#every time he takes a photo his finger is over the lense despite having the same iphone for like. 6 yrs

[narwhalsarefalling]

my grandpa forwarded me the email alert he got for my birthday instead of composing a new email 😂😂

[watchmegetobsessed]

An Ocean Away - Harry Styles

Sequel to Tastes Like Strawberries 🍓 !

a/n: ahhh! thank you so much for the love you showed TLS! i already had more planned for the story, but all your comments motivated me to do this part 2! it’s an emotional one so brace yourselves! further in the chapter i placed the song that inspired the title and i listened to it while writing so i suggest you do the same!

pairing: professor!Harry x Reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 12.7k

masterlist

You walk down the familiar hallway texting back Eden that you are not spending the night at home again.

Eden: You really need to tell me about the dick that keeps you so busy these days.

Y/N: I never said a thing about any dick.

Eden: Oh please, you surely got yourself a rebound after Harry, you can’t tell me otherwise.

Y/N: Don’t you get a rebound when you broke up with someone? I was never together with Harry, so it doesn’t make sense.

Eden: You had a thing!! Okay, whatever. Keep your little secrets, I guess it’s fine…

Y/N: Love you!

Chuckling to yourself you put the phone away and stop at the door you know all too well, knocking two times before you open it and poke your head inside.

Harry is sitting at his desk, his reading glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he is vigorously scribbling something down into his notebook. He lifts his head at your arrival and you shut the door closed behind you.

“Hello, professor,” you smile at him teasingly, walking around his desk as he pushes himself back a little so you can sit on his lap, pecking his lips gently.

“Hey, done for the day?” he asks, his fingers tenderly stroking your thighs over the fabric of your jeans.

“Yeah. We can leave if you’re done,” you nod.

“Just a few more minutes, alright?”

“Sure,” you nod, standing up from his lap so he can finish his work while you sit on the little loveseat he has in the corner, right under the window.

It’s been six weeks since New Year’s Eve, the new semester has officially started, you’re working your way towards your degree as this is officially your last semester, but what’s more important that you and Harry have been a couple for six weeks following the heated actions of New Year’s Eve.

Harry is still quite anxious about the whole thing, always on high alert and he even asked you to lie to Eden and Nat too. You tried to fight him on that, but you could tell how much he wanted to protect what you had so you decided to feed them this elaborate story about how you and Harry had a fight on New Year’s Eve and realized that it would have never worked out so you agreed to stay just friends. It seems like they believed, because they’ve been keen on trying to set you up with someone while you just keep dodging their attempts, sneaking around with Harry behind their back.

Other than the continuous lying and sneaking around, things have been going well with him. You’ve been spending a lot of time at his place, the only hiding spot where you can be carefree around each other without always watching out for others around you.

Today is Valentine’s day and though your opportunities to celebrate are very slim, having anything that’s slightly public crossed out of the list, that still doesn’t stop the two of you from having a good night in.

You watch him curiously as he is reading the lines of someone’s essay probably, or some test, whatever. Holding the pen ready to use whenever he finds something incorrect, he furrows his eyebrows at something before crossing out a line, mouthing the words he writes to the side of the page. He doesn’t wear his glasses that often, but he’s been complaining about having dry eyes these past days so it’s no surprised he switched to them from his contact lenses.

“You look sexy in your glasses, have I told you that?”

He glances at you, a small smirk tugging on his lips before he returns to the paper in front of him.

“Think they make me look older,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Nah, not more at least than your grandpa sweaters,” you tease him, earning a ‘Really? This again?’ look from him that makes you chuckle.

You busy yourself while Harry finishes his work and then you head out together, strictly keeping the distance between each other. Walking out of the building Harry heads to the left where the car park is while you take a turn to the right. It’s been your usual, since you can’t have anyone see you get into Harry’s car so casually, so you usually walk down to the small café near Building D, because there’s a very narrow little street running behind it where you can get into the car without anyone noticing you. You do the same now too before finally heading back to Harry’s place. Sinking into the comfortable seat, you stare out the window, thinking about how it’s just been six weeks since New Year’s Eve, but it feels like you’ve been together with Harry for months. Despite his many doubts and hesitant act, it was easy to fall into a kind of routine with him, and even more easier to get used to the thought that he is yours and you are his.

During these six weeks you’ve learned quite a few things about him, things women on campus would die to know and they were handed over to you on a silver plate by Harry himself.

One, he is a very touchy person, of course, when he has the chance for it. In the safety of his home or when you have a few minutes for yourselves in his office, he always likes to have his hand on your back or waist, he loves touching your hips or cheeks, caressing the skin wherever it shows from under your clothes. He is also very cuddly, likes to wrap you in his arms when you’re watching TV and when it’s time to sleep the first thing he does is to pull you into his embrace. You usually wake up in the morning with him completely wrapped around you, limbs thrown over you, face buried into your chest or stomach. He is a messy sleeper, but also a fucking adorable one.

Two, he is a good cook but not that good at baking. He says it’s the universe’s sign that he shouldn’t eat as much sweet stuff as he does, but in reality he just sucks at measuring the ingredients. He never follows the recipe, easily goes with things his own way and then he is surprised when it doesn’t turn out as it should.

Three, he notices the smallest things you’d never. Like how you hate it when the Sun is shining right into your face so he always makes sure to draw the blinds in the evening, or that you prefer sleeping with more pillows so he just simply gives you an extra without even asking every time you’re spending the night. He cares so much about you to the smallest details, it always makes your heart flutter.

And four, though he keeps a tough act in school, he is a lovesick puppy when no one is around, likes to be the small spoon when cuddling, absolutely adores it when you cup his face in your palms and kiss it all over. Loves it when you play with his hair or when you hug him from behind, kissing between his shoulder blades. He always tells you how pretty you are and never misses a chance to sneak a kiss from you. You couldn’t imagine him do any of these before you really knew him, but now you see that all these little things are just as much parts of him like the version of him he shows at school. You feel lucky to be able to see him like this and you’ll probably never get bored of it.

Arriving to his place you drop your bag off at the bedroom before you join him in the kitchen, already eyeing the flyer to the nearby Italian place that delivers.

“How about pizza?” he hums, eyebrows knitted together as he scans the menu.

“Sounds good. Can we order dessert too?” Walking past him you kiss his shoulder before grabbing a glass for yourself, filling it with tap water.

“Oh, no need,” he shyly answers, glancing at you. “We… have dessert.”

You watch him with curious eyes as he disappears in his little study before emerging with a plate filled with pink cupcakes. They look wobbly, the cream on top is not the same on either of them, but because you know he made them, they are the most perfect you’ve ever seen.

He places the plate to the counter with a shy smile before turning to you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs, hands finding your hips as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“Oh baby, did you stay up last night to make these?” you ask, touched that he took the time and energy to surprise you with something. Harry nods and you kiss his dimples softly.

“Mm, they are strawberry flavored,” he smirks boyishly.

“We are never escaping strawberries,” you chuckle softly as you dip your fingertip into the cream on top of one of the cakes, tasting it. “Hmm, this is actually good,” you tell him.

“Yeah, the cream is kind of okay, dunno about the rest though,” he admits chuckling.

“As long as it’s not poisonous, I’ll love it,” you giggle kissing his lips again softly. “Alright, but I can’t go over the fact that we agreed on no gifts for Valentine’s Day,” you say giving him a look.

“S’not a gift, just… a little gesture,” he shrugs innocently.

“Okay, then you can’t get mad over my little gesture,” you smirk at him, peeling his arms off you before you run into his bedroom to get his gift.

You really weren’t planning to give him anything, but you had a good idea last minute and couldn’t just not do it. Digging into your bag you pull out the little box and join him in the kitchen again, handing it to him.

“It’s not fair if you spent money on it,” he pouts, but you just roll your eyes.

“You spent money on the cupcakes too. But besides, I didn’t spent a penny on it. Open it!” You urge him.

Harry huffs but takes the lid off, revealing a stack of Polaroid photos. In this not too ideal situation the two of you are living in, there’s no chance you can ever post anything about him, even though there are quite a few cute photos of you with Harry. Eden recently bought a Polaroid printer and you borrowed it to print your favorite pictures of the two of you. There’s one from the morning after New Year’s Eve, just a silly selfie you took in bed, then one with the band from Harry’s birthday recently, a photo of the two of you backstage of one of his gigs you took in the mirror, he has his guitar in his hands as you stand next to him smiling widely. There are a few more with Sarah, Mitch, Charlotte and Adam and at the very end of the stack… some special ones.

You watch him go through them smiling warmly until he reaches the last few and freezes. You took the courage to take a few spicy ones of yourself in your favorite lingerie and thought it would be sexy to print them out as well and give them to him.

“I hope you’re not thinking about selling them already,” you chuckle. Harry glances up at you before shaking his head with a playful smirk.

“Was just a little surprised by them,” he admits.

“Do you… like them?”

“Oh baby, I love them, you look… wow,” he breathes out going over the pictures one more time. “But I’m gonna have to lock these away so no one finds them. Adam likes to go over my stuff when he is over, I definitely don’t want him to find them.”

“You better keep them safe because if anyone sees them I’m burying myself,” you snort.

Harry puts the stack of photos back into the box before leaning down he cups your face and kisses you gently.

“Thank you, love the pictures. All of them,” he adds cheekily and you feel yourself blushing.

He leans in to kiss you again, putting the box aside to the counter and this time it’s not just one short kiss, he carries it on, taking his time with your lips, savoring and tasting you without a worry in the world. It grows more and more passionate, tongues clashing and you tug at his hair, lacing your fingers through his locks, a moan escaping his pink lips.

You start inching backwards until your backside meets the edge of the counter. Harry doesn’t hesitate to pull your sweater off of you, throwing it behind before his lips are pressed against yours again. It doesn’t take long for his shirt and pants and your jeans to end up on the floor somewhere behind him, leaving you both in just your underwear. You kiss down his neck and collarbones, your lips gliding across his tattooed chest as you slowly slide down to your knees, hands moving over his growing bulge.

Hooking your fingers into the elastic of his boxers, you tug them down and pull his erection out, already so hard for you and you barely even touched him.

“What does my Valentine deserve for making me cupcakes?” you hum, teasingly pumping him a few times with your hands. Harry whimpers under your touch, but doesn’t answer so you stop your hands and look up at him. “Talk to me, what do you want?”

“Your mouth,” he breathes out, his eyes meeting yours, filled with lust and hunger only for you. Smirking to yourself you lick his length up before gently kissing the head, swirling your tongue around the tip before you slowly take him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck, baby!” he pants when you start bobbing your head, pumping the base in sync with your head’s movements.

His hand comes to the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair. He doesn’t force you, he never does, just likes to hold onto you. You try to take him deeper and deeper with each movement until you fit his whole cock into your mouth, keeping it there for a few seconds before pulling away and letting him go.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, helping you up from the floor, kissing your lips hard as he is already pulling your panties down your legs. “How do you want it?”

“From behind,” you tell without hesitation, turning around so you can lean onto the counter and push your ass up for him.

You feel one of his hands stroke down your spine while the other one reaches between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, drawing gentle circles on it at first before he goes a little harder, making you moan his name.

“Harry, please!” you beg, the need to feel him growing with each passing second.

He pulls his hand back, grabbing his hard cock as he lines himself up with you, one hand on his shaft, the other one holding your hip firmly to keep you in place. First he pushes just the tip inside and when he is sure you’re ready to take more, he slides all of him inside, filling you up perfectly.

“Shit, you feel so fucking good. Always so good,” he breathes out, both his hands coming to grip your waist as his hips meet your ass from behind.

He starts moving, going a little soft at the beginning before he gets rougher, his hips smacking against your ass with each thrust. You arch your back and push your ass up so you’re angled just perfectly for him, he runs a hand up your back, sliding it under the clasp of your bra and he leaves it there while fucking you from behind oh so well.

“Harry, oh my God!” you groan when he starts hitting that one spot that makes you go crazy.

“Feeling good, baby?”

“Fuck! So good!” you gasp, feeling the pleasure building up with each thrust. “Go harder!” you beg and once he has both hands on your hips again he does as you asked, railing into you hard, making you keep gasping for air.

“Getting close? Tell me when you’re about to cum, baby.”

“I’m close, please don’t stop!” you pant, hands holding onto the counter’s edge for dear life.

He reaches around you, a hand coming between your legs as his fingers find your clit again, adding to the sensation as he starts playing with it just the way you like it.

“Fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum! Harry!” you moan uncontrollably and he growls deeply from his chest.

“Cum with me, baby. Give it to me,” he breathes out sharply and he just keeps railing you hard, fingers working on your clit until he feels your walls clench around his dick. “Oh fuck, yes, baby! Cum on my cock!” he gasps and at the same time as you go through your orgasm, you feel him twitch inside you, coming hard with you at the same time. “Jesus fuck! I love you, Y/N!”

You gasp at his words, eyes snapping open in the middle of your orgasm and all air pushes out of your lungs for a moment.

He whimpers and moans, thrusting into you a few more times before he comes to a halt, both of you panting like crazy, coming off your high. When he slowly slides his softening cock out of you, you turn around and look into his eyes. For a moment you thought he just said it in the heat of the moment and he didn’t even realize it, but when your eyes meet his, you can tell he is a little afraid of what your reaction is going to be.

“Did you mean that?” you quietly ask as he tucks his dick back into his boxers, pulling them up, but you don’t bother to put your underwear back on, standing there in only your bra.

