processes.”

“Mr. Shelby, I see no reason for me to venture far. Bring your bottles and your labels and we will fill them,” you sniff.

“Do you recall my warning?” he lowers his voice, “about denying me?”

“I was of the mind that you were interested in whiskey, sir,” you snip, “you have the whiskey.”

“I am doing you a favour,” he insists, “I could as easily write my name on this whiskey but I am offering you a bit of grace.”

“I can read labels whilst in trousers, Mr. Shelby,” you scoff.

“There are people you need to meet,” he says, “so, you will come and you will pack another dress because the next day, we must travel to London.”

“Ali can go as my agent,” you meet his unbending gaze, “I think men are better suited for business.”

“You can go yourself,” he edges closer and you resist the urge to retreat, “and you will do so with ribbons in your hair.”

“Mr. Shelby,” you force through your tight throat and his eyes fall to the small constriction.

“I’m certain your date book is wide open,” he backs away and turns back to the crates.

He bends and takes a brown bottle. He uncorks it and inhales the scent, wrinkling his nose at its pungency. He takes a swig then offers it to you.

“No, thank you, Mr. Shelby,” you say, “I’ll have Ali help you–”

“I can’t fit all this in my car,” he chuckles as he pushes the cork back in, “I’ll send a man with a lorry.”

“Sure,” you reply.

“Perhaps a taste from your still might be good for you,” he muses as he hugs the bottle under his arm, “you surely need something to dislodge the rod from up your ass.”

“As you make it known, Mr. Shelby, I am no soldier, I’m but a woman,” you swallow, “so do not speak to me as one of your accomplices.”

“You might tell your father of my regards,” he surpasses you and receives a snort from Martha as he heads for the door, “I know where the horse gets her teeth.”

🚬

You stopped wearing dresses years before and there were two among the forgotten pile that still fit. Your mother sewed them by hand and so you kept them, even if you never had occasion to wear them. Now, you want to burn them.

They are sorely out of date, you’re certain. Gwenyth Harper used to get all the fashion periodicals and show off the ever shortening hems of modern style. The sleeves and skirts of the plain cotton garments speak of the farm and a time forgotten since the war rearranged the world. Worse than wearing a skirt, you will face the city in an outdated frock. You’re certain you get some jabs and japes for that.

As you fix the fraying cuff with a needle, sitting on your bed as the windows rattle, you hear the floorboards creak without. You look up as your father peeks in through the slightly open door. He eyes the fabric in your hand as you nod for him to enter.

“What’s this?” he asks as he pulls up the square stool from the corner.

You haven’t told him about Shelby’s demands or the one-sided argument in the barn. You’re barely willing to accept it yourself. Pulling out the dresses was enough to make you want to hit your head against the wall.

“Well, you know,” you lower your chin and focus on the stitches, “certain expectations for city folk.”

“‘City folk’?” he echoes, “what… what’re you goin’ there for?”

“Da,” you purse your lip as you tie off your last stitch.

“No,” he says staunchly as he sits straight, “no, not with that man.”

You raise your eyes and fold the dress over the edge of the bed. You frown as he stares at you. His face falls. For all the stubbornness you inherited from him, you both know it’s not within his will.

“Why’s he need ya in the city?” he asks.

“Something about labels, bottles, dressing up the fucking piss,” you sneer and your father’s eyes round.

“Ah, girlie, the mouth on you,” he lets himself chuckle, “I'd tell ya not to but can’t say I didn’t teach ya that myself.”

“I don’t wanna go,” you admit, “I told him as much but he listens as well as any man.”

“Truly. I don’t know how we made it through the war, the way men cling to their daftness,” he shakes his head, “I would go–”

“Yeah, I tried that,” you interject, “he’s playing his game, I know it. I’m not stupid like he thinks. He likes to hear himself talk, likes to make people listen. He’ll get bored of it.”

“Your ma won’t be happy, see ya away like that, with a man,” he clears his throat, “not that I am but… I just wish I could tell him to fuck off back where he came from. Not that I haven’t but do wish he’d listen.”

“I’ll be fine, da,” you say, “he wants to embarass me, that’s all. Wants to show me how much better he is, that he isn’t part of the caravan anymore.”

“Mmph,” he leans his elbows on his knees and holds his chin as he thinks, “you read people like books.”

“No, I just assume the worst,” you take the next dress, a citrine green cotton, “think if any man sees me in this, he might send me right back where I came from.”

He watches you and slowly sits up. He sighs and taps his fingers on his leg.

“Men are men,” he says, “you remember–” he holds up his fist.

“Aye, trust me, I remember,” you assure him, “just ask Ali.”

You pull out a new spool of thread as you recall your father’s lessons. The old sack he stuffed with hay and had you punch, to keep you busy, he said, but now you suspect it was something else.

“You shoulda told me,” he tisks.

“And what? You go off and get yourself hurt,” you poke the needle through the fabric, “you had your fight, it’s over. I don’t want you doin’ it again for me.”

“You’re my daughter, why do you think I went off in the first place?” you meet his glossy eyes.

You shove aside the dress and stand. You frame his square jaw and bend to kiss his head, “and where do ya think I get it from?”

“I’ll kill ‘im myself,” he whispers as he embraces you, “he pulls anythin’ and I’ll do it.”

You stay silent. He won’t. He can’t. It would be more than just his life, it would be your mother, your brother, and you. He knows his threats are empty but you let him say it.

It’s a nice fancy to keep close to your heart, like the tales of Excalibur or the pot at the end of the rainbow.

#thomas shelby #dark thomas shelby #dark!thomas shelby #tommy shelby #dark tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #urban(e) #peaky blinders #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #series

[littlemisslipbalm]

“Okay, lover boy”

For @bfharry boyfriendathon!!! A trip to Paris with your loving boyfriend Harry!

this gif bc sweetie! but also bc this is the coat he’s wearing :)

We’ve got fluff, (a little) angst, and smut for y’all and music always. I love Paris, was actually there this time last year so I was feeling nostalgic! Also Harry in Europe is always A+++ Hope y’all enjoy and feedback is ALWAYS appreciateddd

Word Count: 5.2k | Warnings: some self-doubt, oral!male receiving, mentions of sex, language? 

-

Summer in Paris. The most romantic place in the world with the loveliest weather. Except, the weather wasn’t exactly lovely. But it was quite romantic and that’s what you decided to focus on. Harry and you had flown off to get away from the world by living in the South of France for the Summer. First, you had begged Harry to spend a good three days in Paris before heading to the countryside. He had obviously agreed. Today was your second day.

“Love, wake up,” Harry cooed softly in your ear.

You stirred in the plush bed and slowly sat up in the mess of sheets. You rubbed at your eyes and when you blinked them open you saw Harry standing before you. He was already dressed in striped trousers and a striped shirt under a sweater vest and seemed to have run out to bring you coffee in bed. He crossed to perch on the bed and leaned forward to kiss your cheek. Your body leaned in to receive the sweet peck of his soft lips.

“Good morning, love, y’look ravishing” he sighed sweetly as he pulled back from your face. You rolled your eyes and scratched at your disheveled hair.

Moving your head in a circle around your neck, you laughed breathily at all of his sweet words, “I look a mess, but thanks, H.”

“You don’t,” he protested, sliding his hands around your shoulders and moving to lay on top of you on the bed.

You giggled and wriggled in the sheets as he began to pepper kisses along your face, neck and collarbones. “You’re absolutely stunning. Like always.”

The pair of you rolled around in the bed, exchanging kisses and caressing each other tenderly. Then you heard the rain and sat up.

“Har...is it still raining?”

He sighed and sat up with you, pushing his mused curls out of his face with one hand while his other was wrapped around your waist. “Sadly, yes. But we can still go out and explore. I know how excited you were to finally be back in Paris...”

Your head turned to rest in the crook of his neck, sighing softly, “It’s alright. I love the rain, can’t get me down.”

“Yeah, we can just take umbrellas and have fun with it.”

“No, no umbrellas. Want to run from awning to awning. Get stuck in the rain and be drenched. With you.”

Your lips had curved up into a smile as you spoke. Resting your head on Harry’s warm body, you imagined the day that the two of you were about to set off on. It wouldn’t be perfect and that would be okay. It was going to be what the two of you make of it therefore you wanted to make it magical. You sat up to meet Harry’s eyes as he cradled you in his arms. His face held a soft expression, one filled with love as he looked down at the woman he had grown to love more than anything. It wasn’t fleeting, it was constant. He loved you.

“Alright, let’s get goin’ then,” he laughed and shifted along the bed, sitting you up more. The hint of teasing in his voice was exciting and made you want to listen to him.

You pushed out of his arms and bounced up, your shirt sliding to cover the top bits of your thighs. “Alright!”

-

“Okay, maybe one umbrella would have been a good idea!” Laughing in disbelief, you duck beneath the awning of the cafe across the street from your hotel.

“It’s really coming down...but you said,” Harry grins down at you and swipes at a strand of your hair that was already drenched from the rain. You swat at his chest, his yellow knit sweater vest dry as he removes his large blue coat. “Hush.”

The cafe plays a love song in French and you hum along softly as you seat yourselves. Harry’s hand instinctively envelopes yours as your other free hands begin to leaf through the menu. His hand is warm and soft as it entangles itself with your own, which squeezes his in response to the brushing of his thumb over your skin. After placing your order, you watch the rain hitting the pavement and the light city traffic before you. Harry only has eyes for you, his gaze never leaving your figure. He takes you in, the way you’ve done your hair, the necklace you picked out - the one you always wear, the way you decided to wear no makeup since you planned on getting wet in the rain.

Bringing him out of his adoration, the waitress brings your drinks and he watches you say something sweet in french before he also says a ‘merci’. You sigh in contentment and shift in your seat after taking a sip of your espresso. Your eyes meet with Harry’s over the top of your small cup and you giggle at how extremely small the same cup looks in his hand. His dimples appear as he mirrors your expression. Then at the opening chords of the new song beginning to play, you perk up, immediately recognizing “Aline”, a clichely French song, but a favorite of yours nonetheless. You place your cup down and begin to sing along. Harry watches on, sipping his espresso and allowing you to swing your intertwined hands back and forth to the rhythm. You tip your head back and mock scream out the words, your french accent changing how your voice normally sounds.

“Is that a love song?” Harry asks at the finish of the song. He never bothered to learn French, despite having a couple of girlfriends who had been able to speak it.

You wet your lips, dried from singing, and shake your head slightly. “No, not really. It’s about heartbreak... Aline - the girl - is gone, I guess, and he’s drawn an image of her in the sand. But rain washes that away as well and now he’s twice as sad”

“That could still be considered a love song. He still loves her, right?”

“I guess.”

“Why do you like it so much?”