“I-I did. I didn’t mean to say it now, but I did mean it,” he nods. “Is it… too soon?”

“No,” you smile at him, stepping closer so you can cup his face in your palms, kissing his lips softly. “I love you too.”

“You do?” he asks, surprised at your reaction.

“Of course, silly. I wouldn’t give my nudes to someone I don’t,” you joke making him chuckle, his arms coming to curl around your waist.

“Sorry, this wasn’t too… romantic,” he breathes out and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You said you love me while fucking me on Valentine’s Day after exchanging cute gifts. I think it’s romantic,” you chuckle, finally making him smile. “Besides, I don’t care about the setting, just feels nice to hear you say it.”

“Yeah?” “Mhm, care to say it again so I can see your eyes as well?”

“I love you,” he softly murmurs, his forehead resting against yours.

“Yeah, feels better when I can actually look at you,” you chuckle kissing him softly. “I love you too.”

It’s definitely not just fun and games, being in a secret relationship that no one can know about. It surely adds a lot of tension into the situation, having to be so careful all the time and be reserved to the point where you can’t even be seen too often together.

As the semester carries on you always keep your ears open if there’s anything going on about you and Harry. Though you only limit your time together on campus to the bare minimum, only talking on rare occasions, you still want to make sure no one is getting the wrong (or right) idea about what is going on between the two of you.

The worst part is probably having to lie to Eden and Nat all the time. You spend about three nights at Harry’s every week and you have to lie every time you leave. After a while you tell them that you’re dating this new guy but he wants to keep it low-key because he recently broke up with his previous girlfriend. That gives them enough peace not to nag you all the time but you can tell they really want to meet this new man in your life.

You’ve tried to discuss it with Harry, tell him that they won’t tell anyone but it ended in a fight and you kind of gave up. Harry is way too keen on keeping it a secret and it’s clear he is not gonna make any exceptions. At least it’s the same with his friends, the two of you act like just friends when you’re out with the band though you have a suspicion that Sarah can see through the act. However she chooses not to talk about it so it’s kept hidden.

You don’t fight much with Harry, but when you do, it’s major. You both can get really into the argument and it easily gets way too heated, turning into a screaming match until you both realize you should just talk it out and have a little more understanding for each other. The makeup sex after a fight however… that’s something that makes up for every nasty thing that’s said in the heat of the moment.

Nearing the end of the semester you both start to grow more stressed, you about finishing your last classes, your thesis and studying for your finals, Harry about the growing pile of essays and tests waiting to be graded. A lot of the time when you’re at his place you both are busy with your own stuff and only have the chance to actually be with each other when you go to bed. It takes a toll on the both of you, but you’re determined to make it work. Despite the unfortunate nature of how you are forced to maintain your relationship, it’s the healthiest one you’ve ever head and you definitely won’t give up on it too easily.

Though you, Nat and Eden turn in your thesis works mid-April, the semester is still not done for the three of you, the final exams are threateningly close at this point. Spring has officially kicked in, the weather is mostly clear and sunny, allows you to stay outside again and you take advantage of it.

One particular afternoon the three of you are lounging under the pergola, all three of you buried in a book or your notes when you spot Harry walking towards the building. You keep your eyes on him as he slowly approaches you, his gaze meets yours and he smiles at you shortly. It’s all you can get out in the public, but it’s more than nothing.

“Isn’t it hard to see him?” Eden asks and glancing her way you see that she is looking at Harry who is now busy with his phone.

“Why would it be?”

“I don’t know, you clearly had a thing for him and it wasn’t even just a one-sided flirting like every other women had with him. I couldn’t be around him if it happened to me.”

“It’s not like anything major happened. It was all bad timing and the situation wasn’t good. It’s better this way,” you tell her, trying to sound convincing while the guilt is eating you on the inside. All these lies are clouding over your head and you have a feeling they will come down on you pouring one day.

“Still crazy that you are friends with his friends though,” Nat chimes in, squinting her eyes in the sunshine.

“Yeah, you are literally the only person on campus who gets to see him in his private life,” Eden nods. If only they knew how much you see him privately!

“It’s not that crazy,” you shrug, turning back to your book.

You all get back to work, forgetting about Harry, or at least Nat and Eden does, because you get a text from him shortly after he disappeared in the building.

Harry: You look very pretty today :)

Y/N: Flirting with me on campus, professor?

Harry: Can’t help it.

Y/N: You look handsome too, it’s a shame I can’t kiss you stupid!

Harry: Patience!

 “Y/N? Did you hear what I said?” Nat grabs your attention from the phone and you realize she was talking to you.

“What? Uh, sorry.”

“I said that we should go out this weekend. It’s been ages since we last did anything other than studying.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Don’t come with your usual, rambling about how we shouldn’t have any fun before we finish,” Eden rolls her eyes.

“That’s not what I say. I just think that we have priorities.”

“I don’t know about you, but it’s a priority for me to have fun, so I’m down for a night out.

“I think I’m passing,” you mumble. You already made plans for the weekend with Harry, take a hike up the hills since the weather has been nice and it would be great to spend time together outside the house. The hiking routes are far away enough from town that uni students don’t like to take the hustle to drive all the way out so you’ll be fine being together outside.

“If you want to say that you have something planned with your mystery man, don’t even bother. If it’s not his birthday, we are overruling him,” Eden scoffs and you roll your eyes at her.

“Just go without me.”

“That’s not the same!” Nat whines. “Come on, Y/N. For once choose us!”

“That’s rude I choose you guys a lot of times!”

“Not since you’ve been spending half your life with some man and the other half in the library.”

“Yeah, we feel abandoned!” Nat pouts at you, trying to make you feel bad and in all honesty, she is succeeding.

“We can doll ourselves up, have fancy cocktails and all that, it’s gonna be fun! Come on, just one night! I can’t take another Saturday sitting in my room, reading my notes,” Eden growls and you sigh in defeat.

“Alright, I guess I’m in,” you mumble and your friends start cheering as if you just declared that men and women are going to get paid equally from now on.

You can tell Harry is bummed that you have to cancel your weekend plans, but he is also trying to be understanding.

“I couldn’t bring up a relevant argument so they made me say yes,” you growl when later that day you’re cuddling on his couch after dinner.

“S’fine,” he sighs, leaning down he pecks your lips shortly.

“Wish I could just tell them that I had plans with you,” you breathe out.

“Y/N…” “I know!” you roll your eyes. “It’s just that it would be nice if I could at least tell them the truth.”

“We already talked about this,” he sighs.

“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that it bothers me,” you point out. “Am I not allowed to feel that way?”

“You are, I just don’t get why you keep bringing it up when there’s literally nothing I can do about it,” he retorts.

“Well there is, you just choose not to.” And with that, you officially pick another fight with him.

It’s not that you enjoy fighting with him, not at all, but the situation is so not ideal and you find his overprotectiveness a little too much at times. You don’t understand why you can’t share it with your two closest friends. You could at least tell Sarah or the other guys, have anyone know about the two of you, but literally no one on Earth knows that you are a couple and it’s bugging you way more than it probably should.

“Why are you so damn keen on making others know about us? What does that have to do with anything?” he growls throwing his hands into the air, standing in the opposite end of the room as you keep pacing the floor, the urge to keep on moving taking over you.

“Because—“ you snap, but stop yourself. You know if you say it out loud, he’ll think you’re stupid.

“Because what?!”

“Because i-it makes me feel like we are not even real! I can’t talk about us, I can’t touch you outside of this house, no one knows we are a thing and it’s so fucking nerve-wrecking, Harry!” you break down, feeling your throat closing up. You didn’t mean to get emotional over this, but you’ve been bottling it up for a while now.

Harry’s shoulder fall forward as he sees the change in you, the heat of the fight long forgotten. He crosses the room, hands reaching up to cup your face in his palms, his thumbs running across the soft skin under your eyes as he wipes the tears away.

“Baby, I know. You think I don’t want to show you off? I want to hold your hand and just take a walk with you, kiss you whenever I want to, show all the horny fratboys on campus that you’re taken. I know it’s hard, but we really don’t have a choice until the end of the semester.”

He gently kisses the tip of your nose before pulling you to his chest, your arms circle around his waist as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, trying to stop your sobs.

“I’m sorry. I really wish it was all different,” he murmurs, kissing into your hair softly.

“No, I’m sorry for bitching about this all the time. I knew what we were getting into,” you exhale sharply. “It just… really sucks.”

“It does. But we just have to be patient.”

You manage to put the fight behind and move on in peace, but a tiny thought remains buzzing in the very back of your mind. What happens when you finish school? Will it all be different? Harry will still be a professor and if people see you around together, they will know you were one of his students. What’s gonna be the difference? If he is so on edge now, something is telling you he won’t be changing dramatically and it concerns you. A lot.

Not willingly, but you go out with Nat and Eden on Saturday. You go to a place that’s quite popular between students, you can most likely always find familiar faces from lecture halls and classes. It’s close to campus and more on the cheap side, the perfect spot for uni students for a night of fun.

As expected, you run into some people from school and they invite the three of you to sit with them at their table which comes in handy, because there’s no empty place by the time you arrive.

One drink follows the other and you easily get tipsy especially because you skipped on dinner before heading out. Though you weren’t in the mood for tonight, you find yourself enjoying the conversation and the company. It really has been long since the last time you went out with the girls and it’s nice to spend some time with them without the books and notes.

A debate starts about whose course one of the boys, Jace should take next semester.

“Professor Peltz is fucking boring, dude,” Nat growls, taking a sip from her drink. “Had him last semester, I could barely stay awake during his lectures.”

“Yeah, but they say he gives good grades easily,” Jace argues.

“Okay, but who else can you choose from again?” Lydia, a girl who lived a few doors down from you when you lived in a dormitory your first year.

“Um, Professor Makley and Professor Styles.”

You freeze at the mention of Harry, especially upon hearing Lydia’s reaction.

“Jace, choose Professor Styles! He is so fucking hot!”

“Not that it matters to me, Lyd,” Jace chuckles.

“Oh come on, I know even guys think he is hot.”

You feel like an intruder in the conversation, keeping quiet as you listen to her rave about how hot she finds Harry. It’s like you are eavesdropping on something that wasn’t meant for your ears, but it’s just the guilt bubbling inside you once again, because you know you won’t be able to say a word without having to lie.

“She has a point,” another guy, Garrett chimes into the conversation. “The man is handsome and I’m not even ashamed to admit it.”

“See?” Lydia chuckles. “He is sexy and smart, the whole package. I’ve been daydreaming about him since first year.”

You catch Eden’s look, but you just busy yourself with gulping from your vodka cranberry, feeling uncomfortable in the situation but not even for the reason she thinks. Eden must think it’s weird because you had an actual thing with Harry, but the truth is… that thing is still very much ongoing.

“I would let that man do whatever he wants with me,” Lydia adds sighing longingly, and you are having a hard time to hold your tongue. Unfortunately, you don’t succeed.

“Not sure he wants anything to do with you,” you mumble into your drink and though you hoped your comment would stay unnoticed, but you are out of luck.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Lydia slyly replies, a bit too full of herself for your liking. Yes, she is pretty and definitely doesn’t have problem with guys, but she is a little too confident about Harry if you’re being honest.

“I’m sorry?” you ask with a soft, bit annoyed chuckle.

“I’m just saying that we’ll never know who he finds attractive, because we all know he keeps himself so far from his students.”

“Yeah, maybe because he is not interested in any of his students,” you point out.

“As if he would ever make a move on any of us,” she snorts and you are losing your temper. You shouldn’t have had so much to drink, because now you really can’t hold your tongue.

“You can never know, Lydia. You can’t know if he acts the way he does because he is just trying to be professional or because he is, and consider this, not interested in you. Maybe he would actually act up on his feelings but you’re just not his type.”

Your comment is more like just a harsh comeback to Lydia’s words, but Nat and Eden kind of catch on that something is up with you. Ignoring their questioning looks you chug down your drink and soon excuse yourself to get some fresh air. No surprise that they follow you like puppies.

“Girl, what was that inside?” Nat asks as the three of you stand near the entrance of the bar, a few smoking guests littering the area.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you mumble, clearly avoiding to look at any of them, wrapping your arms around your upper body as if you were trying to keep your shit together physically.

“You snapped at Lydia for saying Professor Styles might have a thing for her,” Eden points out, but you just bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Because it was bullshit.”

“Why does that matter to you? Not that you’re together with him or something,” Nat argues and you roll your lips into your mouth, trying to keep a straight face but they know you way better than that. They gasp at the same time, Eden grabbing your forearm forcefully that makes you scowl.

“Hey! That hurts!” you whine, but she couldn’t care less.

“Are you fucking around with Professor Styles?” Nat whisper yells at you, eyes wider than ever.

“I mean… we’re not fucking around,” you mumble, looking down at your shoes as you kick the dirt around. “We’re kinda serious.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Eden snaps, drawing some attention at her and you let out an awkward chuckle at the glances the three of you get. “Are you fucking joking right now?”

“No, I am… not,” you admit, feeling a little relieved that you finally said it, but you also feel like you let Harry down with it.

“How long?” Nat questions in shock.

“Since New Year’s Eve. So… almost four months.”

“So he is the one you’ve been seeing all this time? The guy you didn’t want to talk about?”

“Um, yeah. It’s not that I didn’t want to talk about him, we just agreed that it’s safer if no one knows.”

“I’m speechless, Y/N,” Eden shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t fucking believe you kept it from us for this long!”

“I know, I felt so shitty, but it’s such a complicated situation, it’s so risky, we don’t want it to ruin us.”

“Obviously,” Nat nods understandingly. “And now I see why you snapped so harshly at Lydia.”

“I just couldn’t stand her talking like that. You guys have no idea how hard it is to keep every fucking thought to myself.”

“Why do I have a feeling it has a little more to it than to just Lydia drooling over Harry?” Nat arches an eyebrow at you, folding her arms over her chest.

“Yeah, you’ve been oddly tensed lately,” Eden agrees.

“It’s just pretty stressful to have a secret relationship, it causes a lot of tension. And I’ve been… I’m not sure anything is going to change after I graduate, if I’m being honest.”

“What do you mean?” Nat asks.

“I just…” you sigh, all your thoughts you kept to yourself flooding back to you at once, overwhelming you in a situation that’s already a bit too much to handle. “We keep saying that it’s gonna change when I graduate, but I don’t see it. He is so overprotective and even if I graduate, people will find out that I was once his student. And it might not be against the rules anymore, but we’ll be judged. I didn’t think it through before, but it’s now starting to be more and more clear for me and I just… don’t know if we can make it work.”

You feel the tears forming in your eyes, you’ve been keeping this to yourself for way too long now and saying it out loud just broke the dam. When Nat and Eden sees your lips trembling and the watery eyes you’re trying to blink away, they don’t hesitate to pull you into a tight hug.

“Aw, don’t cry! It makes me want to cry too!” Nat chuckles softly as they sandwich you between them.

“It just sucks so much, because I love him, but I feel like we met at the wrong time and place,” you sob, letting them crush you.

“It happens, baby. It happens. You’ll figure it out!” Eden kisses your forehead before they let go of you. “Want to go home?”

“It’s still early, don’t want to kill the party. I think I’ll just… head over to Harry’s for now. Is that okay?”

“Of course, do whatever makes you feel better,” Nat assures you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry I was such a party pooper.”

You call yourself an Uber and text Harry that you are going over. Twenty minutes later you are walking up the stairs to his house and he opens the front door before you could even reach for the doorknob.

“Hey, baby,” he breathes out softly and you don’t say a word, just wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “Hey, what happened? Didn’t have a good time with your friends?” He delicately caresses your hair, walking the two of you inside so he can close the door before wrapping both his arms around you, holding you close to his chest.

“Don’t really want to talk about it,” you mumble and it’s the truth. You’re tired of these thoughts though you know you should talk to him about how you’ve been feeling about the two of you lately. Part of you is hoping something will just magically solve the whole situation and you won’t have to deal with it yourself.

Harry makes you a tea while you take a shower and once you are both in bed, you cuddle to his side while he reads some. You are just genuinely enjoying his closeness, because despite everything that’s been haunting you in connection with Harry, you really love this man. Like no one else before and the possibility of the two of you not making it long term scares you more than it probably should.

The next few weeks come and go in a sense of numbness. Following your emotional breakdown in front of the bar, you kind of push the whole thing to the back of your mind once again, putting all your focus on finishing school. Neither you nor Harry has the energy to put up more fights though you both can feel there’s a lot to talk about, but the end of the semester is just keeping you both way too busy to acknowledge the problems waiting on the corner.

At least there’s one less weight on your shoulders now that Nat and Eden know about you and Harry. You made them swear to their life they won’t tell anyone and you trust them to keep this heavy secret. They’ve been very supportive of the two of you, interrogated you one evening about everything that happened so far, they wanted to make sure Harry treats you the right way. No surprise, he does.

A few weeks before your state exam Harry extends his contract with the school to have him as a professor for another academic year so he is able to keep his visa as well.

You spend your last two weeks buried in your notes before your state exam and Harry gives you all the time and space you need, knowing well how much it means to you to earn the best grade possible.

When you are finally over your exam, you are celebrating at his place. He has bought a little cake and some champagne and you can’t wait to finally spend some time with him without having to worry about your studies.

“I’m proud of you, baby,” he smiles at you, clinking his glass against yours.

“Thank you, feels nice to be finally free,” you chuckle before taking a sip from the champagne.

“My smart girl, knew you’d kill all your exams.” He kisses your lips shortly before squeezing your hand. “How about I run a bath for us, we eat the cake in the tub and then we can watch a movie?”

“Sounds fantastic,” you smile at him before he disappears in the bathroom to get everything ready.

Finishing your champagne you wash the glass quickly and you’re about to cut the cake when your phone buzzes signaling that you’ve just gotten an email. As pull down the notification bar your lips part reading the first few lines. You open the whole thing and read through it eagerly.

It’s a job offer, but not just some lame one that also sounds sketchy at the same time. This one is from one of the biggest investigation offices in London and they are offering you a trainee position as a forensic document examiner with a possible secured spot on their team after one year. The money sounds amazing, the position is perfect, just what you’ve been dreaming of once you are done with school and they are looking forward to hear back from you about a possible interview in the near future.

“Alright, bath is coming together nicely, want to cut the ca—Wha’s up?” Harry questions upon returning from the bathroom, finding you staring at your phone’s screen with widened eyes.

“I, uhh—I just got a… a job offer,” you stutter, still rereading the lines, trying to find a sign that tells you it’s just a joke, but it seems completely genuine.

“What? Baby, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah,” you nod swallowing hard before you look up at him. “It’s in London.”

You watch his face fall from excited and happy to shocked and kind of panicky. You both know what that means, it doesn’t have to be said out loud. Harry just signed another year with the university that’s gonna tie him here for the next 12 months and if you accept the job you’ll be all the way across the world in the UK. Kind of ironic, him, the British guy stuck in the States while you, the American in the relationship, eager to go to the UK.

“That’s… wow. London.”

“Yeah, London,” you nod biting the inside of your cheeks.

“Are you… Are you gonna take it?”

“Well, they want an interview with me, but this is clearly a huge opportunity for me,” you say, not wanting to say the actual words. You feel like saying them would hit you harder than what you can take.

“It clearly is, it’s just that… You want to leave?” he breathes out, eyebrows knitting together.

“This is my only job offer and probably the best I’ll ever get.”

“So you do want to leave,” he forces and it’s pushing your limits.

“Career-wise, of course!” you finally say out loud, unwillingly.

“And what about everything else?”

“I clearly don’t want to leave everything else here, but I will never get a chance like this, Harry. This is the greatest push for someone like me, fresh out of school. I can have a secured spot in a year at a well-respected place. I’m not really in the position to reject offers like this.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure about what to do or say in the situation on his hand. You can tell he has a lot to say, but you’re not sure you want to hear all of them.

“Say something?” you softly plead and his eyes meet yours again, filled with concern.

“I just… It took me by surprise, I guess.”

“I wasn’t expecting it either.”

“No, not the job offer,” he shakes his head.

“Then what?”

“That you are ready to leave so easily. It’s like you never even wanted to discuss a version where you stay here, you just decided that you are leaving and that’s it.”

“Did you hear me? I cannot pass on this opportunity, Harry.”

“I did hear you,” he nods, pressing his lips together. “I heard that you didn’t even think about saying no.”

“Why would I say no?”

“Because I’m here, Y/N!” he snaps. “Good to know that I’m not a factor when it comes to decisions as big as leaving the country!”

“You are, Harry, but I need to think about my future career now. I’m not planning to work at an office for the rest of my life and if I pass on this job I might never get anything as good as this one,” you explain, but it seems like the two of you are having two different conversations.

“But why do I feel like it was never an option for you to stay?”

You give him a confused look. He really doesn’t see your point.

“Okay, why was only I supposed to change plans for us? You coming to London doesn’t feel like an option either, why are you trying to turn this against me?”

“I just extended my contract, you know that.”

“I do, and also, while we are at it, you didn’t ask me about that either. You didn’t even wait for me to figure out what I want to do after school, you just assumed that I would be here, but I never said that.” You can tell it hit him hard in the chest but somehow still, he thinks he is right when he isn’t.

“How could have I known you’d want to move across the globe?” he throws his hands up into the air.

“You’re saying this as if I didn’t just get the email and I’ve been plotting this the whole fucking time!”

“I’m just saying that it’s a huge fucking step and you decided so easily, it says a lot about the nature of our relationship.”

“Why are you saying that?!” you snap at him. “Why are you trying to make me the bad guy?”

“I’m not! I’m just saying that it would have been nice if you at least pretended like it was up for debate. You know what it’ll do to us if you move to London.”

“Then come with me!”

“I can’t!” He raises his voice, clearly losing his temper. “I can’t break my contract and you know that too.”

“Well, I can’t afford to say no to the job either and if I’m being honest, I don’t think we could have made it work even if I stayed.” The words leave your mouth before you could think about them, and the cat is finally out of the bag. It seemingly shocked Harry and he is now staring at you with a blank expression, shoulders falling forward.

“What?” he breathes out and you can actually hear his heart breaking. You take a deep breath and rub your face with your palms, trying to collect your thoughts and not just blurt everything out.

“I’ve been thinking and… Even after I’m officially out of the school, people will know that I was your student if they see us together. And I know how important your reputation is for you so I would never put you through any of the shit we might get for us being together. People would judge, no matter what the situation is. I don’t… I just don’t think we can ever make it work here.”

He stays silent, just stares at you, taking in your words and once again, you wish you could read his mind. You almost start begging him to say something when he finally speaks up.

“So you think we don’t have a chance?”

“Not here… maybe not now. I feel like this has been the perfect example of wrong place, wrong time,” you quietly say, a pang of guilt in your tone, this is not how you planned on making this conversation. To be honest, you wished this never had to come, but you were out of luck.

Harry is awfully silent, it’s all over his face how broken he is and you feel the same. You have so much love for this man, yet fate decided you don’t get to share it with him the way you want.

Walking closer you cup his face in your palms, searching for his eyes until his green irises meet your gaze. You run your thumb across his cheekbones, the pads of your fingers gliding softly over the soft skin. His hands slowly find their way to your waist and he pulls you close to him as you kiss him tenderly, a silent confession about just how much you love him.

“I wanted this to work. I wanted this so badly,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers digging into your back as he keeps you tight in his hold.

“I know. Me too,” you smile at him bitterly.

The rest of the evening passes by silently. You take a bath together, finish the cake anyway though even the sweetness can’t help the pain you both feel. Then you lie in bed for hours, just touching and feeling each other, making the best out of the time you have left. It’s unsaid, but you both know your days together are coming to a close end. Kisses and touches turn into some passionate love making, both of you desperate to feel as close to each other as possible and then you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

If you’re being honest, it’s all a blur following that night. You fix up an interview with London a few days later and they are not shying out of telling you straightforward that they want you there, the job is yours. You have one last short conversation with Harry about you leaving, but it’s more like just a confirmation that yes, it is going to happen and that leaves you with only a few weeks left together before you are packing up to leave the country.

You spend every possible free minute together until graduation where you finally get your degree. Your whole family comes and they cheer on you proudly, Harry standing in the crowd a little farther in the back, but still with a proud smile, a hint of gloominess in his beautiful green eyes. A week later you officially move out of your shared apartment with the girls, it’s a sobbing goodbye since all three of you are leaving in different directions following your graduation. You spend your last two weeks before your departure at home, spending as much time with your family as possible since you won’t be able to see them too often once you leave. Though your mom is dying to take you to the airport to say her final goodbye, you decided to give that time to Harry. He said he would drive to your hometown, pick you up and take you to the airport and you already know it’s gonna turn you into an emotional mess.

Leaving everything behind is hard, but having to say goodbye to Harry is the worst. It’s been a whole emotional rollercoaster for the both of you to get to this point and neither of you are ready to say goodbye, but this is what needs to happen.

That morning, you hug your parents, sister and brother tightly after you load Harry’s car with your two huge suitcases that have your whole life packed in them. You asked your family not to ask any questions about Harry and luckily, they kept quiet the whole time he was there, just treating him as a friend. You couldn’t take having to explain to them who he really is and how you met him, that’s gonna be another conversation for the future when you don’t feel like you’re about to start crying the moment you open your mouth.

The ride to the airport is silent, Harry holds your hand, your glued together palms lying on your lap the whole time. You haven’t even left but you already miss him so much.

Arriving he helps you bring all your stuff inside and patiently waits until you check your baggage in, leaving you with just your carry-on. Standing near the security check, the final moment finally comes and as soon as you look into his eyes you start bawling your eyes out.

“Oh baby, come ‘ere,” he breathes out, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I told you we would make everything right, but I couldn’t,” you sob into his chest as he holds you tight. You feel like if he let go of you, you’d just turn into a puddle at his feet.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he soothes you, his fingers threading through your hair.

“But it feels like it was,” you choke out. Harry leans back and takes your puffy cheeks between his warm palms, looking deep into your eyes.

“It wasn’t. As you said, it was just a matter of wrong time and place. But I think we brought the best out of it.”

“So… you don’t regret it?” you softly ask, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Absolutely not,” he smiles at you kindly. “I loved every moment of it. And I love you.” You notice how he didn’t use past tense when he said he loves you and you can’t decide if it aches your heart more or fills you with joy. A little bit both of them.

“I love you too,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his, savoring them one last time before you leave everything behind.

“Maybe we’ll meet again,” he smiles sweetly when he pulls back, tugging your hair behind your ear with a gentle move.

“I really hope,” you chuckle through your tears. “Take care, Harry,” you tell him, pecking his lips just once more.

“You too, baby,” he smiles, his hands falling to his sides as he lets go of you.