You hum, pondering the question, never thinking about what made her like the song so much to consider it a favorite. Harry stares intently, he loved talking to you about music. It was two of his favorite things put together.

“You won’t take ‘I just like shouting Aline’ will you?” Harry shakes his head, and you continue, “I guess I like it because it’s so tragic...and a little pathetic. Like, that sounds harsh, but this guy, he’s so in love with someone who’s already gone that he cries over her image washing away. He says he’s aching he’s so distraught and it’s just, it’s so relatable.” Harry stares at you, eyes soft, knowing you have more to say. Sitting so that your back is straight, you work to put your thoughts into words. “He’s calling out her name ‘Aline’ in hopes she will return to him and it’s just like you never want to feel that way in your entire life. But there are times that you do and you’re the pathetic guy crying over sand and watching it wash away into the ocean.”

“I will never make you feel like that, love,” Harry shifts your hands and brings them onto the table, leaning closer, a somewhat pleading look in his eyes.

“You never would on purpose, I know that. But that feeling it’s human insecurity, that’s the little fears I keep tucked away in the back of my mind, it’s how I’d feel if I ever lost you.”

“You’re never going to lose me,” he leans fully forward to bring his lips to yours. His lips easily brushed over yours, connecting perfectly as they always did. Your hand rescinds from his grasp and you place it on his chest, pushing him back slightly, “I know. Now enough with the mushy. Sights to be seen, clothes to be soaked!”

Laughing together, Harry settles the bill as you gather your things. You help Harry put his heavy coat back on after he finishes with the money, your lips pecking his as you fix the lapel. His lips curve into a smile against yours and his eyelashes flutter in excitement, never getting tired of the feeling of you.

-

You had finally arrived at the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower, where you had been meandering through the city to all day. Before you had arrived Harry and you had stopped in a chocolatier, a perfumerie, and another cafe - pair of you appreciated good coffee. Harry had begged to stop at a boulangerie to pick up bread, but you had insisted that you could stop at one on the way back to the hotel later, otherwise the bread would get all soggy. Eventually, Harry had agreed even though his argument was that he would eat it before it got soggy.

Running around with a canvas tote on your shoulder filled with the goodies you two had picked up was exciting and you spun around on the grass, your head tilted to the rain and your arms and bag flying out around you. Harry grabbed your waist and then slipped a hand up to cradle your wet hair. His hand carded through the tendrils and you tilted your face to look at him. His own wet chestnut hair flopped onto his forehead as he smiled down at you. You threw your arms up to hang on his shoulders. It was only you two out in the rain and you laughed as you watched a single droplet run the length of Harry’s nose. Craning your neck, you kissed the tip of his nose before it could fall.

“I love you,” Harry says only for you, completely unprompted.

“I love you, Harry,” you respond, lovingly.

“No, Y/N, I love you,” He repeats. Your wrists drop as your arms retract and your hands rest on his strong shoulders. You lean back slightly, confused. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” He starts to shout and picks you up by the waist, spinning you around in circles, slightly off the ground now.

“Harry!” You squeal, incredulous at his behavior. You loved it, but he wasn’t usually like this in public. Hand holding and short hugs, usually. Small pecks, at most. Shouting declarations of love, never - until now.

“Ok! I get it, lover boy,” You roll your eyes as he sets you down, placing kisses all over your rain soaked face. You tuck your head into your chest, feeling heat rise to your cheeks from his words and actions despite the cooling effect of the rain.

He smiles and leads the pair of you towards the Eiffel Tower. Halfway there he stops and snaps a few photos of you grinning, drenched in front of the site. Then you make him pose as well. He smiles for a few and then pretends to lean against it, which makes you roll your eyes again while you move to the perfect spot to make it look realistic.

You begin to move to head towards the tower again, but his hand snakes around your wrist, stopping you from moving. The rain was at a soft patter now, but you still were getting tired of being in it. Your brows raised expectantly at your boyfriend who was smiling adorably at you.

“Selfie.” He said simply.

“Harry...”

“C’mon. It’s romantic. Not like there’s anyone around to take it for us.”

You shrug and fold into his chest as he slips out his phone. His other hand slips around your waist, pulling you even closer. Your head rests on the upper part of his chest as one of your hands slips underneath his coat and the other goes to rest on his sternum. Your entire body is pressed against him, as he adjusts his phone trying to get both your faces in it along with a good portion of the Eiffel Tower. You both smile at your reflections that are beginning to smudge with raindrops and you ruffle your hair trying to look slightly disheveled after a few snaps. Then, Harry groans sadly, “These aren’t working.”

“I actually have an idea,” you say excitedly as the rain slows to a complete stop, “You okay with your phone possibly getting some water damage?” Harry nods, unsure, as you pluck the phone from his hands. You stroll a few feet away from Harry and pluck two of the boxes of chocolate out of your bag. Mumbling to yourself, you set up the boxes like a makeshift stand, “Please don’t get ruined, mes bonbons.” Then you swipe to the video choice in the phone’s camera and turn it on. You place it gently against the two boxes, so that the image contains Harry and the Eiffel Tower behind him. Then you race back to Harry, your sneakers splashing the puddles as you move.

“You’re brilliant!” He wraps his arms around your shoulders and sways you back and forth. “Smile at the camera, lover,” you pull from his strong grasp and wrap a single arm beneath his coat again, fingers pulling at the warm fabric of the sweater vest beneath it. He smiles down at you before turning his focus to the phone a little ways off. He tightens his arm around your shoulder and pulls you off your feet slightly, causing one of your legs to kick out slightly. This video is going to be so weird, you think to yourself and laugh as you straighten back up. You turn your face to Harry and scrunch it up at him. He smirks back at you and then leans down to kiss your cheek.

After you mess around a bit in front of the camera, forgetting for a minute that you're recording and having a small makeout session, you run back to your set up and gather your things. Harry comes with you this time and hugs your waist from behind you. He smiles at the camera one last time before you press the red button to end the video; the last clip being his face smiling brightly while you’re laughing breathlessly at him, both sets of eyes filled with love and joy.

-

There’s a restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower. It’s really beautiful and classy, perfectly French. Harry decides it’s the perfect place to have dinner, despite its upscale interior and your complete dishevelment from the rain and lack of preparedness in your outfit choices. As well as, the fact that it’s really early and the French don’t eat until much later in the evening so you’re the only ones there. Harry knocks on the door still and the pair of you are seated after he tells them who he is.

You comb lightly through your wet hair and you shuffle your vans together, uncomfortably. Harry, while dressed down still manages to look effortlessly chic, his trousers and yellow sweater vest with a striped dress shirt underneath is still passable as nice, especially if you ignore his own vans. In your haste you had dressed cute, but not necessarily upscale enough to where you felt like you fit in in that moment. Your wet hair wasn’t helping to calm your nerves as the well dressed waiters moved around you, placing things at your table. Your nervous hands smoothed over the plaid skirt and frumpy brown sweater you had beneath your navy trench coat that almost mirrored Harry’s only missing the colorful bobbles.

“Hey,” Harry notices your fidgeting and reaches out across the table, motioning you to place your hand in his outstretched one. You oblige reluctantly, shifting in your seat. Money has never been a problem for Harry since the pair of you began to date which wasn’t a bad thing. You had a job that allowed you to live a comfortable lifestyle, as well, just not quite to the extreme that Harry was able to. Normally, it didn’t bother you, but right now you felt very out of place, feeling unwelcome in Harry’s life. Harry can read exactly what you’re thinking as all these negative thoughts race through your mind. The odd sense of fear that the pair of you had talked about creeping in, the thought of losing him because you couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle. Like you had told him earlier, as well, you hope to never feel that way, but sometimes it’s there. And right now was one of those sometimes.

His finger traces the familiar pattern over the back of your hand as he holds it tight. “You deserve to be here just as much as the next person. You look lovely.” He smiles at you, trying to convey just how sincere he is being. You release a breath and try to relax at his words, knowing ultimately that he was right. He always knew exactly what to say and you smiled at him and whispered a small ‘thank you.’

-

“If I Fell” begins to play in the restaurant and John and Paul begin to serenade the empty room. The host had placed you in the furthest back room by the windows, allowing you and Harry to stare out at the city as you enjoyed the food and leaving you completely alone except for when the waiter would come and check in. The two of you had just finished the third course and were watching the clouds shift along the skyline.

Harry sighed contentedly and leaned back against his chair, straining his neck to the side, the tendon on his neck straining, causing your eyes to flicker up and watch the way he clenched and unclenched his strong jaw. You were in awe. “How did I get so lucky?” You say suddenly, your voice wistful, eyes a moment away from misty. Harry hums, jade eyes flitting back to your face, lips curving into a curious smile. “To be loved by someone like you, by you. How’d I get so lucky?”

Harry blushes at your words, the smile growing larger, overtaking his features. “Love, if I could list all the reasons I love you...God, we’d never leave this restaurant. Let’s just say I’m the one who’s lucky.” You pouted at his words, feeling cliche but also, totally and completely in love, so much so that you didn’t care about what you looked like as you stood up and leaned over the table, crashing your lips to Harry’s. He leaned up quickly to meet your lips over the small table. One of his hands flew to your soft cheek and held you close as your lips locked, tasting sweet from the champagne the two of you had been enjoying.

-

“Today was perfect, H.”

You glanced up to look at Harry’s face as he held you in his arms, walking slowly down the street. He walked slightly behind you as he braced himself around you, he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t touch enough, feel enough, breathe enough, where he would feel satisfied.

His eyes flitted down to meet yours, the jade of them sparkling under the cloudy sky save for the moon that had pushed its light through finally. “Yeah it was.”

Reaching the hotel, the two of you scampered up to your room and threw everything down the minute you got inside. The rain had mostly dried from your clothes, but you still couldn’t wait to take them off and get into something clean and warm.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry calls to you as he unpacks your bag, separating all of the items the pair of you had bought today - including the baguette he had finally gotten on your way home. Your head appeared from beneath your sweater as you pulled it from your body, leaving you standing in your bra and skirt.

“Together?” Your voice was calm since Harry and you occasionally showered together and were capable of keeping it tame, but there was a hint of excitement too after spending the whole day constantly within each other’s grasp.

“Sure, why not? Then we can get in bed and try the chocolates we bought today sooner,” he shrugs, making his way towards you, tossing a box of chocolates on the bed for later. He licks his lips and smirks down at you. “I like the way you think...but no funny business, lover boy,” you tease and run a finger down the center of his chest, only his dress shirt covering the toned body beneath. Your eyes have a glint of mischief in them as your words come out rather jokingly. “No promises,” he breathes before placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

In the bathroom now, Harry closes the door despite the lack of need for privacy. For some reason your heart is beating extremely fast, nerves springing forward at the urgent prospect of intimacy. Your heart always beats a little faster whenever Harry and you are together like this, but right now it’s going especially fast. The love you have for him, the passion, it’s never faded. Everytime is like the first time, maybe even better than the first time if you really think about it because now he knows you and you know him. It’s not about the novelty or the exploration, it’s about the adoration and the feeling each other’s touch ignites within you. So, right now, as the pair of you undress each other before you shower together, your heart is beating so fast because this isn’t lust or fleeting passion it’s eternal intimacy and deep devotion.

His fingers softly and nimbly release the clasp of your bra and then reach around to slip the straps down. It slides down your arms and falls to the ground and Harry watches you as you now move to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. You’re pressing close to him, feeling cold and slightly vulnerable despite being safe in Harry’s presence. The movements are tender, only the sound of your breathing and the rain that started up again bringing any noise to your interaction. Your hands flit down to the buttons on his trousers, your fingers shaking only slightly from the chill. Harry’s toned arms rise up to rub your upper arms, noticing your shivering as you undo the buttons and zipper. After his zipper is undone, you move your hands down to your side, where your own zipper is located, but Harry pushes your hands away, silently telling you he could do it. Sighing, you turn from him and turn the shower on, hoping that it will warm up quickly. Harry follows and presses up against you, his large arms encircling your frame, warming you instantly. He kisses the tip of your left shoulder tenderly and then rests his chin in the dip between your shoulder and neck. He breathes you in, taking in the moment, committing it to memory. Your hands rest over his gently and you feel yourself tilting your head back and basking in his embrace.

“We should probably get in,” Harry whispers after you had been standing there for far too long, simply holding each other. “Yeah,” you respond wistfully. Stepping in, you instantly place a kiss on Harry’s neck once he’s in. He looks at you questioningly, “I thought you said-” “I couldn’t help myself, you look like an angel.” He tucks his head at your words and then looks at you with love filled eyes, “Giving me a toothache with how sweet you are to me.”

He takes the bottle of shampoo the pair of you had brought and begins to massage it into your wet hair. You close your eyes in contentment at his actions, you loved how gentle Harry was and how he always insisted on washing your hair when you showered together. As he works on the hair you take the bar of soap and begin to rub it across his prominent pectorals, the suds show up and glisten across his tan skin. You smile to yourself as you pass over the two swallows and then travel down the center of his chest and bring the soap over the butterfly. Harry lets out a breathy laugh and you mutter, “Always so ticklish…” But you don’t mind. You rub some of the soap on your hands and then rub back over the same places on his body, spreading out the suds, while Harry moves to wash his own hair. This time your hands travel further down his body, your soapy fingers massaging Harry’s bare hips, rubbing soothing circles over the tense muscles from walking all day. Harry releases a heavy sigh, your movements releasing a pressure he hadn’t realized was there.

Your hands travel inwards and dance over his two fern tattoos causing Harry to shudder again. This time you say nothing, focussed on tracing the patterns and being so close to your lover. Finally, you remove your hands from his body and rinse them of the soap, grabbing a washcloth, you finish cleaning his arms, neck, and torso. Moving slowly, you drop the washcloth and Harry’s breath hitches, knowing what you’re intending to do. Harry starts, “You don’t-” but now his voice is completely caught in his throat when you put your hands on his length.

He’s already semi-hard, and it stiffens immediately in your embrace. He has to actively think about not getting hard whenever you’re naked around him, especially when you bathe together. He thinks you’re sexy, of course, but the intimate touches you share under the water is what really does it for him. However, he knows it’s not a sexual moment usually and doesn’t want to press himself upon you. Today, though, you want to take care of him. “Hush, I want to,” you say as you pump your hand languidly, blood rushing to his tip instantly. He groans as you stare deeply into his jade eyes. You were beautiful and wonderful to him. He didn’t know how he had found you, but he was happy that he had.

Then you slip down to your knees, legs folding perfectly as you continue to stare up at Harry. His eyes widen, realizing only now that you intended to use your mouth. One hand flies to your freshly cleaned hair and the other trails down the side of your face, taking in your beautiful face that is now in front of his hard member. Slowly, you bring your tongue to lick over the now angry red tip of his dick. Harry hisses as you open your mouth fully and begin to bring him completely inside. Your eyes never leave his as you descend until he hits the back of your throat. He’s big, really big, but after all this time you know how much you can take and you sit there for a moment. You let his weight rest in your mouth, he’s warm and you enjoy holding him this close.

Harry groans, “Please,” and you begin to move, seeing the strained look on his face.

Bobbing your head, you take him in and out of your mouth with ease, sometimes taking extra care over his head sucking specifically there. Your movements make Harry moan out and grasp at your hair, keeping it from your face as you work him over. His hips buck into your mouth the faster you take him in your mouth, but he tries to remain still, wanting you to be in control. One of your hands grasps his thigh, over his tiger tattoo, while the other runs over the parts of his dick you can’t take into your mouth. Harry is always vocal, but right now he’s at a loss for words. He feels so loved and cared for in that moment, it’s quick to his release. Your hand on his thigh feels him beginning to shake a bit more and his hips are stuttering more erratically.

He whines out, “I’m close,” and you pull back until your lips are only over his head.

Your tongue flattens over the slit of it and then swirls around it. You suction your lips around his head and suck hard, your hand pumping quickly, your eyes still never leaving Harry’s face. He had closed his eyes a while ago, but opens them up slightly right at his moment of release. He bucks his hips one last time as you moan around him at the feeling of him inside your mouth. His orgasm wracks through him and you continue to suck, trying to take up every last bit.

“Oh fuck,” Harry whimpers, chest heaving and head hanging low as he stares down at you.

The water is still running in the shower over your erotic image. You swallow and pull off of him, placing a gentle kiss to his head before standing up, whispering something inaudible to just Harry’s dick. Harry takes your hands in his and kisses you hungrily as you stand up. The taste of himself still on your lips. His arms are wrapped around your waist and one of his hands cups your ass cheek needily.

Against your lips, he growls, his voice deep and accent thick, “Let me take care of you now.”

You giggle and place your hands on his wet chest. “You don’t need to. I just really wanted to make you feel good.”

“But making you feel good will make me feel good, too,” He whines, pressing you into him more.

“Oh, I know,” you laugh, “But we’re really wasting water now and I want to try the chocolates we bought. You can make me feel good in our bed, this porcelain really isn’t the most comfortable.” You’re completely enjoying Harry’s eagerness to give to you after he had just received, but you were starting to prune from the water and wanted to lie in bed with fluffy robes with him.

He huffs but nods. He kisses your lips a final time and begins to climb out of the shower. “Fine, but I know none of those chocolates can possibly taste as good as what I really want for dessert.”

“You can have your dessert soon enough...Okay, lover boy?”

-

Wrapped up in Harry’s warm embrace, you fall asleep under the Parisian sky. His lips ghost over your collarbones as his head is tucked into you. You sigh in contentment as his hands draw a familiar pattern over your skin on top of your hip. Your mind flits over the moments of today and settles on this one right now. Harry wrapped around you, your legs entangled, warmth surrounding you. It’s peaceful. You’re blissed out from the chocolates and love Harry made to you.

Your eyes flutter open for a moment to look at Harry. His curls and the side of his face are all you can make out in the dim lit room, the moon’s light peaking through the sheer curtains. The slope of his nose is prominent, as well as the stubble beginning to grow on his jaw and cheek. His little moles decorating his otherwise smooth skin. He nuzzles further into you and you feel his stubble rubbing slightly against you, scratching lovingly onto your skin. It feels nice as your eyes close once again beginning to drift off to sleep. But you know no dream could possibly be better than the feeling you have right now, with Harry.

-

💛 love y’all (also I really didn’t proofread so like I maybe contradict some shit I say bc I wrote this over weeks lmao)

#boyfriendathon #boyfriend!harry #bf!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles is domestic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #i finally posted something #yay #i hope yall enjoy #i got heart eyes while writing this #like i wanna do this

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Tropetember Day 9 - Historical (Regency, Ancient Greece/Rome, Prehistory etc.) / Modern / Futuristic AU

Mr Hotchner, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance (Regency AU)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader (dresses, mention of becoming an old maid)

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: General Audiences

TW: None

AN: Day 9 of @tropetember. Yet another Hotch story that could be expanded into a small series. Not sure how effective it is a Regency piece? Any feedback would be much appreciated.

A widower with a good fortune and a son moves into the nearby great estate. Will that be any concern of yours?

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.5k

When Jane Austen observed that a young man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, she was not incorrect. The question is whether all of those criteria needed to be met for similar conclusions to be made of men in similar circumstances.

Mr Hotchner, whilst in possession of good fortune, could no longer be classed as young, being in his mid-thirties. To further complicate matters, he was a widower and had a child from his first match.

When the inhabitants of the surrounding area became acquainted with the details of the new owner of the neighbouring great estate, they too were unsure. Some claimed he would be past his prime, grief would likely have ruined him, left crags upon his face and aged him beyond his years. Others, notably those with unwed daughters, argued that a mother figure for his son and match for himself would only increase the happiness and imagined handsomeness of the fine gentleman due to enter the parish.

As it is in most cases, neither party was entirely correct. On his arrival into the county, he was noted to be a handsome man, but he never smiled. He was charming and generous, but rarely spoke unless questioned. He may be improved by feminine influence, but did not seem to be in the market for such.

Whilst you were aware of the excitement of the new neighbour, you chose not involve yourself in the fray. At nearly 29, your future as an old maid had been declared by the villagers for many years. You were lucky that your younger brother was set to inherit your fathers modest estate upon his passing. You knew your brother would continue to look after you, and in return you did what you could to help your family in the day to day.

You had been so disconnected from the gossip, that it came as a surprise when your father notified you that the family had been invited to the estate for dinner and cards. Mr Hotchner was hosting one of his friends, Sir David Rossi, and it was apparently at his suggestion that the event was conceived.

As usual before an engagement, you select a nice dress, a new one you had been treated to a few weeks earlier, made of fine fabrics and with lace trim. Your maid, Sarah, had helped you style your hair and by the end of it, even you would agree that you looked pretty. You’d never be a beauty, but you were looking your best in the spring of your late bloom.

The carriage ride to the estate was quiet. Your brother mainly discussed business with your father as your mother and yourself admired the countryside. This admiration only grew as you entered the estate’s gardens. They were spectacular. A balanced combination of wilderness and cultivation.

Pulling up, you all clambered from the carriage and were led into the house by one of the servants. Inside, a modest party of the foremost members of the neighbourhood were gathered and you greeted them as you entered. It was not until around 5 minutes later that Mr Hotchner and his friend entered.

He was very handsome, something the slightly severe expression on his face could not hide. You could not help but watch as he slowly made his way around the room. He had a very authoritative presence, but not in an arrogant or rude way. It seemed more that he was aware of his role and status.