Turning around you walk into security and as you go with the line towards the gates, you glance back one last time. Harry is standing in the exact same spot, eyes glued to you as he watches you disappear from his sight.

It feels like the meeting is never coming to its end. You exchange a look with Jasmine, who seems just as tired and done with this two hours long discussion as you are. She grabs her phone from the table and you watch her something type out before she eyes at your device, signaling that she just texted you.

Jas: I need alcohol after this day. Want to have a drink with me after work?

Y/N: YES PLEASE!!!!!!!

You see her smile at her screen before both of you return to your boss at the front, talking about a possible upcoming case.

“And last but not least, I want to take a moment to bring light to the excellent work Y/N, our new full-time colleague did on the Santiago case. The police were highly satisfied with the fast and precise work you did. This was your first official case since you’ve decided to accept our offer to become a full member of our team and transferred from your position as a trainee. Congrats!” William, your boss nods in your way with a proud smile as a round of applause cheers for you from your colleagues.

“You go girl!” Jasmine mouths you from across the table and you just chuckle shaking your head.

The meeting finally wraps up and everyone goes on with their day. You are walking back to your office with Jasmine by your side. Your offices are next to each other and you started working here just three weeks apart. She is the same age as you and was approached the same way as well, it’s just that she moved all the way from Australia. The two of you have grown quite close, starting a new life at the same time in a foreign country, it easily brought you together.

“So are we leaving early for those drinks or what?” she asks poking your side.

“How early?”

“I don’t know, like fifteen minutes? Come on, it’s Friday, everyone leaves early!” You shake your head chuckling at her. She can be so restless sometimes, but it’s just the right amount that she can push you out of the comfort zone just enough.

“Alright.”

“Cool, I’ll come banging on your door,” she winks at you before disappearing for her usual coffee break.

It’s two in the afternoon, you still have a few hours ahead of you and some caffeine sounds perfect actually. Though the coffee at the office is excellent, you’ve grown to like this small place nearby, a family owned business that offers the best you’ve ever had.

You grab your bag from your office and head out for a quick coffee run. The walk to the café is freshening, the weather has been treating you well lately, the Sun is beaming and you can only hope you won’t wake up to pouring rain the next morning.

You think back to how lost you were feeling just a year ago, when all of this around you were so new and a little too much at once. One month into your time in London you even thought about quitting and moving back home. You felt alone and broken, yearning after everything you left behind. Your friends, family, loved ones, everything that was so far away from you.

It took you long weeks, even months to get used to your new life and now you can’t even imagine yourself anywhere else. It doesn’t miss you don’t miss terribly the life you had still, but now you have a lot to be happy about here as well.

Waiting at a crossroad, you find yourself twirling around the strawberry ring on your finger, your thumb fidgeting with it like every time you think about your home. You glance down at it and take a deep breath before the lamp turns green and you continue your walk to the café.

It’s not rush hours so there are only a few people lingering around the small place. You don’t have to think about what you are getting, James, the barista already knows your usual and starts making it right away as you swipe your card paying your drink.

You stand at the side, waiting for your coffee, staring out the window, watching people pass by on this lovely afternoon. Your gaze stops on an old lady sitting on a nearby bench, feeding a group of pigeons and you smile as a little girl runs through the birds, making them fly away instantly. The old lady just smiles at the girl, not holding a grudge that she just scared the birds away.

Your eyes move away, watching businessmen come and go, kids going home from school, wearing their school uniforms, everything just feels so… peaceful.

You are almost about to turn away from the window when your gaze falls on a tall figure near the Sainsbury’s across the road and your lips part as you catch a glimpse of a tattooed arm you know all too well. You blink once, twice, three times, waiting for your eyes to make sure it’s the person you think it is.

Harry is standing right there, holding a little bag of groceries, eyes glued to the screen of his phone, oblivious to your shocked gaze on him. Your feet move before your brain could think it through, they take you out of the café and you stand in the middle of the sidewalk as you call out for him.

“Harry!”

His head snaps up at his name, eyes looking around, searching for the source before they finally find you, a shocked, but seemingly joyful expression plastering over his handsome face. He is quick to shove his phone into his pocket before he watches both ways and runs across the road to meet you on the other side. You can’t push your smile down as you watch him approach you, his tall, fit figure getting closer and closer until he is standing right in front of you, watching you in awe.

“Hey,” he breathes out, both of you a little unsure of what to do, how to greet each other.

It’s been months since you last talked. After your departure you kept in contact, you couldn’t just distance yourself from him so abruptly, but the thousands of miles between the two of you made it almost impossible to maintain a working connection, the time zones, all the work you both were buried under and just life itself made you drift away from each other.

But he is now standing in front of you and though he looks slightly different, he is still the Harry you know and love. He is your Harry.

“What… what are you doing here?” you ask, finally finding your voice.

“Did you forget I’m British?” you teases you and you roll your eyes.

“I mean, are you visiting family or something?”

“I uhh…” he glances down at his feet before his eyes meet yours again. “I’m actually back.”

“What do you mean?”

“My contract ended in July and I didn’t… I didn’t extend it. I came back a few weeks ago.”

Your lips part at the information. Harry is in London, he is now in the same city as you, for the first time in a whole year.

“Really? That’s… wow.” There’s too much you want to tell and ask him, yet you stand there, blinking at him, still lost in the feeling of seeing him for the first time again.

“I actually wanted to contact you when I got back, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that,” he admits with a nervous chuckle and your eyes soften over him.

“What do you mean? I would have loved it if you called.”

“It’s just that we haven’t talked in a while and I didn’t know… I didn’t know where you’re standing about me.”

“Well, seems like fate did it for you,” you smile at him warmly. “I would love to catch up. I have to head back to work now, but maybe later?”

“What about after work? When are you getting off?”

“I finish at 5.”

“I can meet you at your work if you text me the address.”

“That would be great,” you nod smiling. “My number is still the same, so you’ll know it’s me.”

“Great,” he nods, the corners of his mouth curling up in a boyish smirk. You are just now realizing how much you’ve missed him.

“I, um…” You’re trying to find the right words, still feeling overwhelmed about the sudden run-in, but at last you decide to go for a hug.

Your arms wrap around his waist, he hesitates for a moment before wrapping you in his tight embrace, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. A shiver runs down your spine as the sense of home washes over you all at once, the warmth of Harry’s body making your heart flutter. Unfortunately, the moment must come to an end. His arms fall from around you, just like they did at the airport when you said goodbye to each other over a year ago.

“I’ll… see you later then,” he smiles as you are backing towards the entrance of the café.

“Yeah, later,” you nod and turning around you walk inside.

Arriving back to the office you drop by Jasmine’s office to tell her that you have to postpone your plans after work.

“What is more important than getting drunk with me?” she gasps dramatically.

“I ran into… I met Harry,” you tell her. You told her all about Harry one evening when you were out, just a few months into your stay. It was one of those days when you were feeling extremely homesick, or maybe you just missed him terribly.

“What? Your professor ex?” she asks with widened eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you are forgiven. Go and get the man back!”

“What?” you chuckle. “We just met after a year, how do you know I want him back? Maybe I just want to catch up with him,” you say, but it’s an obvious and blatant lie and you both know that. Jasmine gives you a look.

“Please, you are still so obviously in love with the man, don’t even try to convince me otherwise.”

You don’t protest, just bite into your bottom lip. You really are in love with him, or the version you knew a year ago. He could be an entirely different person now so you can’t be sure if your feelings are the same about the man you met today.

“Have fun with him and then tell me all about it after, okay?” she beams and you just nod, leaving her to finish her work.

As time is slowly passing by you find yourself growing nervous about seeing Harry. That short little conversation on the street was not enough to calm your nerves. What is he like now? Is he the same? Does he have new hobbies? Is he as happy to see you as you are to see him? What will he think of you? What if he doesn’t like you after all this time?

You try to push the questions to the back of your mind, not wanting to overwhelm yourself too much to the point where you chicken out of seeing him. When you’re on your way down following his text that he is waiting for you in front of the building, you are trying to keep yourself together and remind yourself that it’s just Harry, he might be a little different, but he is still kind of the same.

Luckily, the moment you spot him waiting a few feet away from the entrance, you forget about everything else, he is the only one to exist. He envelopes you in a hug when you arrive, smiling at you warmly.

“Hi, ready to go?” he kindly asks and you nod.

You settle for a nearby bar you’ve actually been to with Jasmine before. Harry insists on paying for the first round of drinks as the two of you settle in a secluded booth at the back. When he is standing at the bar you catch yourself watching him in awe. The situation is quite odd, could have never happened probably back home, the two of you casually out for a drink.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks upon returning, sitting across you.

“I was just thinking how this is the first time we are out, just the two of us.”

Harry smiles softly, probably appreciating it just the same.

The next couple of hours you both try to share anything and everything that has happened in the past year. He tells you about his last year as a professor and him not extending his contact. Coming back to London he has joined a research group for a marketing company, using his excellent knowledge to analyze human behavior in connection with different type of ads.

“It’s a lot different from being a college professor ain’t it?” you tease him and he nods chuckling.

“Guess I wanted some change. But it’s been nice, I enjoy doing a lot of research and experiments.”

Then you tell him about your time as a forensic document examiner, all the different cases you worked on and how it has been, living in London on your own. He listens to your tales about everything you’ve done with Jasmine, the concerts and karaoke bars you’ve been to and just generally your life overseas.

“Sounds like you’ve found your place, then,” he says smiling softly.

“I guess. Wasn’t an easy transition, but I’m feeling good now,” you nod. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss my past,” you add.

His eyes wander down to your hands that are fidgeting with your almost empty glass. You see how they stop over the ring and he seems surprised as he reaches out, takes your hand in his and runs his thumb over the little strawberries.

“You’re still wearing the ring,” he states.

“Of course,” you smile and when he is about to let go of your hand, you grab it and hold it, needing to feel his touch.

You wanted to run back home so many times because you were missing him too badly, missed his voice, his eyes, his touch, everything and now, out of nowhere, he is here with you again, far away from the place where it all started and had to end for a while, still making you feel like home, no matter where you are.

At one point, you move to sit beside him in the booth. You just keep sharing and sharing even things you’ve talked about on the phone before. You’re just soaking each other in. His arm soon moves around your shoulders and you gladly lean into his side, placing a hand to his thigh, sparkles running through your body.

“I love this,” you hum to yourself upon finishing your last drink.

“Love what?”

“Being out with you without a worry. I always dreamt of this and it’s just… so natural. I wish we got to experience it before.”

“As you said, that was a wrong time and place. Wasn’t our fault.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his curious green irises as he smiles down at you kindly. You’ve missed that smile, it still makes your heart skip a beat, just like at the beginning.

“And do you think it’s the right time and place now?” you prompt the question.

“It’s definitely… better,” he chuckles softly. “Unless you are seeing someone, because now would be the best time to tell me.”

“I’m not,” you shake your head smirking. “Tried to go on dates, but truth is… none of them were you. I gave up after a few terrible attempts.”

“I didn’t even try,” he shyly smiles. “I just… knew no one would make me as happy as you did. As you always do.”

Pushing yourself up a bit, you rest your forehead against his as he closes his eyes, his arm around your shoulder tightens and his other hand rests on your thigh, pulling you closer. Your palm slides up his chest and neck until you’re cupping his cheek. You place a soft lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, testing the waters out, seeing how he reacts though nothing that happened tonight tells you he wants to keep his distance.

He moves his face, nose nudging against you before his lips find yours in a kiss you’ve been longing for since you left him behind at the airport over a year ago. Your fingers lace through his hair, pulling him towards you as if he could escape from your hold any moment, but he is definitely here to stay. Your lips clash again and again, savoring each other, eagerly trying to make up for the time you lost since your departure. You melt into his arms, moving your legs across his lap as he pulls you to his lap in the booth, partially hidden from the rest of the bar, wrapped up in your little bubble. He tastes like home, his kisses feel like the first warm rays of sunshine after a long and cold winter, the only thing you couldn’t really get yourself over this whole year. Because you’ve become good at pushing your feelings down to the point where you could easily carry on, but he was always in the corner of your mind, making you wonder if you’ll ever meet again and if you do, will it be the same as before?

It’s not, because it’s better. The burdens and banters that tied you both down a year ago are now long gone, you have all the time and space in the world, nothing is restricting you. You can touch him and kiss him whenever and wherever you want. There’s no more sneaking around, no one here knows who you are and who Harry used to me to you. Here, you’re just another lovesick couple, so into each other it’s almost insane.

When he pulls back his forehead stays rested against yours as you both are trying to catch your breath. His hand runs up and down your thigh, the warmth of his palm melting your body under his soft touch.

“I love you,” he breathes out, eyes meeting yours.

“You still do?” you ask with a small smile, heart beating in your throat.

“I never stopped loving you,” he admits and you let out a shaky breath, pulling him down for a short kiss.

“Not even when I was an ocean away from you?”

“No,” he chuckles shaking his head. “If that’s possible, I loved you even more when you were away. I realized how much you mean to me and I could only hope you weren’t moving on without me.”

“I could never,” you smile at him softly. “I love you too much to do that.”

“You have no idea how much I missed you say that,” he breathes out with a soft chuckle and you kiss his lips shortly, assuring him that you feel the same way. “So… are we going to try again?”

“Do you want to?”

“There’s nothing I want more, baby,” he truthfully admits, his gaze softening at you as he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” you smile at him widely. “I think it’s settled.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[ddosie]

# 2 and soobin for the prompt please!

you wouldn't say you were the sentimental type.

things came and went. kids grew into adults. that was just how life was. people grew apart, sometimes closer, and it was all expected.

you just never thought you would have to face it yourself.

it was a problem that you had only read about in story books. the handmaiden watches the price she fell in love with get married. she moves on. the king lets go of the memories of his favorite knight. he moves on. the queen loses her son, her only son. she moved on.

they all moved on. so why couldn't you?

"class! class! let's start this school year by introducing ourselves! i'll go first. my name is ms. hilton, and i'm your english teacher for this year! i've worked at this school for a long time now, and i can't wait to teach all of you kids!

okay, now that i've done my introduction, shall we go along the classroom and introduce ourselves? starting from you sir, yes you with the white and black sneakers. please start by telling us your name and a fun fact about yourself."

you watched as the said boy stood up, pushing his hair back with his hand.

"uh... hi everyone, i'm soobin, and one fun fact about me is i went to Europe this year."

as the next person got up to introduce themselves, you found yourself staring at him.

jeez, he was tall for a middle schooler.

the sun is filtering through the blinds in your room, and rays of light are being painted across the walls. everything is a golden color, from the desk to the bedside.

"so... what topic are we choosing for this project?" you watched through the lens of your glasses as soobin furrowed his brow.

"do you think, maybe aristotle?" you nodded your head eagerly, so soobin stood up and walked over to the teachers desk. a second later he sent you a thumbs up.

"aristotle it is."

you twirled your pen in your fingers as soobin took a seat. "hey do you want to work on the project with me over the weekend? i know a really good café...?"

there was a small smile on your face, and you nodded.

"yeah sure, what time?"

you got up from your chair, grabbing a camera. in this lighting, the room was just too pretty to not take a picture of.

"y/n, for someone of that height, there is no reason you should be walking that fast."

you sent a small smile to the long-legged boy trying to catch up with you in the hallway.

"if you don't want to be late to class bin, you're going to have to put those legs to work."

you let soobin catch up with you, and you slowed down your pace from thereon so the two of you could walk side by side. soobin pointed at the trophy shelf.

"do you think we'll win this year too? i hope we do, yeonjun promised a party at his house if we get placed first."

you gave soobin a reassuring pat on his arm.

"you'll be finneee... if you win, i'll take you out to icecream after."

the boy turned to look at you, a smile creeping into his eyes.

"really?"

"really."

fiddling around with the camera, you brushed the light dust that had collected on the top off. you watched as the particles were swept away, dancing in the dying sunlight.

"we should do this every year."

you turned to look at soobin lying next to you, ice-cream sandwhich in one hand, while the other was tucked behind him, supporting his head. he was looking above, admiring the night sky.

"you mean climb some random apartment stairs to get to rooftops? and risk our lives every season game to see a different view of the city at night?"

soobin let out a small laugh. "yeah, well when you put it that way, it does sound bad." you smiled, lying down with your own ice-cream sandwich, propping an arm under your head.

"...i meant the icecream tradition. you'll be there for my next season game, right?"

now it was your turn to admire the night sky.

"of course. i wouldn't miss it for the world"

grabbing a tissue, you went to work at the camera, cleaning dust from all crevices and corners of the lenses. you were surprised. when was the last time you had even taken a photo on this thing?

"hey bin, what's up?"

grabbing your phone and placing it on your desk, you made yourself comfortable, ready for any facetime tea he would spill.

"ah, y/n..." you watched as he ran a hand through his hair from the other side of the screen. "i don't think... i don't think i'll be able to make it to your birthday this year."

there was a quiet silence. you felt like you'd been punched in the gut.

"if i can ask, um, why?" you fiddled with the hem of your hoodie, waiting for an answer.

"the schedules for the basketball game lineups just came out, and the final season game is happening on your birthday. i just wanted to tell you in case we do win that far and i won't be able to come."

you decided to smile at the way soobin had said just in case they win. the two of you were in your sophomore year, and he hadn't lost a game since middle school.

"yeah, don't worry about it soob. we can still get icecream after."

you felt a turn in your stomach when the boy gave you a relived smile, running a hand through his hair again.

"that's all i wanted to say, i've got to go now"

"hm? why?"

"chem tutoring. these freshman are horrible at science."

adjusting the camera, you zoomed in on random objects in your room. the bookshelf. your water bottle. the lamp. click. click. click.

“did you hear? that senior yeonjun will be throwing a bigger party than last year! are you going y/n?”

you shrugged. “when is it?”

“I think it‘ll be this saturday.”

"can’t. I’ll be out of town”

"for what?

“college. I sent an early application, and one of them reached out and wants me to tour the campus. if i go, I’ll have a guaranteed spot next year, and I probably won’t have to apply to any others.”

your friend let out a low whistle and patted your head.

"well when you put it like that, I guess you really can’t go… but maybe we could get something after the game? i heard the ice cream place was still open”

just like that, a mere sentence felt like a silent punch to the gut.

you looked away from your friends face, scanning the cafeteria unknowingly. you were met with the view of a senior tussling soobin's hair, an arm slung across his neck. you could hear their loud conversation even from where you were sitting.

"you coming to my house after the game? me and the guys we're planning to get some icecream and stay over at my house for the night."

you thought you saw something flash in soobins eye's before he smiled, nodding in agreement.

abruptly standing up, you tossed an apology to your friend about how you wouldn't be able to make it and you had just remembered you had some important emails to send. you didn't want to be around when the words of confirmation came out of his mouth itself.

so much for a flash. the last time you had icecream with him was two years ago.

adjusting the lens once more, you caught your eye on a ticket stuck between two books on your desk. you slowly pulled it out. it was blue and grey, your school colors. there was a hole punched on the bottom, indicating it was used.

"and it's the last two minutes of the game, and hybe high is in the lead! if they can make this basket, it will guarantee a regional win for the school. oh! there goes hyunjin... passing to donghyuck who... also just passed to eric who, jeez, passed to soobin...! look at that! look at that!! we are in the last minute everyone, and if captain of hybe high makes this basket, like i said they will be the regional winners!!"

you let the sound of the announcer wash over you, leaning forward in your seat to watch the game.

for some reason you kept coming back. to this gym. to the basketball games.

to soobin.

it had been over a year since the two of you had really talked, the last icecream run being well over three years ago (a promise to go before your birthday was conveniently broken), and the last facetime was to ask for calculus answers.

you knew that you had faded out of the life of the star basketball player.

you just couldn't accept it.

"and soobin gets closer to the rim... oh! it looks like taehyun from bighit acadmy is a pretty good blocker... anyways look at him go! we have twenty second left, and even if he doesn't score hybe is still in for a win... okay, okAY?? WAIT WHAT!! WHAT!!"

there's a loud screech of the intercom that mixes with the cheers of the crowd. you found yourself on your feet, fists pumping in the air in celebration alongside the students in the bleachers despite yourself.

"AND CHOI SOOBIN SECURES THE PLACE OF HYBE HIGH IN DISTRICT REGIONALS!! ONCE AGAIN THE ACE HAS TOPPED EVERYONE AND BRANG HIS TEAM TO VICTORY!!"

you held the ticket tenderly. on the backside was stamped senior, a marker that counted as a discount for the upperclassmen that wanted to watch the game. flipping it over again, you felt a wave of something hit your stomach as you took in the grey and blue.

"hey y/n, wait up!"

you whipped around at the sound of an all too familiar voice.

there, stood soobin, in all his six foot and one inch glory.

"you.." he panted, hands on his knees as if he had run a million miles. "you walk too fast. what's the rush? you were cheering for me so loudly."

there was that feeling again. of being punched in the gut. by that invisible hand that seemed to favor your stomach whenever soobin was around.

"ah, you know... just getting home."

you tried not to stare too long. soobin had grown, matured. the baby face he donned as a middle schooler was gone, only his dimples a reminder of the childhood smiles you shared together.

"you're not... going anywhere? going straight home?"

you gave him a small smile. "...yeah. i'm going soon, so i really need to pack. good game though! you really did good this time around."

"going soon... to where y/n? are you taking a road trip without me?" you sensed a wary tone under his teasing words. three years apart, and this was the news you would have to tell him. curse the fates.

"yup! im, ah... moving cross country. i got accepted a while back."

you could already see the question in his eyes. how far? which major? on campus or near?

why didn't you tell me?

there was a moment of silence while you rocked back and forth on your heels. soobin pushed his hair back, looking into your eyes.

the heaviness of a thousand unanswered questions weighed in the air.

"so... want to catch up over icecream?"

as you held the basketball ticket from senior year, you realized three things.

one: you were the sentimental type. you clung onto old memories and good times like they were life jackets, keeping you afloat in the mundanity of your new life.

two: you didn't really like the idea of always moving on. it seemed so easy in the story books, that after a couple years the queen goes back to her ordinary life, the king appoints a new knight, and the princess finds someone she truly loved. but was there a time where you would just stop caring? was there a day you would wake up and didn’t think about what could have happened, the if only’s and what if’s?

three: you couldn't move on. you prided yourself on being able to move faster, walking a pace before everyone else. life was a journey, and you were going places. quite literally. you were floating when everyone was sinking.

but you were only floating because you had your life jacket.

...

things came and went. kids grew into adults. that was just how life was. people grew apart, sometimes closer, and it was all expected.

you clutched the ticket in your hand, the end slightly wrinkled by your fingers.

you just never thought you would have to face it yourself.

[ofnifflersandkings]

Bumping into Strangers

Character: Benny Watts A/n: Finally finished a benny request even if it took me 10 years and a contract with the devil.

*

You tapped your foot against the pristine marble floor of the hotel lobby, adjusting the arsenal of camera equiptment you had shoved under your arms to prepare for the chess match later today. You were placed in charged of gathering photos for the new Chess Review edition, the first real professional project of your career. To say you were nervous was the understatement of the year.

You shuffled through your camera bag, strategizing the kinds of lenses you might have to use throughout the day. The lighting in the hotel was pretty dim, the thick brown curtains lazily swaying over most of the windows did little to help bring in any natural light. Luckily, you noticed a rather large chandelier hanging over the area where most of the chess boards were situated. It sort of reminded you of an old smoking room in a gentleman’s club, but given the sort of people surrounding you, it wasn’t that far off.

You tilted your head, taking a few paces forward as you tried to scope out the area better. Usually, you’d have gotten this out of the way earlier in the morning. But Benny insisted upon introducing you to more of his chess associates and promised you could kick him in the ass for it later, proclaiming your irrefutable talent would be more than enough to get you through the day.

 Still walking forward, you didn’t even notice someone heading right towards you until the both of you collided. The sudden weight sent you stumbling backwards, and you probably would’ve fallen right on your back had the stranger not reached out for you.

His hands held firmly onto your shoulders, helping you regain your balance before you could fall.

“Are you alright?” The stranger said in a slightly alarmed tone, his brows shot upwards and his eyes wide.

It took you a moment to process what exactly happened, and you blinked before your brain caught up to speed.

“Yes! Gosh, I’m so sorry,” You fumbled, feeling the heat crawl up your neck when you realized how you were at the fault. “I wasn’t paying attention at all.”

The man smiled, the curls on his forehead shaking whenever his laugh and doing little to help your embarrassment. He looked down at your camera and his eyes lit up. “Is that a Pentax?”

Your eyebrows knit together, not knowing how he knew what camera you used, but you followed his gaze and realized you were wearing it around your neck.

“Oh! Yeah it’s-“

“Everything alright here?”

You whipped your head over at the sound of the familiar voice, smiling when you saw Benny standing just a ways off from the two fo you.

He had one of his hands hanging loosely by his belt loop as his eyes darted between you and the other man. His brows furrowed into a deep frown, his gaze shifting to the man’s hands, which you now realized were still holding onto your shoulders.

You and him must’ve realized the same thing because he immediately released his hold on you and you both awkwardly laughed as you took a step back.

“Yes! We’re okay, I just wasn’t paying attention so I ran right into…,” You faltered, remembering you never got his name.

He must’ve sensed your distress because he picked it up for you. “Jaime,” he said, looking back at you for a moment with a smile. “It was both of our faults really.”

Benny crossed his arms, looking at you to find any warning in them. But when he couldn’t find any his spirits didn’t seem to lift any. 

“Well, it’s a pretty small space. I’d imagine it’s easy to run into each other,” He gave a pointed look to Jaime, a stiff smile taking over his face. “We’ll just have to keep out a better watch won’t we?”

Benny turned back to you, a more pleasant look coming over him now. “I just wanted to let you know the matches are starting soon.”

You adjusted the strap of your camera bag and turned to Jaime. “I’ll see you later then?”

His ears seemed to perk up at the idea. “Sure! I’ll see you.”

You walked over to Benny, who immediately placed his arm over your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you the best spot in the house,” He looked back at Jaime once more before leading you further away from him.

*

Benny looked passed his opponent, trying to find you in the growing crowd as he waited to make his next move. He leaned back in his chair, arms folding over each other and his lip twitching upward when he noticed you snapping photos of another match.

It was short lived though when he also noticed that Jaime guy hanging out not too close to you. He recalled seeing him at a few other tournaments and figured he was a friend of one of the other chess guys. But now it felt like every time he looked up he had inched closer to where you were standing.

Benny was so caught up trying to keep up with the two of you he almost missed it when his opponent finally moved. 

He had the poor guy in check three moves later.