It was not long until it was your turn to be introduced to him. You curtsied and shyly met his eyes as you rose back to full height. For the first time in many years, you felt your breath catch slightly.

Your eyes were drawn away from Mr Hotchner’s as Sir David was also introduced to you. He was older than his companion, with a well maintained beard and a gentle grin resting on his features. He was also effortlessly charming but in a more extroverted manner than his friend.

You conversed with the pair for a while, polite conversation you make with new acquaintances about how they are enjoying the area and settling and such. It is not until dinner is called that you’re reluctantly separated. Good conversationalists were sorely lacking in this part of the world and you were already looking forward to getting to know them.

Dinner was a tasty and lively affair, with many laughs and much conversation. Afterwards the gentlemen separate off to have their whisky, leaving the women to gossip and you to nip out to answer the call of nature.

On your way back, you are met with an unexpected sight.

At the bottom of the main staircase stands a young boy in a dressing gown, stuffed toy in hand. Seeing that he looks upset, you slowly approach him and smile gently.

“Hello” you greet him. “Are you well?” you ask the little boy, not wanting to crowd him but unsure why he is upset.

He shakes his head shyly and his eyes stay trained on the floor. It breaks your heart a little.

Bobbing down, you pull a handkerchief from the hidden pocket in your dress to gently wipe his tears. Once they’re cleared away, you introduce yourself to him.

He reaches out a hand as his manners kick. “I’m Jack Hotchner. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

His voice isn’t full bodied but it’s a good start.

“Well, what a polite young gentleman.” He smiles at you for the compliment and holds himself a little taller. “Where might you be heading this late at night.”

“I," he pauses, "I want to see my father.”

You nod your head.

“Of course young sir” you give a theatrical bow to offer your hand to him which makes him giggle as he takes hold, “follow me.”

You head down to the room you saw the men head into and knock gently, hearing Mr Hotchner call for you to enter.

Gently pushing the door, you answer his questioning expression. “I found someone in the entrance hall who wished to see you.” He looks concerned until he spots his son’s head peeking around you. His face breaks out into a large smile which makes him appear far more youthful than you would have guessed. Sir David’s tales of him being a heartbreaker may not be as exaggerated as you first believed.

He greets the young boy, taking his hands as he lowers himself to his son’s level to ask what is wrong. On discovery of Jack having had a nightmare, he brings him into the room, thanking you for looking after him and releasing you to head back to the ladies.

Your mother immediately corners you upon your return and you do your best to divert her by claiming to have been appreciating the art decorating the corridors. It is not necessarily a lie, the house itself is beautiful enough itself to be considered such, but you doubt Mr Hotchner would appreciate you sharing his son’s nightmares with people who are strangers to him.

You do not have to distract your mother for long thankfully, as the gentlemen soon return and card tables are drawn up. There are slightly too many people for everyone to play so you offer to sit out and take a seat on a nearby settee with one of the books from the shelves. You are slightly surprised when a small body, now dressed in his father’s suit jacket, settles on the cushion next to you.

As you entertain the young Hotchner, you are unaware of the discussion taking place across the room.

“She seems good with him,” observes Sir David, deliberately keeping his voice down and pretending to contemplate his cards.

Mr Hotchner shoots him a withering glance before allowing, “she does. In general, she seems like a lovely woman. I am glad we have made her acquaintance.”

Sir David hums as his gaze drifts back to you, now teaching the young boy some sort of clapping game. “You know, I would be rather upset with you if you were not to throw a ball before I am to leave for London.”

“I believe you are meddling again Sir David,” Mr Hotchner plays a card as he continues, “but I will speak to the staff tomorrow about organising one.”

“You will be expected to dance, since you are hosting.”

Despite not normally being one to give into his friends' schemes, Mr Hotchner nods, eyes once again fixed on you.

“I’m sure I can find someone suitable,” he says and at that moment your eyes meet his. Yes, he thinks, he is sure you will dance as beautifully as you smile.

#tropetember #fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #jack hotchner #david rossi #Regency AU #meet cute #female reader

[capsized-heart]

Sky Castles

Pairing: Laurie x Reader, Jo x Reader

Summary: Summer has always been your favorite season in Plumfield. Perhaps it’s the lovely, sunny mornings and cool, calm nights, or perhaps it’s the fact that you and Laurie and Jo are practically inseparable in midsummer. 

Follows the summers from childhood into young adulthood, with turmoils of the heart along the way.   

Word count: 6.1k+

Warnings: fluff!!!!!!!!

A/N: hi, everyone. I hope you’re all staying safe and well! Right off the bat, I want to mention that I’ve pinned a post on both this blog and my main blog @sarapii-peachy​ about resources for the BLM movement to raise awareness and petitions you can sign to help make a difference on a smaller scale. Everything counts!

i’m back and now with a bachelor’s degree :’) class of 2020 high school and college esketit!!! we did it!!! in this historic pandemic!!! Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit, this fic has been my rocky transition/attempt out of writer’s block after my INSANE last semester of uni and with all the craziness going on in the world. I hope you can channel and take in some of this innocent happiness and childhood glee into your own lives as we navigate the shitshow that is 2020. Saoirse x Timmy x Reader here to cure me of my depression lmao

this title is also based off a chapter in the Little Women book where Laurie, Jo, and the girls go to a park and gaze at the passing clouds and talk about their futures...it’s honestly really sweet. Loosely based off of that! 

Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated on this💛! Not that you guys don’t leave love, but this fic like I mentioned is my attempt at kicking writer’s block in the ass, please let me know how I did! :) talk to me I missed you guys :)

tags: @ravenmoore14 @monikakrasnorada @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids​ @adawn1970​ @mrchalamet-mrstyles @chavezlikesthings @loveylangdon@daygiowvibe @statisticlytimmy @ceexreverse​ @bamposworld​ @lilttletimmy​ @cindere-llaaa​

gif credit to @sheisraging​

You love New England for its rich, distinct seasons, how they each paint the countryside in eloquent sweeps of shade and hue. Snow, sun, and breathtaking landscapes of fall color that tinge the treetops throughout the year. You love Plumfield, Massachusetts more for the warmth and love the March sisters have shown you, each alike in personality, nature, to the equinoxes that have shaped your girlhood, each tender memory from your youth synonymous with Meg, Amy, Beth, and Jo. 

 Autumn. Cozy and comfortable, where motherly Meg showed you how to heat and dip caramel with the apples you’d carefully picked from the orchard for a rare treat, the kitchen swirling with the aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, turmeric, and spices that left you feeling aglow. She’d taught you how to use an embroidery hoop, how to let dough rise, how to bake a proper pie and how to fix any clothing tear with a simple needle and thread, her compliments quick for your ever growing domestic talents. 

Winter. Like cool, ambitious Amy with her painting and taste for luxury and pleasure, how she would praise you for being the only subject suitable for her artwork. Laurie would moan and complain about sitting for hours by the fireside, begging to be excused to go play in the snow, but never you. Amy called you her muse, arranging your hair and skirts to her liking, softening your lips and cheeks with a touch of rouge. It was always such fun to make a day out of modeling for Amy’s portraits, talking and laughing as she’d set up her paints.

Spring. Sweet and angelic like little Beth, windows wide open as her piano trills would float on the warm air, curtains ruffling in the breeze. You’d sit beside her on the piano bench and turn her sheet music for her, to which Beth would give you a shy, rosy smile in thanks. She taught you how to play Chopin and Tchaikovsky, duet pieces where you’d accompany her on the keys, harmonizing with chords and your fingers flying easily together.

Summer. Your favorite season, refreshing, bright, where you and Jo would spend balmy days and long, cool evenings tucked beneath the shade of tree trunks and willows as you’d read in the sun, listen to Jo’s carefully crafted stories. Her creativity and imagination never failed to amaze you, how her writing could transport you to the farthest countries, or keep you grounded in whatever fantastical setting she’d constructed for herself. She’d often write about the two of you; two young girls, best friends who’d have all sorts of dazzling adventures exploring the corners of the world, without the taxing responsibilities of chores, or schoolwork, or the foreboding, inevitable reality that one day you will be young adults and childhood would be gone forever. You’d have picnics and excursions to the nearby fields, dozing in the sun and picking wildflowers, splashing and wading through the rivers and creeks when the heat became unbearable. Before Laurie would come and spoil your fun, of course. Then, you and Jo and Laurie would be like three rowdy boys playing in the woods, your laughter echoing off the trees and sparkling waters. 

You first meet Theodore Laurence as a young girl in the fields connecting the March’s property and your own. You live just down the road from the March sisters, your house tucked away beyond the bend and you’d make the trek across the meadow and grasses daily to visit your neighbors. Being an only child with your father off fighting for the Union, the March house was like your second home and the girls and Marmee and Hannah always made you feel like part of the family, your own loneliness long forgotten as soon as you’d step through the door and you’d be welcomed back with laughter, squeals, and embraces.

Today, you are seeking the company of your friends as usual, returning a book Jo had lended you with a basketful of scones you’d baked in repayment. A recipe you’d learned from Meg. The autumn air is surprisingly warm against your skin, indian summer, flushed and golden and dappling the plains. It makes you smile softly, your mood pleasant as you gather your skirts in time with your step, adjust your basket. 

Then, you see him. A boy making his way in the same direction, dressed smartly in a black woolen coat and matching trousers, a silk scarf tastefully tied around his throat. His curls are windswept and tousled, his gait relaxed. He feels your gaze and looks up, eyes finding yours and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a friendly smile. Warmth floods your cheeks. You quickly duck your head.

He looks to be your age, but you’ve read tales of highwaymen and bandits roaming the countryside, how they’d feign kindness, only to strike unsuspecting travelers. Perhaps it was the work of Jo’s overactive and contagious imagination playing at your nerves, but why was he heading towards the March’s? You think of little Beth, how boys and newcomers made her nervous, timid. Your resolve hardens protectively. You have to keep this stranger away from the girls. 

Your pulse hammers in your throat as you lift your head to see the boy still looking your way. He waves his hand in greeting. 

“Hello!” he cheers. 

With your eyes still locked, you pick up your pace and keep your silence. Curiously, the boy finds this amusing, laughing, making it into a game as he too begins to walk briskly towards the house, of who will reach the door first. You narrow your eyes, summoning as much hostility and wickedness to your expression, demeanor as you can muster. The two of you are running now, his grin wide and eager, your own mouth twisted with hard concentration as you race each other.

Your chest is heaving when you brace yourself against the doorframe, blocking his way with your arm, back against the wood. He’s not a second behind you and is already on the stoop when you turn to face him.