*

Benny sat in one of the armchairs in the lobby, the post tournament chatter buzzing around over his eyes and falling in and out of ears. He was in an oddly somber mood despite winning the whole thing, he usually energy for bravado now a bit depleted.

He shook hands with his final opponent and turned around, fully expecting you to be waiting to congratulated like you always did. But you were nowhere in sight. 

His one heel tapped against the floor, not wanting to leave until he knew where you were. He placed his chin in hand, exhaling dramatically when he thought you might be with Jaime. 

You and him always got together after his matches so he could talk your ear off about strategy and you’d tell him about the kinds of photos you’d gotten or how difficult it was to “get the right lighting”.

He smiled when thinking at your silly antics and when he remembered you weren’t here with now it put him back in a bad mood.

His eyes were trained on the floor and when he saw you walking up to him he immediately sat up straighter in his chair.

“Well there you are,” He chided, trying to cover his former disappointment. “I thought you might’ve run out on me.”

You laughed, “Like I’d ever hear the end of it if I even thought about it.” 

Benny watched you put your camera away and fasten the straps on your bag and tried not to seem too eager about wanting to leave. “So, are we off? I can drive ya.”

You shook your head, “I’m actually gonna stick around a little longer. The fellow from earlier? We got to talking about some camera stuff during the downtime between matches and offered to grab drinks to talk about it more later.”

You suddenly caught yourself and you looked at him with a sheepish smile. “That’s alright isn’t it? I know we usually do something together when your matches are over.”

Benny scoffed, knowing he really had no right to tell you to leave with him, even if he wanted to. “Course it is, I’m sure he’ll make better conversation on the subject than I can.” He said with a smile.

You grinned, ruffling his hair with your hand. “Congratulations though, I heard you were especially tough to beat today. Even I was impressed.”

Benny leaned back, his smile turning a little more genuine when he heard your praise, his wounded ego healing itself already. “What can I say? I was feeling motivated today.” 

You laughed, placing your hands into your pockets. “Well, I shouldn’t keep him waiting, don’t wanna be out too late.”

Benny turned his head and saw Jaime shifting his weight between his legs over by the lobby door. His eyes kept flittering over to the two of you talking.

Benny smirked before looking back up at you.

“Hey wait, you have something,” He pointed to the top of his head and you ran your fingers through your hair hoping to get it. Instead, he shook his head and laughed. “Nope, still there.”

You were about to ask him what the hell he was talking about. Instead, you felt him tug on your camera strap, the pressure making you lean forward so you more on his level where he was sitting.

Your noses almost bumped into each other, but you pulled back to prevent it. Benny lifted his hand up again, taking whatever was in your in your hair and flicking it away before you got a good look at it. Then, he lightly tucked the hair at the front of your head behind your ear.

“That’s better.” He commented, still using his free hand to hold onto your camera strap so you couldn’t get too far away from him.

Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, and you laughed at the sudden realization of how close you two were. “You’re being strange…stranger than usual anyways.”

Benny chuckled, releasing his old on you but not without making direct eye contact with your new friend before he did. He sent a wink his way and had to hold back a laugh when he saw Jaime’s shoulders tense.

“I’ll see you later?” He asked, watching you grab your bag. “Tell your friend I said hello.”

Tag List:

@carpevflos​

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Blithe (M)

Kim Namjoon Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: “Blithe (adj.) - showing a casual and cheerful indifference considered to be callous or improper.” In which you face the consequences of not paying attention to your not-so-innocent behavior.

•••> Pairing(s): Namjoon/Reader, slight Namjoon/Reader/Yoongi

•••> Requested by Anon: “I have a request for a one shot 💜 three words: namjoon, daddy kink 👀 (p. s. love u)”

•••> Word Count: 6.25k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Tags: smut | Established Relationship!AU (Engaged) | Fiancé!Joon | Namjoon!AU | Dominant!Namjoon | Submissive!Reader | Daddy!Joon | LittleGirl!Reader

•••> Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, slight choking/strangulation, spanking (lots), dirty talk, slight bondage, Daddy/Little Girl relationship, Joonie is PISSED, but he’s also caring, cursing, pining, mention(s) of a threesome, immense teasing, rough sex, punishment time

Copyright © 2020 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for the request, anon! This was a bit to unpack for me, but here you go! I hope you enjoy :) And I love you too!

~#~

“But baby, we were supposed to stay in tonight.” You trapped the phone between your shoulder and ear, pausing your task of draining the pasta noodles in the titanium sink.

You were making a simple dinner for the two of you so that you could have a nice, quiet night dining on your balcony. Maybe get a little frisky and do the dirty over the railing afterward.

Your plans were completely smashed, however, when your fiancé called to cancel your plans, yet again, to work late.

“I know, my love. But I need to finish these layouts for Taehyung before tomorrow. You know how he gets if the displays aren’t in order in time.” Namjoon sighed audibly, to which you sighed with him in disappointment.

“Why can’t we just have a little bit of time together? I thought getting engaged would kind of organize our lives a little more.” You whined, dropping the empty pot back onto the counter. Just one night, God. That’s all I ask. Just one damned night with my husband-to-be.

Namjoon’s voice interrupted you, a beacon in the silence you received as a response to your plea.

“We’ll get our time. I promise, babe. Listen, I gotta go. Don’t wait up for me, okay?” You could hear his voice move away from the phone for a moment during his reply, a clear indicator that he was needed.

“Alright.” You replied dejectedly. The last you heard from him was a brisk ‘I love you’ before several beeps indicated the end of the call, taking away your opportunity to return the sentiment.

With a huff, you took your phone from your shoulder and lightly tossed it onto the counter in frustration- still mindful of breaking it, of course. He just had to work late again. On a Sunday evening. Right before your classes begun again. Of fucking course.

You were saying goodbye to the summer with a bit of an indifferent attitude; your “vacation” was filled with working a full-time job, worrying about bills, and getting engaged to Namjoon whilst a pandemic loomed over the world’s shoulders. To say that you actually had a summer was a bit generous considering all of the normal occurrences that were no longer considered “the norm.”

Despite your stressful schedule, Namjoon was always there to calm the storms brewing inside your mind. Since the moment you started dating freshman year, his words of wisdom and natural calming effect kept the worry from suffocating you.

You were always an over-thinker. Since you could remember, you worried about every single minute detail of your life. When Namjoon asked you to be his girlfriend across a table of the university’s café, you stared at him and waited for him to tell you that he was being facetious. Surely he didn’t actually like you, right? A man like Namjoon had no business wanting to date a girl like you- or so you thought.

“So…” You trailed off, coffee cup in your hand slightly dented from your tight grip. “You want me to be your girlfriend?”

You admit, your tone was a little monotonous and emotionless- an instant defense mechanism due to your belief that he was playing a cruel joke on you. Staring into his eyes through the lenses of his glasses, however, you only found sincerity gazing back at you.

“Y/N,” He reached out and placed his hand over yours on the cup, automatically soothing your grip on the poor thing. “I’ve liked you for months now. I’d honestly really like it if you could be my girlfriend.”

You stared at his hand over yours, loving the warmth and softness as it calmed your racing mind. He actually wanted you to be his girlfriend? Like, the type to hold hands and kiss and maybe fuck a little?

Oh good lord, how you wanted to fuck him.

Being friends with Namjoon was filled with positivity in everything except your sex life. Sure, you didn’t really have one being a double major and all, but that didn’t prevent your imagination from running away from you whenever you studied him too closely.

You’d stare at him from time to time, imagining nasty things that you would do with him, but it only left you aching and wanting with a very damp patch in your panties every time. You were thirsted to the brink of desperation, finding yourself close to downloading Tinder just to have a dick to fuck yourself onto. But no, even that felt like a betrayal to Namjoon despite his lack of knowing that you imagined sitting on his face almost every night.

So once you actually started dating Namjoon, to say you were nervous to get between the sheets with him was an understatement. You were fucking terrified. Numerous anxious thoughts filled your mind.

What if he doesn’t like my body? What if I cum too fast like I know I will and he gets disappointed? What if I’m too loud or too annoying? Oh god, I should probably do some ‘research’ on how a Virgo man like Namjoon likes his women in bed.

You didn’t have time to worry too much, because the very next week, you and Namjoon had sex for the first time- research and all flying out the window. He wasn’t soft and vanilla but he wasn’t a monster either. It was a gorgeous balance that you found yourself loving immediately.

Through the years, your sex life had remained exciting and utterly adventurous, always ready to try new things.

Tonight, an evil idea crossed your mind in your sexual frustration. You hadn’t had sex with Namjoon in over a week, okay? You can’t be blamed.

A small snack, shower, and a few glasses of wine later, you found yourself freshly shaven and draped across your black living room couch with a romance movie playing on the TV. You wore Namjoon’s favorite set of lingerie, preparing yourself in your wine-buzzed state of mind for your plan.

Grabbing your phone from the coffee table, you unlocked it and opened Snapchat to start a new chat conversation with Namjoon. You typed out your message to him and waited a moment before typing another when he didn’t open it immediately.

Babeeeeeeeeee

I’m hornyyyyyyy

Setting your phone back down on the table, you resumed watching the movie for a few minutes in wait, only to grow disappointed when ten minutes ticked by without a notification from Namjoon. Instead of waiting any longer, you picked up your phone again and decided to send him a video, double-tapping his name and readying yourself.

Once you held down the button to record, you put on your bedroom show.

The light from the TV cast the perfect glow on your body, emphasizing shadows on your curves and ridges, which did most of the work for you. You knew that he wouldn’t turn up the volume at work so you didn’t bother speaking. All you did was use your free hand to lightly trace your fingers over your skin, grasping your breast in your hand and lightly squeezing it through the black material of the lace bra piece.

After releasing the record button, you watched the video once, put a filter on it and watched it again, and then removed the filter once you decided that you didn’t need it. You watched it one last time with a satisfied smirk on your lips, sending it right after.

Carrying on with the photos and videos with the occasional cute or sexy message written in them, you grew upset by the fact that Namjoon hadn’t opened a single one in the last twenty minutes. Finally, you settled to touching yourself on camera and bringing yourself to the brink of a climax more than once only to deny yourself to make the allure of the videos even more difficult to resist.

You could only take so much before you grew irritated in your slightly drunken stupor, checking the time to find that it had been an hour since your first message to your fiancé. A groan of annoyance sounded from your throat and you finally gave up the patience to have some sexy time over the phone with him. So much for new things. I thought we were going to have a use for phone sex more often.

Tossing your phone to the other end of the couch, you continued to busy your hand on yourself, picturing Namjoon as the one touching you- as you always did on lonely nights like this one.

Once you finished the last drops of your wine, you took the bottle to the kitchen and dropped it into the recycling bin before heading to your bedroom with sinful thoughts in mind. Stripping yourself of the uncomfortable garments, you collapsed into the bed and got comfortable in preparation to finally finish yourself off.

Completely unaware of your phone lit up with a string of missed calls and snapchat notifications in the living room, you brought yourself your orgasm. As unsatisfying as it was without the help of your fiancé, you still managed to be relaxed enough to turn in for the night with the wine pairing in to send you off. You sighing contently despite missing your other half.

_______________________________

Namjoon was furious as he drove home well over the speed limit.

He remembers the exact moment his switch was flipped.

His phone was bribed with elongated vibrations in his pocket, a sign that someone was messaging him on Snapchat, as he stood over the planning table. Upon a brief glance at the screen, once he pulled it out, he saw that it was you. Being notifications on Snapchat instead of regular text messages or calls, he knew the issue wasn’t an emergency.

Instead of opening them, he went right back to work after turning on ‘Do Not Disturb.’ He was working extra hard to clear up his schedule for the next few days, knowing that you would appreciate the extra time he put in once he was able to stay home for you. So he needed to stay focused.

Of course, he would be staying home for himself too.

Namjoon longed to have you in his arms. Longed to hold you and touch you and feel your skin on his. Namjoon felt his slacks grow slightly tight as he let his imagination wander from him. The last time he had sex with you was over a week ago. Could you blame him?

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts so that he wouldn’t get hard in the middle of his office, he went back to work.

It wasn’t until an hour later when he finally sat in his chair to take a break.

“Hey, Namjoon?” A voice called him from his state of relaxation, prompting him to look at the source of the voice.

Min Yoongi stood in the doorway of his office, slightly shaking and shifting uncomfortably in his spot. Namjoon quickly stood up and approached him with concern for your friend.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you alright?” Namjoon fired at him, grabbing onto his shoulder. Yoongi looked down with a slight blush to his cheeks and Namjoon raised his eyebrow expectantly.

Instead of replying- he wasn’t very good at voicing embarrassment- Yoongi lifted his phone that was clutched in his hand and turned it so that the screen faced Namjoon, displaying a picture of a very familiar body clad in a very familiar set of lingerie with a hand placed over her core.

That’s Y/N. Namjoon’s blood ran cold.

Across the bottom of the screen was a sentence in the snapchat text box that read: ‘Come home soon, Joonie. I miss you… obviously lol’

For a split second, he thanked whatever god was looking out for him that the picture was intended for him, but the relief was swiftly replaced by jealousy and anger once he realized you accidentally sent a photo of yourself to his coworker. He understood that you and Yoongi talked- and that you were good friends- but his jealous side loomed over his head because he was the only one allowed to see your body.

The older man noticed Namjoon’s change in demeanor quickly, knowing that the younger man was upset. Yoongi was fast to defend himself.

“Namjoon, I swear that I had noth-“ Namjoon was quick to interrupt him.

“Yoongi, you did nothing wrong. Just forget the picture ever happened, hm?” Namjoon couldn’t pretend to not notice the way Yoongi’s smaller and very obviously nervous frame slightly peaked his interest.

“Of course.” Yoongi nodded and tapped on the screen so that it would disappear.

As Namjoon turned back around and went to sit in his chair, Yoongi perked up.

“I know that you told me that the two of you have been trying new things and- forgive me if I’m overstepping-” Yoongi gulped and toyed with his phone case, unable to maintain eye contact with his coworker. “But, uh… if you ever want a third-” Namjoon cut him off again before he could continue, thoughts already heading towards the subject that the older man was addressing.

“Noted.” He said curtly. “We’ll consider it.”

Namjoon saw the small smile at the corner of Yoongi’s lips, fighting the urge to smile with him. “Thanks, Namjoon. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Very well.” Namjoon bid. “Please close the door behind you.”

Once Yoongi left and enclosed Namjoon in his office, Namjoon sat back in silence for a moment, attempting to control the storm in his mind. Pulling out his phone, he gawked for a moment at the amount of notifications from you.

Snapchat

26 Notifications

Why would you message him so many times? You know that he’s busy. Regardless, Namjoon took this time to open them.

And he watched every second.

So yes, Namjoon was still furious when he came home to find you fast asleep in your shared bed, stark naked and sprawled out.

He tried calling you, snap chatting you, texting you; he tried everything to contact you so that he could tell you that he was on his way home. To no avail, his efforts went unanswered only to discover that exhaustion had won against you.

He couldn’t blame you for being needy. He couldn’t be angry when you laid there so damn cutely. Namjoon knew that you were just as desperate for him as he was for you.

But he could blame you for not paying attention and sending a thirst trap to someone who wasn’t him- even if it was someone who could potentially be involved with the two of you later on.

So yes, Namjoon was furious.

_______________________________

A stinging pain burned your ass, jolting you from sleep with a start.

You yelped, body whipping around to address the sensation, only to be grabbed and held with your back tightly pressed up against another body, restrained by arms circling your waist. One arm nudged itself underneath your breasts while you stood on your knees.

Namjoon. You immediately recognized the feel of him, sighing with relief. Your heart calmed with your body as you slumped back against him.

“Why’d you do that?” You whined, relaxing your neck back to rest your head on his shoulder. His breath brushed the side of your face and trailed down your naked chest. “That hurt.”

“Because someone decided to be a naughty little girl.” He growled against the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your cartilage. You instantly became hyperaware of the bulge pressing into your naked ass, a shock of hot desire cramming itself straight into your clit in a throbbing pulse. You quivered softly.

“I needed you so much and you never came.” You whimpered as he moved his mouth lower to suckle on the skin on your shoulder.

“I know, darling, and I’m sorry. I did tell you I was staying late, though.” He tightened his hold around your body, hands curling into the flesh of your waist. “You should have listened.”

You shifted in his hold, attempting to escape it so that you could face him, but he wouldn’t let you move. Your naked body was hot with desire and he kept you bound to him tightly.

“I wanted to listen. Believe me, I did. But I wanted to do something good for the both of us.” You raised and arm to curl around the back of his neck, wanting more intimacy and closeness. “Those pictures made me feel good.”

“Did you want Yoongi to feel good too?” He said menacingly in your ear. Confusion flooded you, eyebrows immediately furrowing.

“What?”

“I said-“ Namjoon raised a hand from your body to grip your jaw in his grasp, dragging your gaze to his. “Did you want Yoongi to feel good too?”

“Joon. What are you talking about?” You were concerned, wondering why he was getting so worked up.

Were you talking to Yoongi too much? Namjoon was never jealous over your friendship with Yoongi. He was nice and kind to the both of you. Although more on the quiet side, he seemed to fit in quite nicely when he was around you and your fiancé.

“Seeing how you’re acting like you don’t know any better, I’ll treat you like you don’t know any better, little girl.” He growled again, anger obvious. He released his hold on you and pushed you forward. “Elbows and knees. Ass in the air. Now.”

You scrambled into position, excitement coursing through your veins as the adrenaline spiked your heart rate once again.

Hands trembling, you gripped the bed sheets in anticipation, biting your lip. The sound of Namjoon’s belt buckle coming undone and his trousers hitting the floor only caused the heat in your core to increase tenfold. The bed dipped down shortly afterwards and you craned your head to peak at his partially-undressed body with boxers restraining his cock. A short smack was delivered to your thigh, followed by a curt statement, “Eyes to the front, brat.”

You obeyed his command immediately, feeling him slide into a kneeling position with his legs below your stomach.

“Lay across my legs.” He murmured, hand lightly pressing down on the small of your back where it was arched. You lowered your body, draping yourself across his lap while attempting to stop your body from vibrating with pure joy. His hand slid to your right ass cheek, rubbing tender circles into the skin.

“You think it’s okay to share yourself with others?” A sharp sting licked its way across your backside, force jolting your body forward and pain eliciting a whimper from your lips, yet you couldn’t help the clench of your cunt with the sound of Namjoon spanking you incredibly loud in the quiet room.

Namjoon’s hand was quick to soothe the pain, resuming his ministrations over the afflicted area.

“No.” You wavered. Another smack, softer this time, was delivered. A yelp slipped past your lips as your body reacted to the delicious pain.

“You will address me as daddy from now on, understood?”

“Yes, daddy.” Your vocal cords struggled to maintain balance with your breathlessness, resulting in your response coming out as a whisper. Namjoon’s hand clapping against you was unexpected, pain scorching against the now-tender skin. The sensation of your hot skin slightly raising made you mindful of the fact that you would definitely bruise.

“What was that?” He asked. You tensed as his free hand slid to enclose your neck in its grip, tightening.

“Y-yes, daddy.” You said with a bit more volume despite the pressure on your trachea. Namjoon released his grip but left his hand placed on your throat.

“Good girl,” He cooed lowly, shivering at the new name that you called him. He liked it very much. “Very good girl.”

You couldn’t help but bristle proudly under Namjoon’s compliment, juices now beginning to slightly trickle down from the apex of your thighs.

“Elbows and knees.” Namjoon directed as he removed himself from below you and took away much of the heat you were feeling. “Let’s talk.”

You stared at the bed in confusion. Why were we talking now? You thought he was going to fuck you.

“So,” He began from behind you. “If you know that it’s not okay to share yourself with others, why did you share your body with Yoongi?”

What.

“Namjoon,” You turned your head to look at him seriously from your position, breaking out of the tense moment. He stood a few feet away from the bed with his black work shirt unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves, pectoral muscles peaking from in-between the split. The sight was accompanied by the slight appearance of a nipple and his toned abdomen. “What in the fuck are you talking about?”

“Eyes to the front or I will fucking strap you down right now.” His reply, brimming with fury and warning, was no match for your concern.

“Namjoon.” You grit out with a fiery gaze. “If you think that I chea- Joonie!“

You didn’t get a chance to finish your statement because Namjoon moved toward you and pounced, engulfing your body with his own. Your strength was no match for his weight on top of you, causing both of you to collapse to the bed. Swiftly, Namjoon grabbed both of your wrists and held them down. You automatically turned your head so that your face wouldn’t be pressed into the mattress.

“I fucking know that you didn’t, Y/N.” Namjoon graveled through his teeth into your ear. His lips just barely ghosted over your ear lobe. “But you did do something naughty.”

His hand slid below your hip to your core, harshly cupping it and forcing a groan from deep in your chest.

“Tell me,” Namjoon let a single finger press between your folds, the minimal sensation warranting your body to shudder again. You shifted your weight so that you could arch your back and give his hand more room to work underneath you. “When you were sending me the photos, did you really pay attention?”

“Nam-“ His grip on your wrist served as a reminder of the name he wanted you to call him. You corrected yourself quickly, back in the mood. “-Daddy. I did, I swear.”

“Are you sure about that?” His finger began trailing up and down your slit, bringing some of your wetness over your pussy lips. You needed him on your clit, desperately.

“Y-yes, daddy. I’m sure. I remember everything I said and everything I did for you.” You pressed your backside into his pelvis as you arched your back, feeling his clothed dick slightly separating your ass cheeks.

“Stop moving.” He commanded. You froze on the spot as he continued to toy with your juices. “And I guess you really don’t know what you did, huh?”

“Daddy, no.” You keened as his finger dipped into your depths, pushing through your slick walls to nestle against your sensitive spot with ease. Softly and lightly, he stroked it, sending your mind into a horny stupor.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to teach you to pay attention. Sending a photo of you touching yourself to Yoongi isn’t a mistake you can make.”

His finger left you instantly, along with his body, as you were left to think about what he just said.

Yoongi got a photo of me? How in the- Oh fuck. Namjoon must be livid.

Almost as soon as Namjoon got off of you, he was grabbing you and flipping you over, evoking a short scream of surprise at being manhandled so abruptly.

Now, with an unobstructed view of him, you were rendered mute by the way Namjoon’s daddy persona exhumed a physical change in him. As he slid his shirt and boxers off of his body, you were trying to find the words to say in response to his statement, but you were terribly distracted by bulging muscle and his delicious stature along with an expression of reprimand gracing his facial features.

Before you could even attempt to discuss the issue, Namjoon was picking up his slacks from the floor and sliding his belt out of the belt loops whilst he spoke again.

“Put your wrists together and spread your legs, brat.” He approached the bed with his belt in hand, watching you eagerly obey him with a slight smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. Namjoon used his belt to bind your wrists together while you struggled to suppress the elation from the thought of getting fucked while restrained.

Once he had the belt wrapped around your wrists, he grabbed it and pushed it down to the bed with your arms having no option but to follow. He leaned down over you with your arms so that he could come face-to-face with you.

“Pay attention to me fucking you. I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that.” He rumbled. You felt his breath fan over your face which was, with no doubt, displaying your anticipation.

Namjoon looked down for a moment as he grabbed his dick with his free hand to rub it against your parted lips. Your slick was already pouring out of your depths, gathering on the head of his dick when he passed it over your opening. Nudging your clit only served to arouse you further into insanity. You tipped your head back in preparation to be filled.

A sharp slap on the inside of your thigh made you snap your head back up to look at him in question.

“I told you to fucking pay attention.” His voice rose slightly, making you feel like you were indeed about to be reprimanded for getting distracted.

“Yes, daddy.” You whispered, casting your eyes down to where your bodies were about to join. He followed your gaze shortly after, continuing his massage on your core.

Your heartbeat picked up instantly when he placed himself at your opening.

“Watch me fill this little pussy.” He murmured before sinking into you. The weight of his hand holding your arms to the bed lessened as he removed his hand from his dick and placed it on the bed to support himself while he moved.

You whimpered quietly at the feeling of him pushing into you so fast. The stretch burned slightly and you shifted your hips uncomfortably. Namjoon leaned down and pressed his lips to your jaw.

“Sh, darling,” He whispered soothingly. “I got you.”

With your view of him slowly rearing back and entering you interrupted by his body, you decided to let your head fall back again to help accommodate the subsiding pain. A few more pumps of his dick later and you were only feeling bliss with hopes that he would speed up soon. Your small moans keyed Namjoon in on the fact that you weren’t uncomfortable anymore, warranting him to lightly nip your neck and sit up. You followed his movement with your eyes.

Namjoon looked down at your already-wrecked form, staring at you heatedly. You couldn’t fucking breathe past the lust that filled your veins when he was looking this hot and in charge- this daddy-like. Breath held in wait of his next move, you saw a smirk grace his lips, causing your walls to constrict around his girth.

In response to your excitement, he pulled your bound hands back up and slid them over his head, looping them behind his neck. Then, he slid his arms underneath your thighs and picked you up, carrying you with your legs spread open in his lap.

“Now watch me fucking destroy you.”

You cried out and dug your fingernails into your palms as your fiancé raised you up and dropped you onto his dick, impaling you deeply with it. Before you could even fathom how far inside you he was going, he repeated the action again.

Namjoon began at a vicious beat, your body subjected to letting him control you like a doll. His warm, brown eyes were locked on yours as he fucked you, holding your ogle intensely and preventing you from looking away- even as you fought the urge to let your eyes roll back into your head.

His dick pumping into you had your toes curling. Every time he bottomed out, he pulled your legs closer to his body to touch his chest against yours. Despite his tight embrace, you could barely stay straight up with the sensations he was giving you.

“You know you only belong to me, right little girl?” He leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against your neck, sucking in the skin to bite down. Once he released it, he laved his tongue over the affected spot and moved to get to work your shoulder.

A particularly hard thrust had you screaming your response, head craning back in ecstasy. “Yes, daddy! All yours!”

With his arms below you and his hands clutching onto your backside, Namjoon had easy access to deliver another spank in the same spot he had spanked you minutes before. You howled out a cry with tears welling in your eyes despite the pain adding to the pressure building between your hips.

Unable to find another way to let out your automatic instinct to pull your fiancé close with your orgasm approaching, you resorted to pulling him by his neck with your bound hands, kissing him sloppily. Hopefully, he would be there to catch you when you finally fell to the throes of your climax.

“Daddy,” You moaned against his lips. “Gonna cum.”

And then he stopped.

Movement ceased. Friction stopped. The battering inside you came to a halt and you looked at him with panicked eyes, desperation controlling every aspect of your mind once your orgasm was completely and absolutely denied.

“Oh? You’re going to come? Without asking?” He pulled away and smirked at you with an eyebrow cocked.