“Are you Jo’s friend?” the boy asks you with a breathless, easy smile. “You’re quite fast, even faster than her.” He adds. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, jovial and buzzing with energy. The mention of Jo’s name curbs your distrust further. Bandit may now be off the table, and the thought makes you feel a bit foolish now, but how could Jo befriend such a strange boy without you knowing? How did he already seem to know who you are? 

Up close, you notice his eyes are green and mischievous, reflecting back the shimmering plains in flecks of amber as he gazes at you, your pulse fluttering ever so slightly…

You scold yourself internally. 

Handsome or not, he was undoubtedly a boy of trouble who had somehow won over Jo’s attention. And no easy feat, might you add. Headstrong and resolute, Jo’s circle of friends was quite small outside of you and her sisters, and you liked it that way. You’d like to keep it that way as well. 

You feel a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy curl in your stomach. You stick out your lower lip in a pout, turn up your nose in a way that would certainly earn a scolding from Marmee if she were to see your impoliteness. 

“Who are you to ask?” You snap.

Your words do not take the desired effect on him. Instead of hurt, or embarrassment, the boy smirks at you, amused. He cocks his head to one side and leans back on his heels, studying you like you’d just asked him why the sky is blue. His mood is breezy, amiable. 

“I’m Laurie. Is that better?” he offers with a comical pout of his own. You wrinkle your nose. This boy was starting to irritate you more and more.

“Surname?”

“Laurence.”

“Laurie Laurence? My, how silly and dull.”

He laughs, a low and pleasant sound that threatens to melt your angry facade. He shakes his head, hands in his pockets. 

“It’s a pet name. Jo calls me Teddy, but you may call me whichever you like,” he says. Your jealousy burns brighter, flushing your skin, twisting together with a hint of desire and yearning. 

You were once Jo’s everything, her favorite companion. She made this clear with how she’d tell you plainly, how she’d spoil you with compliments and stories and affection. And now, it seemed Jo knew another, this Laurie, well enough to call him Teddy when you had no pet name of your own. She seemed to speak of you, which would explain Laurie’s cordiality, but did she tell him how you were the only one she felt comfortable enough with to critique her writing? How she would encourage your aspirations of becoming a dancer by arranging the foyer into a stage and cheering for you while sitting atop the staircase like an admirer in the box seats? How the two of you could jest and play for hours with nothing but your imagination, crying from laughter until your bellies ached?

You feel a sense of betrayal and heartache at this, an intrusion, a tirade of emotions you can’t quite explain. Did you want Jo all for yourself? Did you want to befriend Laurie as well? Did you just want to be someone’s everything again and to be doted on and loved? 

Then, Laurie’s voice tapers into a quiet hum, a touch of softness. You hear the first indication of bashfulness as he looks down at you through full, dark lashes. “I hope the three of us can be good friends. I’d like to know you as well.” He murmurs. 

You don’t know what to think of him. Your chest feels tight and your cheeks burn, from anger or passion you can’t quite tell. You’re contemplating leaving your basket on the doorstep and shoving past him to go back home when you suddenly hear a clamor of voices and the turning of the knob and then the door falls open behind you. 

Laurie catches you before you can tumble through the entryway, hands finding your waist. Jo, vibrant and chipper as ever, lights up when she sees you and her sky blue eyes shine like glass. She has her cap fitted over her wavy blonde curls, skipping into your arms and for a moment you’re sandwiched between the two of them. You flush scarlet. 

“Oh, good! You two have met. Goodbye, Marmee! I’m going out!” Jo calls into the house, her voice overlapping with her sisters’ as they all greet you in a burst of chaos. But before Jo can usher you outside, you feel your childish temper flare and you squirm out of her reach and back through the open door and into the house. You set your basket onto the table, turning to hide your face in Amy’s shoulder with a flutter of your skirts as you feel the hot sting of tears prickle your eyes. You weren’t going to let this Laurie boy see you cry upon your first encounter.

“I’m not coming.” You mumble. Amy’s hand comes to soothingly pet back your hair with a hush of surprise and you sense her look to Jo with a characteristic glare.

“Jo, what have you done?” Amy presses.

“I’ve done nothing!” Jo retorts with a huff. Then, her voice turns gentle, curious as she speaks to you. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

“She wouldn’t be on the verge of tears if you hadn’t done nothing, would she?” Amy replies. You laugh weakly, tightening your arms around her. “See?” Amy says. “You’ve broken her heart, the poor thing.” 

“Jo’s made new friends,” you sniffle, embarrassed when Laurie’s eyes meet yours. Amy’s arms around you make you feel comforted and safe, brave enough to voice your true burdens when you say, “I’ve been replaced,” and gaze back at Laurie in defiance, protest. He frowns and shifts his weight, looking genuinely sorry with a guilt that touches his eyes. Good, you think. Let him think twice before stealing away your best companion. 

At this, Jo’s expression softens with understanding and warmth as she sees you curl into Amy once more. Jo takes a step into the open doorway, leaving Laurie on the stoop.

“No one could ever replace you, dear,” she says. “I only keep Laurie around for when I’m bored and you aren’t around to play. Look at him,” she gestures in his direction. “He’s aloof and vain, he’s lazy, he doesn’t have an ounce of the imagination you do-” 

“Don’t forget arrogant.” Amy pipes up.

Jo nods, wagging a finger at her sister. “Right you are, Amy. We mustn't forget that.”

Laurie starts to puff up with a temper, his lips twisting together and you can see him struggling with whether to speak up and defend himself, or let the girls have their fun for your sake. Jo goes on, saying he was devious and too pretty for his own good, making you and Amy giggle as she rubs soothing circles into your back. It’s rather polite and charming as you watch Laurie suffer silently, biting his tongue as Jo continues to defame his character before she finally turns back to you.

“I should have introduced the two of you properly, and for that, I’m sorry,” says Jo. “You must have had quite the surprise running into him.” Laurie again glances to you with an apologetic softness, wringing his hands together. “So, what do you think, Teddy? Are we ready to start afresh?” Jo asks him, hands on her hips. 

This makes you laugh, bubbly, your mood perking up as you finally lift your head from Amy’s shoulder. Of course, Jo would be able to comprehend your grievances and somehow peg Laurie with the blame, how she knew your heart was delicate and tender and so full of devotion that you were quick to hold grudges. Your envy dissipates and you feel a bit sorry seeing Laurie now in such low spirits, his theatrical demeanor now quiet and modest. 

“If she’ll have me,” Laurie murmurs, glancing up at you with such a pureness in his glittering eyes that regret starts to settle in your stomach.

“And I’ve written more of that story you enjoyed so much,” Jo holds out a hand to you. “Won’t you come hear what happens next?” she asks. Slowly, like the pull of a magnet, you untangle yourself from Amy’s arms and cross the room to take Jo’s outstretched hand. 

“Alright.” You say at last. Jo beams and cradles your face with her other hand, swiping away your tears with her thumb. You let her baby you like she would with Beth, enjoying her touch against your cheek. 

“That’s my sweet girl.” She smiles.

You then look to a sheepish Laurie and extend a hand, filled with new courage. You tell him your name and echo back his words that you hope the three of you can indeed become good friends, that you and Jo could do well with another acquaintance. The smile Laurie gives you is genuine, sweet and gentle, the corner of his mouth turning up in crooked delight. He clasps your hand warmly.

“I would want nothing more.” Laurie laughs. 

And with that, nestled between Jo and Laurie, you step back outside into the rich and golden light of a warm autumn afternoon, curious, excited for what adventures the day will bring you. 

**

Laurie joins your duo swimmingly and the rest of the year passes in pleasant tranquility as the three of you spend nearly every waking moment by each others’ sides. All Hallow’s Eve finds you dressed in a costume of French royalty, a pompous and comical gown of ballooning fabrics, complete with a powdered wig of pins and curls. You’ve painted your face with overlined lips and the trademark mole below your eye and the March sisters double over with laughter as you enter the foyer, fluttering your paper fan with an aristocratic pout, Laurie saluting your entrance with a roar of, la plus belle fille du monde! Jo is dressed as a fearsome pirate, outfitted in boots, breeches, and a captain’s hat, the wooden sword you and Laurie helped to paint swishing through the air as she parades into the room. Laurie enters last with a bang and a flash of white powder, appearing before your eyes in true magician fashion with a top hat and cane, a false mustache pasted onto his upper lip. All six of you then march across the field to the Laurence residence, now alight with carved pumpkins and lanterns, for your All Hallow’s Eve party of sweets and games.

Christmas brings festivities, flurries, and cheer. Sledding, ice skating, days of cold and winter fun making snow angels and snowmen, decorating the March house with holly, mistletoe, culminating into a hearty turkey dinner as you sit perched next to Laurie. The candlelight is homely, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware washing over you and you catch Laurie’s eye as he lifts his fork to his mouth. The two of you grin, leaning into each other with quiet happiness, heads bowed. You and Laurie both mirror each other in being only children, meaning these times together have been filled with welcome camaraderie. Where your instances of yearning for the companionship of siblings that only those without can understand, you’ve found company in each other, never a dull moment, never lonely. 

The thaw of spring keeps you tucked away indoors with torrents of rain pelting against the roof. Jo reads to you aloud from her novel, asking for your thoughts every so often as you and Laurie lounge on the sofa. When you articulate a point of slight critique on Jo’s use of character, Laurie teasingly tugs on a lock of your hair with a smirk. 

“How perceptive.” He murmurs, grinning.

You swat his hand away, glaring at him in mock anger. 

And as the days grow warmer, so does your heart. You’ve learned to share your affection between Laurie and Jo in a way you think is equally matched and that autumn day where you’d been so sour to both of them seems like ages ago. Soon after that incident, your bravado had quickly morphed into appreciation and Jo had been eager to break the ice between you and Laurie. And like all children, your differences and jealousy had been set aside as you’d discovered he was quite fun to be around. Laurie shared Jo’s quick wit and intelligence, like an androgynous mirror, so much of yourself also reflected in both of them in time and they in you. And yet, Laurie had a certain charm about him; how he could have the two of you in stitches and still maintain the air of sophistication that was so often expected of the Laurence boy. Admittedly, you were thrilled to have them both as your best and favorite playmates. 

In turn, they had done the same, showering you with loving attention and teasing, keeping you entertained with their bickering, quarreling over how they both wanted to occupy your time with their respective ideas for sport. Fighting over you. The thought of it makes you blush furiously. Yet, you feel cared for, like the most precious thing in their lives.You’ve also selfishly enjoyed being the apple of their eye and all the privileges that has bestowed; Jo writing you into her stories, featuring you as a beautiful sugar plum fairy, and Laurie promising to write you a French ballet, to someday whisk you off to Europe to experience high art and culture. 

At last, spring turns to summer and the three of you are back to mischief and horseplay in the great outdoors. The days are lush, agreeable, bright and pleasant with flashing sunshine and lofty clouds. You’re again reminded why summer to you is synonymous with Jo as you run together through the waving fields bursting with flowers, Laurie right on your heels as he too gives chase. 

“Jo! We were only kidding about the toads!” Laurie calls out from behind you. “It’s not like I have one in my pocket this very moment who’s squirming to get free and might have bitten me earlier when I caught him by the river and-”

He gives a shout of surprise and you hear his footfalls pause in the grasses. You and Jo both turn, breathless, already laughing when you see Laurie hopping about like hot coals are burning beneath his feet.

A small pond frog wiggles out of his pocket seam with a croak and then disappears into the meadow, waddling with great speed. With out-turned pockets and wrinkled trousers, Laurie stands there with his hands on his hips, confidence and humor masking his faults as always.

“My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?” Laurie says as he looks out over the crest of the hill with a humorous glint in his eyes, like a mother watching her child leave for the vast, cruel world. You and Jo collapse into a fit of giggles, holding each other upright by the shoulders and gasping for air.

**

Eternal summer and sun, a tender paradise. And as midsummer arrives, so does the heat. It’s stifling, heavy, the kind that suffocates and forbids any excessive movement or play, when being idle is perfectly acceptable, a rarity for you three young adventurers. Today, even nature herself seems to be drowsy from the stifling weather. Sunflowers droop from the weight of honeybees as they float lazily over the fields. Birds chortle from the treetops, as if too tired to fly, their song intertwining with the rustling grasses, tousled by the rare cool breeze. The sky burns a dome of brilliant blue above you, filled with towering, cotton white cumulus clouds. You watch as they drift slowly over the horizon. Like colossal ships at sea. 

You rest your head on Laurie’s chest and he toys with your hair. Jo dozes with her arms pillowed across your stomach and the three of you are a sleepy dog-pile of limbs. The feel of Laurie’s fingers makes you relaxed, drowsy. You hear Jo then give a soft snore and you chuckle.

“What is it?” Laurie asks. You can already hear the smile in his voice, how just your laughter is enough to amuse him too. You shake your head against his chest and the movement makes you giggle again. Laurie joins you, flopping out his legs, the heat making you both delirious and loopy.

You reach up blindly and give him a firm nudge, your hand landing just under his chin.

“Stop it, you’ll wake her.” You scold him with as much seriousness as you can muster and failing miserably. 

“Ow,” Laurie groans. He grasps your wrist, moving your hand to place it against his cheek and he puckers out his lower lip. “You’ve hurt me, I’m unwell.”

“Oh...Laurie, I didn’t mean it..” you sit up and coo, caressing his skin. Laurie looks pleased, a flash of playfulness in the green of his eyes as you lean towards him. “Let me take a closer-” 

You cuff him on the ear ever so lightly, catching him by complete surprise and Jo wakes, cackling, throwing her arms around you. 

Later, the three of you gaze up at the passing clouds, a comfortable silence settling over you all as you enjoy the afternoon.

“If we could fly up into those clouds and there was a castle with anything your heart desired, what would it be?” Jo asks. “Where do you two see your lives leading you?” Her tone is pensive, romantic. You and Laurie both hum in thought. 

“You first, Laurie.” You murmur. 

Laurie turns to look back at the bright blue sky, to the billowy clouds that look like spun sugar candy. 

“I want to live abroad in Europe and be surrounded by music, my music. I want to compose, I want to be renowned for my operas.” He declares with a proud puff of his chest. Jo nods, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“That sounds very much like you, Teddy,” Jo says. “A bachelor making art in Europe, how capital.”

He makes a face, then winks at you out of the corner of his eye. You stick out your tongue.

“You can do it if you stay focused,” you add. “No more billiards, for a start.” 

Laurie wrinkles his nose. “And what is it that you want, prima donna?” he asks you in challenge. 

You turn away with a roll of your eyes, gaze to the heavens. The thought comes to you easily as you listen to the birds, feel the breeze tickling your skin, drinking in the sky. 

“I want to be a ballet dancer in a prestigious company. I want to tour the world.” You say softly. Before, you would have felt embarrassment to share such an ambitious dream. But something about this moment, of being with Laurie and Jo makes you feel brave and safe enough to speak your mind, to put your words into the universe and have it come to fruition. Like a magic spell of sorts. With them here with you, you feel like any dream is possible.

Another chorus of hums and Jo looks pleased at your response. Laurie smirks up at the horizon.

“No fair if it’s likely to happen,” he laughs. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh, hush,” Jo chides with a rather hard sock to Laurie’s arm. She ignores his whines as he recoils and grumbles dramatically. “You’re well on your way, dear,” Jo tells you. “Now that you’ll be in that New York production next summer, I’m sure your opportunities will be plentiful.”

You hope she’s right. You’d secured a role as an ensemble dancer in an upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet, your most prestigious show as of yet in your young and budding career. Jo’s warm praise makes you blush like the flowers surrounding you, pink and full. Laurie’s quick eyes catch this, envious, and he changes the subject, a muscle ticking ever so slightly in his jaw. 

“And you, Jo?” He asks tightly. 

Jo exhales, crossing her arms behind her head. “Being a writer, of course. A great one. I don’t want to settle for less.” 

“Doubtful,” snides Laurie. “I don’t see it.”

You and Laurie look to each other with a quiet smile.

“No, not with all the prizes you’ve won,” you add. “Impossible.”

Jo shoots upright, too quickly for the heat. She slugs Laurie again.

“Ow...Jo, it’s too hot for your beatings,” he moans. “Don’t be a poor sport.”

She doesn’t answer him, only gives him a final push and hunkers back down onto the grass, turning her back to him with a huff.

“Why am I the only one that ever gets hit?” Laurie grumbles, opening his shirt to cool himself off and throws his forearm across his eyes for shade, frowning. You giggle, curling up beside her.

“I believe in your abilities, Jo.” You whisper to her. She takes your hand. 

It’s not long before the three of you are fast asleep in the sun. 

**

And as the seasons and summers roll on and the fruits of childhood begin to slowly ripen with the passing years, you find your companionship with Laurie and Jo changing and growing like never before. Your friendship starts to blossom into fondness, adoration. Indeed, you’ve loved them as playmates and companions since the three of you were children, but as you flourish amidst that quaint, strange, and budding pocket of time when young men and women come of age, where you and Laurie and Jo are now struck with bashfulness and an awareness of being alone with each other, your love for them arches and glows like summer sunset. 

This makes you acutely conscious of your appearance and dress, your posture, how you carry yourself, your mannerisms. How did your hair look? Did you laugh too loudly? Would Jo think your comments about her writing were too harsh? Why did you feel such warmth in your chest every time you saw her? And why were you starting to anticipate Laurie’s company? Why did you always have a sharp hope that he would come around with every visit of yours to the March residence? The constant whir of thoughts and worries was enough to make your head turn with heaviness, make you collapse from the pressures of simply existing.

“You’re acting odd,” Laurie tells you one day.

The two of you lay in a meadow with summer buzzing all around you, resting beneath the drooping leaves of a willow tree. Jo had been unable to join you as she had Beth’s lessons to teach that afternoon, much to her own disappointment and promising to make it up to you soon with an affectionate pinch to your cheek. You’d considered going home then. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with Laurie, that familiar crush in your chest, an inkling of dread coupled with a shortness of breath, fear and excitement. You were terrified. But when he’d taken your hand and asked you so sweetly to accompany him to the meadow’s waters, how could you possibly refuse? 

But of course, Laurie was quick to notice your nerves. 

“The heat is getting to your head,” you say evenly with eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. “Besides, that’s rather rude.”

You hear him move and feel his presence directly in front of you, as if leaning in.

“It is a bit hot, do you feel up for a swim?”

This makes your eyes snap open. Following Jo’s mannerisms, you give him a shove in the chest. “You’re vile,” you grin. 

To your surprise, Laurie’s teasing, playful demeanor is nowhere to be found. His gaze is instead thoughtful, holding your own like you are all he sees. Immediately, you feel your pulse kick up in the side of your throat.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he continues with a shake of his head. “You don’t seem like yourself. I thought a change in our routine could be refreshing.”

You give a light shrug of your shoulders. “I feel fine,” you say. 

He brushes the back of his hand against your forehead. He hums, then curls his fingers down along the planes of your face to rest on your cheek. 

“You’re flushed,” he murmurs. 

Time seems to slow. The roar of blood deafens your ears and the fragrance of the sweet waters and blooms around you is overwhelming, sunlight refracting like prismed rainbow. Laurie kisses you then, a gentle touch of his lips, tilting your chin up to meet him. A sweetheart’s kiss, one that tastes of summer secrets as you’re shaded by vines and mist. When you break apart, he keeps his hand cradled against your cheek, his thumb circling the corner of your mouth.

You don’t know what to say. You’re speechless, your chest rising and falling softly, staring back at him with wide, surprised eyes. Laurie looks reflective, emerald irises half-lidded.

“What am I to tell Jo?” you whisper to him. Heat diffuses through your body like desert wind. You feel elated, cherished, frightened, embarrassed. Guilty. Laurie’s eyes flicker once more to your lips, his dark lashes fluttering with the movement. His smile is melancholy, yet knowing.

“You love her, too.” Laurie hums. It’s a statement, a confirmation of your feelings for both of them. The fact that the boy you’ve adored for so long has uttered your very thoughts out loud should have you completely mortified, yet there’s a small sense of comfort knowing he’d understand. Laurie knows this because he himself feels the same way, knows you or Jo or himself could never bring themselves to choose.

Laurie’s smile prompts you to lace your fingers together in the grasses and you give him a light peck on the cheek. He brightens up, raking a hand through his black curls. 

“You love me.” Laurie beams.

**

When you tell Jo about the kiss, she’s dancing with you on the porch in the evening light. Inside, you can see Marmee and the girls entertaining themselves through the windows as you practice your pirouettes. Jo is dressed in her writing jacket and trousers, keeping you balanced as she plays the part of the male dancer, perfectly competent. 

“What an impish boy,” Jo says of Laurie. You laugh and the two of you continue your steps, running through the dance number in a private rehearsal. Laurie is due to rehearse with you the week before your performance and the thought itself is enough to make butterflies explode in your stomach. Jo is a strong, leading dancer, while Laurie is graceful and firm, both capable of making the palms of your hands sweat with nerves. You know in your heart if you could rehearse with them, you’d have no fear on opening night. You’d already be invincible.

“Again from the top, please, kind sir,” you curtsey to Jo. Her smile is giddy and she gives a click of her heels before returning to her starting position. 

“Of course,” she responds. Taking your hand, she guides you through the steps once more, your heart soft and temperate like the evening around you.

**

The sound of applause is warm and full, washing over you as you take your bows. You feel weightless, aglow, eyes brimming with tears. You think you see Laurie and Jo leap to their feet in the audience, but the stage lights are too bright and you cannot see clearly and you think you may faint from happiness. 

In the auditorium, you’re still in your costume of Venetian silks and flowers when you’re swept off your feet by a boisterous Laurie and he twirls you around in his arms, his riding cloak billowing out behind him. 

“There’s our Capulet! You were phenomenal!”

“I’m so proud of you, dear!” Jo practically shouts with excitement, tackling you next in a bearish hug when Laurie finally sets you down. Their praise is boundless, endless, showering you in so much adoration that your heart feels close to bursting. You gather them close, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Thank you both for everything,” you choke out, squeezing them tight.

Over Jo’s shoulder, you spot Marmee, Meg, Amy, even shy little Beth with a bouquet of flowers and then you let the tears fall when you run to them and you thank your stars for the luck and love you’ve been blessed with.  

**

Another year, another summer soon arrives. You and Jo and Laurie are back in the fields cloud-gazing, a lazy afternoon of heat and leisurely time well spent. Things feel familiar, recognizable between the three of you, yet there’s a sense of distance between now and when Jo had first asked about your castles in the sky all those summers ago. 

 Jo was now making a name for herself in the writer’s world, having won another prize in a New York newspaper. She’d been gaining the attention of devoted readers and critics alike and was now working on a proper novel, her longest project as of yet. She tells you not to worry, that she’ll be sure to feature you as a central character in the same way she’d done as a child, nostalgic tales of pirates and adventure and love.

“My sweet sugar plum fairy,” she’d gruffed, pulling you into another powerful hug.

Laurie had finished his opera, now with aspirations of pulling funds together and opening a production in Europe. He was still in the midst of planning and conversing with his grandfather about finances and departure dates, but it seemed like Laurie’s promise of spiriting you away to Europe could now become a reality. And with the possibility of your very own French stage debut! 

Thus, you three souls were being tugged into three far corners of the globe, to your respective callings. The realization scares you, to know that this may be one of the few times you have left together. But underneath it all, there was a sense of excitement to see the world and make it your own. You were satisfied, proud knowing that the three of you had come so far with your aspirations and you had no doubt you would find success in your art.

In the comfortable silence, serenaded by the hum of cicadas and birdsong, you gaze up to the clouds gliding over Plumfield, Massachusetts. You feel an aching longing for those childhood days of carefree play, the countless rose-tinted memories of Laurie and Jo by your side, yet looking up at the sky, you know these memories of summers past will always be with you. 

And there would be better and more to come. 

#timothee chalamet #timothée chamalet #little women #timothee chalamet x reader #saoirse ronan #jo march #timothee chalamet imagine #saoirse ronan imagine #theodore laurence #theodore laurie laurence #laurie #jo #imagines #laurie x reader #jo x reader #saoirse ronan x you #timothee chalamet x you #saoirse ronan fanfic #greta gerwig #saoirse ronan x reader

[awanderingdeal]

5 times a Tremblay sibling kept a secret and 1 time they did not - Sydney

 The second part of this fic! And it’s Sydney’s turn. For the record, I know zero about hockey or Canadian prep schools, so despite some research there are probably many inaccuracies in this. Sorry!

CW: Pressure to go to university. Please message me if you would like any content tags added or feel I need to add to this list. 

Rating: G

See my masterlist for future and previous chapters

Thank you to @the-mouse-in-a-jumper and @anderperries for betaing this for me :)

And last, but most certainly not least, a massive thank you to @lumosinlove for the creation of the sweater weather universe and the wonderful OC’s (including the Tremblay siblings) within it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sydney felt like she couldn’t breathe as she walked the halls. She was supposed to be heading to math, but her mind was spinning and there was no way she was going to be able focus on derivatives at the moment. 

When her coach had sent for her, Sydney had assumed that it was a quick last minute question or update before the game this evening. That had been two class periods ago and she had only just left.

She found her favourite place to sneak an unauthorised break, a quiet corner where there were only bathrooms, and checked her watch as she slid down a wall. In fifteen minutes, the deserted oasis would be a jungle as students rushed to relieve their bladders in between classes. Sydney breathed in and out slowly, trying to control her breathing in the way her yoga teacher always told her to.   

She had asked her coach to print out a copy of the email that she had received. The paper it was printed on felt like it had weight. One letter sized piece of paper had never been so heavy. 

Coach Figg, 

Thank you for sending Sydney's tape. After reviewing it, I would be very interested in coming to see Sydney play in person. I took the liberty of checking your fixtures and noticed you have a game this evening. I am watching another player in your local area this morning and as such, would be available to see Sydney in the evening. Please get back to me as soon as possible to confirm this would be okay. 

Ryan Lemont,

Montreal Stars Scout. 

As she read the words again, it dawned on Sydney that this was actually real. It was actually happening. She’d dreamed of playing hockey professionally since her first fumbling steps onto the ice. She had to tell her parents. 

Of course her parents knew she played hockey. They even knew she planned to continue playing hockey after high school. This prep school; renowned for both its academics and its hockey programme, had been a compromise on the travel hockey that Sydney had wanted to play. It allowed her to play competitively whilst still leaving her eligible for NCAA schools in the US. The fact that she was going to college was assumed. 

When she had given her coach permission to send the tape, it had been with the belief that nothing was going to come of it. It would put her on the radar for when she was ready in a few years time. 

Sydney wasn’t self-depreciating, she knew that she had talent. A local newspaper had once described her as ‘a budding young talent. Quite the goalkeeper, even at fifteen.’ Scouting started early in hockey. American schools trying to halt young Canadians on their path to junior league hockey, so they could play for their colleges later. She'd spoken to schools and had good feedback. She was confident that she’d play hockey somewhere. This was different though. A professional team. It was too much for her barely 17 year old brain to comprehend. 

"Squid?" Logan, her brother, interrupted Sydney's thoughts. "Ca va?" he asked, walking towards her. The students in this school came from all over Canada, and so, despite being in the countryside of Quebec, people usually leaned towards talking in English. Logan clung onto his native language more than most. 

"Hey Lo," Sydney smiled up at him. He'd had a growth spurt in the last few months and her baby brother was looking more and more like a man as the days passed. "What are you doing here?"

Logan gestured to the doors further down the corridor, " J'allais aux toilettes," He glanced at Sydney before joining her on the floor, "I could ask you the same. C'est quoi?" 

Sydney didn't have time to answer Logan's question about what the paper was before it was being plucked from her hands. His eyes widened more and more as he read. 

"Sydney," Logan gasped. "The Stars! What did Papa et Maman say?" 

Trust Logan to get to the tricky questions straight away. Sydney played with her lip between her teeth, "I just found out, Lo. I'm still processing." 

"What about university? You know Papa will say that you have to go," Logan asked, playing with the edges of the paper. 

"Don't do that," Sydney grabbed the letter back, smoothing the wrinkles out. Superstitions were rife in hockey, and she couldn't shake the feeling that if the paper got damaged it would affect her performance tonight. "You think I haven’t considered that?" she whined, pushing her knees up and dropping her head into them before letting out a noise of frustration.

"My sister, playing for the Montreal Stars. That is so cool," Logan said, and Sydney could hear the grin in his voice. 

She looked up at him, "Calm down. They haven't even seen me play yet. It could be nothing." 

"And it could be everything," Logan argued. "You have to be positive. I'm going to go to Harvard and then I'm going to play for the NHL.” The confidence in the words reminded Sydney of their older sister, Aubrey. Most would have dismissed it as the lofty dream of a fourteen year old, but if anybody was determined enough to make it come true then it was her brother. “Just tell Papa et Maman. They'll come around," Logan continued. There was that confidence again. 

Sydney scoffed, "Easy enough for you to say. You could tell them that you had murdered somebody and they would help you cover it up. You're spoiled." 

"I can't help being charming," Logan said with a laugh. "Non, mais sérieusement, tell them. Papa is not a tyrant, he wants you to be happy. He just thinks university will give you the best start in life. I’m sure he can be convinced otherwise.”

"When did you get so wise, little brother?" Sydney smiled, pulling Logan close to her side. He pretended to resist for a token few seconds, but he had always been affectionate and soon squirreled in to her. "If you plan on going to Harvard, you should probably stop skipping English" 

"I told you..." Logan started, but Sydney waved him off.

"There are three sets of bathrooms between here and your classroom. Trois," Sydney smirked. "You might have the rest of the world wrapped around your little finger, but you forget I know you, Lo."

"You forget I know you, Lo," Logan mocked before his features morphed into a picture of perfect innocence. "You're still going to give me your English notes though, aren't you?" 

"More than likely, yeah." Sydney laughed. "Maybe I'm not so immune to those puppy dog eyes after all."

"Thanks, squid, you're the best," Logan hugged her a little tighter. "And you're going to be amazing tonight. Papa et Maman are going to be so proud, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just remember me when you're hoisting the Stanley cup, eh?" Sydney said, flicking Logan on his forehead. 

"Oww, that is assault," Logan whined, rubbing at his brow far more dramatically than warranted, making Sydney snicker. "I think you'll be lifting a cup before me anyway," he added.

"Alright, enough with the sucking up. Class is about to change. Maybe actually go to your next one?" Sydney said, shoving Logan away from her with a grin. 

#sydney tremblay #logan tremblay #lumosinlove #university pressure #college pressure #prep school #Sweater Weather #Coast To Coast

[mindofharry]

Countryside H.S

harry and you go down to the countryside!

full of fluff and a little bit of swearing!!! feedback is welcome as always <3

“fuck. this place is beautiful” harry said as you were driving into the cabin driveway. You were surround by fields and trees, the driveway was narrow because of the fence keeping the sheep off the road — but it was beautiful nonetheless. The view from your cabin to the hills were breathtaking. you could already see yourself spending your mornings out there with a nice coffee. “so beautiful. we really got lucky with this.” you agreed placing a hand on his thigh. “thank you for doing this.” you say, harry didnt respond just lifted your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it.

After a two minute drive up the long narrow driveway, you made it the cabin. It was small, but looked quite cozy. Just what you guys were looking for. The cabin looked so snug, you couldn’t wait to get into your pjs and cuddle by the fire.

You parked the car and made your way up to the door while harry got the suitcases from the boot of the car. It took you a minute to unlock the door as the owner told you that this was new and you and harry were the first to stay here, so the lock was a little rusty due to no one being here for quite some bit. When you walked in you were met with cold air and an unusually large hallway. There was paintings on every side of the wall and a long table under the window in the porch. “baby! you did so good” you yelled out earning a laugh from harry.

you walked down the hallway touching the paintings as you went — another beautiful thing. the paintings looked ancient and thats what you think made them so gorgeous. After a little fangirling at the paintings you were met with small living room, a couch in the middle of it just infront of the fire. when you looked up there was stairs at the side leading up to the master bedroom. under the stairs was a small bathroom. the kitchen was sort of in the living room only the floor changed letting you know you entered the kitchen. you loved it — small and cozy, just what you needed. The house you and harry bought recently is big, huge actually. it’s nice to go back to basics you thought.

“jesus — this is amazing” harry said from behind you the suitcases behind him. you turned around and grinned at him placing your hands on his shoulders. “this just earned you so many brownie points” you giggled pecking his lips. harry hummed and kissed your lips “good. i think i deserve some love for this place.” he responded making you roll your eyes and look up at the loft you’d be sleeping in.

“i used to want have a loft so bad.” you admitted walking up the stairs, harry tapped your ass and grinned “i do listen sometimes, honey.” you nodded and gasped when you reached the top. the room was so snug and had its own little fire place up here. and the view was so incredible.

“you’re amazing harry styles.” you say kissing all over his face. harry shrugged and pulled you down on the bed.

“heard that once or twice.”

you laughed and moved up the bed. you moaned when your head hit the pillow. “comfy?” harry asked getting up off the bed, down the stairs to get the suitcases. good think about this is that you can still hear him — you don’t have to move a muscle. “hmmm. so comfy” you hummed cuddling into the bed. “don’t sleep now lovey. hot chocolate and some new girl is on the way” harry said as he walked back up the stairs with the bags.

you just nodded and got up and opened up your suitcases. “you make the hot chocolate, i’ll unpack.” you say kissing his cheek. harry nodded and pecking your lips three times “teamwork.” he hummed against your lips. he slapped your ass making you squeal before making his way down to the kitchen.

After about 10 minutes you unpacked everything and drank half of your hot chocolate. “i head we have a hot date with nick miller?” you tease climbing onto the bed while harry opened up his computer. he just rolled his eyes “i don’t understand your crush with nick miller.” harry mumbled putting in his password.

“stop being so jealous.” you say kissing his shoulder. “i’m not jealous.” he said and you just rolled your eyes and kissed his shoulder again.

The sleep you guys got that night was insane. you felt so refreshed when you woke up, not even a little bit tired or groggy. Considering you woke at 6 it was a miracle.

you turned around to see harry still sleeping soundly. he looked pretty, you thought. you placed a hand on his cheek caressing it softly. “love you.” harry mumbled making you blush, you pecked his lips and smiled to yourself “love you more.”

after staying in bed for another ten minutes, you were reminded about the beautiful view waiting for you and that coffee. so you pulled the covers off and climbed out of bed. the floor was cold on your bare feet, it made you shiver a little seen as you were in one of harry’s shirts and little shorts you got as a birthday present. you should’ve back some fluffy bottoms — but they wouldn’t fit as you brought one too many shoes. after going through the closet you pulled out sweats and a dressing gown you packed, funnily enough you and harry have the same one. You’re definitely that couple, you thought.

after getting changed and quickly brushing your hair you make yourself a coffee and have a sneaky jaffa cake. You wait for what feels like an eternity for the coffee to be made and then head outside. the only shoes at the door were harrys so you were tripping over yourself when you stared walking. something you like to tease harry about is his huge feet — it’s really not human.

you sigh in content bringing the mug of hot coffee to your lips. You feel hands on your hips making you grin. “well don’t you look sexy.” harry teased resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing it lightly. “i think i look great” you say laughing to yourself.

you turn around and see harry in the same dressing gown as you. “we really are that couple.” you giggle shaking your head. harry feins offence bringing his hand to his heart “i love being that couple.” he said leaning down to kiss your forehead, you sigh in content.

“me too, baby, me too.”

#harry styles #solo harry #hs1 #hazza styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry #styles #fineline #adore you #fic #fics #fanfic #asks #requests #imagines #blurbs #harry styles x ofc #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles headcannon #harry styles concepts #dad harry styles imagines #dad harry imagines

[rahabs]

2020 creator wrap: favourite works 🖤

rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favourite works that you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works.

tagged by @howevernot , who is an absolute sweetheart 🖤 Thank you!  I have created many, many works this year, and have written and created more than I have since... 2016, I believe, or thereabouts.  It has been an incredibly year for me from a creator standpoint and I have met so many wonderful new people as I dipped my wide duck feet into the Northwest Passage that is The Terror, all of whom made the absolute mess that was 2020 not only bearable but exciting and fun at times.  Thank you all so much!  Words cannot even express my gratitude.

1. the paths of glory lead but to the grave (fanfiction, rated M; the terror; joplittle, 28k; art masterpost)

This fic was my pinch-hit for the Terror Big Bang this year, and marked the first time I’d ever had the privilege of participating in a Big Bang in all my years of writing fanfiction.  I had missed the initial sign-ups because I was in the middle of my 1L exams when it was announced, and was very disappointed.  Imagine my surprise and happiness when I was contacted in what I believe was late July, asking if I would be interested in pinch-hitting!  I agreed, was paired with a phenomenal artist, and somehow by the grace of all that is holy managed to write just under 30k of joplittle angst in under a month.  It’s not my most popular piece (probably one of my least popular pieces by kudos and comments, if not the least), but it is the one I am most proud of all the same.

In 1851, a small fleet under the command of Captain Horatio Thomas Austin located the survivors of the ill-fated Franklin Expedition and brought twenty-some corpse-like figures back to England.  Given temporary leave to recuperate in the countryside following their ordeal, Edward Little and Thomas Jopson attempt to reconcile the past with the present and the fact that not all the ice was left behind in the Arctic.

Or, nearly 30k of survivor's guilt, intimacy, the softness and tragedy of the human connection, and learning to forgive.

“The men on Beechey,” Captain William Penney had asked him tentatively before they’d left King William Island, the two brigs under his command floating beyond Resolute’s sturdy decks, “who were they?”

Edward had thought back to those graves, dug deliberately into the frozen ground and lovingly, mournfully filled and marked; had thought about the care shown those young men, whom they had all thought to have the devil’s own luck at the time.  He’d then thought of another man, buried alone in a wild and savage land with nothing to mark his resting place; of weathered bones and lonely stones, and the ghost of a man who had only ever wanted to be seen consigned to an anonymous oblivion.

He never asked what it was that William Penney had seen in his face; had never asked what had made Alexander Stewart take the smallest of steps back as Edward’d said, simply:

“The lucky ones.”

2. labefaction (fanfiction, rated M; the terror; joplittle, 5k+)

This was me wanting to put Thomas Jopson in a dress and have Edward Little slide his hands up his skirts, but it sort of turned into a surreal little piece set during Fitzjames’ Carnivale in a universe where Crozier recovered early enough for him and Thomas to decide to attend.  Featuring Fitzjames also in the dress canon denied us, and yes, Edward’s hands up Thomas’ skirts :’) A fun little romp.

In the surreal realm of Fitzjames' Carnivale, Edward Little and Thomas Jopson share a dance.

Please, Thomas thought wildly, his own hands reaching out to grip the front of Edward’s vest and haul him forward, pressing as close as he could, desperate for the contact, the heat.  It was everything he had built up in his head, and yet it was nothing like that at all, and he wondered for a brief moment if it was even real, or if it was just another illusion of this place.

A gust of wind from the outside was like a bucket of cold water, but instead of deterring him, it only made Thomas more determined for contact, for the heat and warmth of the man in front of him, who was pushing him back, back, until his spine connected with one of the wooden supports and Thomas broke the kiss with a gasp, quickly swallowed.  There was a hand at his hip, at his skirts, sliding up against the thigh of the leg he’d hooked around Little’s waist, cold against his flushed skin.  The chill was delicious, and he craved more, just like he craved more of Edward’s gaze upon him, only him.  You’ve been seen, he thought, no, no.

Yes.

3. we are gone (playlist, spotify; the terror; surreal; 2h+)

The playlist I originally made while writing my TBB fic (linked above).  I was asked to post it, and so I did after making a quick album cover for it.  I am ridiculously proud of it, and was surprised by the positive feedback it received!  My personal favourite tracks include the opening track (Traust, by Heilung) and Myrkr, by Heldom.  Also ft. a couple songs by The Amazing Devil.

4. the ruin within (fanfiction, rated E; the terror; joplittle, 9k+)

This was my fic for the Joplittle Fall Fic Exchange, my first fic exchange in almost five years!  Because of how my pinch-hit for the TBB played out time-wise, I didn’t get to start on this one until a week before it was due, and I am honestly still very pleased with the results!  I wrote it for someone who wrote one of my all-time favourite joplittle fics, too, so that was an extra treat for me!

As preparations for Fitzjames' Carnivàle get underway, Edward Little offers to teach Thomas the quadrille.  Thomas just hopes he can survive the lieutenant's hands on him with his control intact and his secrets in check.

“And if I did?  If I wished it?  Alone, here, with you?”

There was that thing in Little’s face again, in the set of those cupid’s bow lips, swimming just below a surface that was not nearly as blank as most people believed, and Thomas, his own attentions sharp as a blade, made reckless by God only knew, pressed himself that much closer until—

A flicker.  A crack in the wall, in the foundation, in Little’s eyes, which widened just the slightest bit as they caught on his hands resting against Thomas’ waist, on Thomas’ mouth, and Thomas, never as good a man as he should have been and selfish besides, rested his hands on Little’s broad shoulders, took the sharp blade of want in his own chest, and plunged it into Little’s own without hesitation and without mercy.

“Oh, Lieutenant,” he whispered, leaning up, his mouth by Little’s ear as the man all but trembled in his arms, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

5. this colourless light (fanfiction, rated E; the terror; joplittle, nearly 5k)

This was just something I could not get out of my head, and that I wrote for fun.  It was, as I stated in the fic’s notes, entirely self-indulgent.  Entirely.  I just wanted some softness and tenderness, and so I gave it to myself, as I had been having a very bad week.  I really do like how it came out!

Thomas Jopson takes care of a frozen Edward Little, and an Arctic whiskey caper ends tenderly.

“My love, my own love,” Thomas was whispering, the words only half-spoken as Edward continued to kiss him, still shuddering, still shaking, the wool blanket heavy where it was still draped over them.   Edward slipped his hands up that trembling stomach, through the mess left there, a hot claim that he smeared over soft skin.

Honourary mention also goes to would you gain the tender creature, which I wrote in response to a prompt and which remains a personal favourite of mine, but that has featured in lists before so I figured I would spotlight some newer fics!

I am tagging @allegoriesinmediasres, @jamesclarkross, @rosewaterhag, @proudspires, @derry-rain, @thekenobee, @caravaggiosbrushes, @longstoryshortikilledhim, @distantsnows, @judiejodia, and any friends/mutuals/non-mutuals who see this and wish to participate, because I always forget to tag a couple of people despite my best efforts 🖤

#long post #text #chey.txt #tag games #2020 in review #joplittle