“Daddy, please. I-I need it.” You dug your face into his neck, attempting to move yourself on his dick to regain some of the mind-numbing sensation.

Namjoon only laughed in response. “Oh? You need it? How badly do you need it, darling?”

“So bad. Sososo bad.” You were rambling- begging shamelessly- now while tears began to trickle down your face and onto his skin. “I need you. Please.”

Namjoon dropped the two of you to the mattress, allowing your legs to fall to the sides. With your hands still bound, you pulled him down to you so that you could kiss him again but was left confused when he resisted.

“Nuh-uh.” He clicked his tongue. “You want it? I’ll give it to you.”

Before you could even ask, Namjoon was removing your hands from around his neck and flipping you over. You immediately raised your ass and arched your back excitedly.

“The little girl is ready for me, isn’t she?” Namjoon rumbled out a laugh, placing a hand on your ass. You flinched slightly at the contact seeing as you were expecting another smack, but you couldn’t even answer because, quickly, he swiped his thumb over your exposed pussy. Namjoon loved the way it was widened by his dick. “Oh, look at you all fucked open by me. Just wait until I fill it up.”

“Please fill me up, daddy.” You pleaded, forehead pressing down into the mattress.

“As my little brat wishes.” He acquiesced to your request, pressing his dick between your spread ass cheeks in ready.

You weren’t expecting him to act on it so quickly, thinking he would tease you some more, but you only moaned into the sheets as he entered you again. The previous fire in the pit of your stomach that burnt out those few moments ago was quickly rekindled. His hands clapped into a vice-like grip on your hips, fingernails digging into the flesh and surely breaking the skin, as he began his pace all over again.

“D-“ A savage thrust interrupted the whimpered word, shooting your body forward. “Daddy.”

Namjoon was reaching a new depth and angle within you, and when his dick began directly pummeling that oh so sweet spot inside of you once again, your brain might as well have reset and kick started a speed race towards your orgasm.

You couldn’t even focus on the way he was fucking into you when his own grunts and moans of pleasure were filling your ears nor the way your orgasm seemed to have come upon you within moments due to your oversensitivity from a denied orgasm.

“Daddy, please let me come. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum.” You chanted, feeling numb whilst tightening your entire body in attempt to control your body during climax. You almost didn’t feel the sensation of your fiancé grabbing you by your waist and lifting your body so that your back could meet his chest.

The clapping sounds of your bodies only got louder and the squelching sounds of your pussy eagerly taking him in only got more sinful from the new position. With your arms in front of you, you had no choice but to loop them back around Namjoon’s neck behind you.

“Cum, little girl. Cum all over my cock so I can fill up your pretty cunt.” He growled. He removed a hand from your hip to place it on your jaw so that he could turn your head o face him. Your eyes fluttered as you felt your walls begin to seize up and he took this as a sign to quickly cover your mouth with his own.

The inferno of pleasure within you grew too hot and burst moments later, your body seizing and jerking with each of his pumps into your tightening body. Hissing through his teeth from the sensation of you squeezing yourself around him, Namjoon attempted to swallow your screams with his lips whilst chasing his own high.

“Fuck,” He ground out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Namjoon’s climax followed shortly after yours, pressing his hips into your ass with as much pressure as he could muster to ensure that his essence painted your walls as deeply as possible. Groaning with his release, he laved his tongue over your lips and into your mouth sloppily.

The two of you, spent and breathless, didn’t stay in your position for long. He knew that you were uncomfortable and that your wrists were probably going to bruise. The roleplay was over and there was no need to keep you restrained anymore.

Pulling out, Namjoon watched as his cum streamed down your thighs and onto the bed. You grimaced at the unpleasant sensation and the fact that it was now soiling the bed.

He got up quickly, smiling, and after rolling over onto your back with exhaustion, you watched the beautiful grin spread across his lips with dimples in his cheeks. You couldn’t but smile blissfully in return.

“I’m not actually mad at you, my love. You know that, right?” He grabbed the wipes from your bathroom as he spoke.

“Oh, I know. But it would be really hot if you could pretend to be mad a little more often.” You giggled, widening your legs for him as he cleaned you up. “That whole ‘Daddy Joon’ thing suits you incredible well.”

“Oh, does it now?” He snickered while reaching for the belt. “Hold on, let me undo this.”

Once the belt was unwrapped from your wrists, you rubbed them soothingly. “Ow.” You muttered.

Namjoon balled up the wipes and threw them in the trashcan. Once he was done, he picked you up bridal style and carried you from the room.

“Where are we going?” You questioned.

“To the kitchen.” He laughed heartily. “We have a pasta dinner to eat.”

“But I need to put clothes on!” You protested. He only placed you down in front of the counter before walking to the fridge, completely butt-naked. He just kept laughing.

“We’re in our own house, Y/N. No need to worry about trivial things like clothes.” He pulled out the Tupperware that you packed the noodles and pasta sauce in earlier while you watched. Shrugging, unable to argue with his reasoning, you turned to grab the plates and silverware from the cabinet.

“Oh, by the way,” Namjoon set the noodles in the microwave and set it to warm them up. “Yoongi asked us if we wanted a third.”

You paused in shock, turning to look at him. His form, even in normal lighting, was mouthwatering to look at. Broad shoulders sat upon a wide chest graced with lean pectoral muscles. His biceps, bulging with light ridges of veins running down to his hands, had gotten bigger in the last few months. When he smiled, allowing his dimples to dent his cheeks, there was no way any woman would be able to resist him.

And you were his woman.

“Yoongi?” You drew up an eyebrow at the thought, remembering that you had sent him a photo of yourself by accident. You also remembered Yoongi to be a very calming and relaxed man who was very easy on the eyes. He was your friend, after all. “Really?”

“To be honest with you, I’m kind of considering it. It would be exciting to try having a third.” He leaned against the counter with his hands gripping the edge.

“I thought you wanted me to pay attention to you and only you.” You laughed incredulously.

“Well,” He stalked towards you and placed his hands on the counter on either side of your naked body, leaning in. He was so close that you felt the body heat radiating off his skin. 

“I can make certain exceptions to your behavior.”

~#~

If you’d like to read more of my work, feel free to check out my Series Masterlist! If you’d like to read my first fic, check out the DHYB Masterlist!

[bopbopstyles]

Best friend y/n taking pictures of H in a field of sunflowers 🧐😇

i made this a theyre in love with each other but no one wants to talk about it/quarantine situation and it kind of spiraled quickly

Harry had signed on to do the cover of GQ long before quarantine started, the cover supposed to coincide with the beginning of the tour and a bit of press. Quite honestly, he was excited to be doing it--the excitement from doing a big magazine cover never quite faded no matter how many he did. 

But now that quarantine had happened, he couldn’t go into the studio to do the photos, the original photographer having an immunocompromised family member, so the team had asked if he had someone he was quarantining with who could do them. They’d send out some gear, give some directions, but he’d have more creative control. 

Which brought him to you. The two of you were best friends, and so the minute he crossed back onto British soil you had decided to quarantine together. You were tired of being in your cramped London flat all alone and Harry hated being in his big house in Hampstead all alone. So naturally, you ended up at his in the guest bedroom. (Most nights. Sometimes you had sleepovers, all tame of course.)

You had been a photography student in college, and since then you worked at a couple of local London papers and magazines freelance, sometimes covering concerts, other times doing portraits, building a portfolio for when you could get a full-time gig somewhere. You weren’t 100% sure what you wanted to focus on yet, so the breadth of experience was to your liking. 

Harry had always been your favorite model, ever since you met him when you had ended up covering his London show. You’d become friends, despite your expectations, and he ended up liking you enough to continually reach out, and other the few years you two had become best friends. 

So when he had to get someone to take photos, you were the natural choice. He was comfortable with you and you were insanely talented, something he told you all the time. 

The only problem was, he was also head over heels in love with you and every time you took photos of him his crush got deeper and more intense. After spending weeks with you constantly, he didn’t know if he could take the intensity of a photo shoot with you.

But he didn’t really have a choice. 

When Harry asked you, you beamed at him, excited to not only be able to add Harry Styles, GQ to your portfolio, but also to have the opportunity to shoot again. You had missed it during quarantine. 

Which was how you ended up in a field of sunflowers a little ways out of town, your camera slung around your neck, the one GQ had sent as back up looped across your back. It was dusk, your favorite time to shoot, and you had abandoned all hope of using and additional props to capture the light. It was impossible with just you, and frankly Harry was so gorgeous he didn’t need it. 

You’d helped him get dressed, and he was in a simple soft pink button up, unbuttoned low, his chest exposed, and a pair of linen trousers that were tight around his strong thighs stretching down the length of his legs. His necklaces, the cross and his signature pearls, adorned his neck, filling the space the shirt exposed, and his tattoos littered his arms, the sleeves pushed up to expose his forearms. His hair was tousled and soft, a bit of product you had worked into it before you left the house helping hold the curls. Rings littered his fingers, glinting in the setting sun. 

You were trying to work, directing him on how to pose and trying to find the right lighting, but he was staring at you. His gaze trained on your face, eyebrows scrunched as you messed with some settings on your camera. It was moments like these when he nearly burst out his feelings for you, the shreds of self-awareness falling away. 

“H, shift your right leg slightly more towards me.” He blinked, refocusing, and followed your direction. He was leaning back on his hands, one leg bent, the other straight, you straight in front of him. “Now don’t more, squirmy.”

He wouldn’t dare. Music was playing from your phone, which was tucked into your back pocket, and he tried to focus on the lyrics. But instead he ended up watching you again. Watching as you shifted, getting different angles, shutter clicking. Usually he felt nervous in front of a camera lens like this, but with you, he was at ease. He could just watch you and his anxiety settled. 

“Laugh for me?”

“Didn’t say anything funny.”

You rolled your eyes at him, and he just smirked. “Just pretend?”

He did his best fake laugh, and you gave him a terse glare. “H.”

“‘m tryin’! Hard to laugh when there’s nothing to laugh at.”

You huffed. “Try laughing at me then. How sweaty I am out in this field, laboring away to make you look good, while I look like a mess.”

“You don’t look like a mess,” he mumbled. 

“Liar.”

“You look beautiful,” he said, the words falling from his lips with ease. “Always do.”

It was moments like these when being in love with Harry was really fucking frustrating, because he’d say things like that and how could you not fall for him immediately? “Shut up,” you told him, trying to disguise the blush rising to your cheeks. “Now laugh for me, you idiot.”

Harry followed your directions, dropping the act. You shifted closer, coming to your knees so you were at even height with him. “Pretty close, love.”

“I’m trying to get some close-ups. Now shut it and let me do my job.”

You could tell he was getting bored and antsy--he always did. Only took him like fifteen minutes of sitting in one place before he would be itching to move, moaning about his bum going to asleep. His head fell to the side, and you sighed. It was hopeless when he was like this. 

“H, please, just a few more and then we’ll take a break.”

He nodded, picking his head back up to resume his former position. You moved a few inches closer, knees landing on either side of his, your body hovering over him. The camera was tilted down, getting an angle from able and he adjusted, eyes following the lens. 

He could smell your perfume mixed in with his laundry detergent, the hint of the cantaloupe you had both snacked on before you left on your breath. Sweet. He absentmindedly wondered, and not for the first time, what it would be like to kiss you, to run his tongue across your lip. What your gasps would sound like. 

Wrong idea. Fuck. Harry could feel his dick plumping at the thought of kissing you, the prospect making his blood race. He tried to think of anything else, tried to get it to go away, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want his fucking dick up in the photos, for Pete’s sake. 

“Y/N,” he mumbled, sitting up. You leaned back, your bum falling to his shins, which didn’t help one bit. “Can we stop for a sec?”

“Why? Just need a few more, H, please. Don’t want to miss this lighting.”

“I--fuck,” he fumbled with his words. 

“What is it?” Your voice was soft and gentle with an edge of frustration, a hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from his forehead. The sensation made his eye flutter shut, trying to keep his emotions in check. 

“i’vegotahardonandIdon’twantitinthephotos,” he rushed out, his words falling between you two, landing with impact. 

You blinked at him. “Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Um...what happened?”

Good lord, you were going to make him die of embarrassment. You two usually danced around conversations like these, both uncomfortable talking about the topic for the same reason but not knowing. The idea of talking about sex with the person you were in love with wasn’t exactly at the top of your list. Did he tell you?

You were watching him, a. blush on your cheeks. You looked so fucking gorgeous, sitting there with the sunset behind you, your hair blowing softly in the wind, your camera in one hand. 

“....you.” He didn’t mean to say it. But then he did. 

And he couldn’t take it back. 

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Oh,” you said for the second time, the word hushed. 

“YN, I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, fuck I’m so sorry--”

“H, it’s fine.”

This time, he was the one blinking at you, eyes wide. “What?”

Your head bent, eyes falling to his dick. He could tell thoughts were swirling in your head, your hand reaching up to brush a hair behind your ear, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip like you did when you were thinking hard. “I--I could help you.”

“What?” He sputtered, brain unable to process the concept. 

But you just shrugged, as if it was no big deal. In reality, your blood was racing at the prospect of having him in your mouth, at tasting him finally. And for him, he couldn’t quite keep his thoughts in a coherent string. “If you want,” you said.

“You sure?” You nodded, and Harry cursed under his breath. “Then, um, yeah.” 

You placed both the cameras on the ground next to him, clasping the lens caps over the lenses, before looking back up to him. Then, your hands were coming up to his waist and Harry thought he was going to melt into the ground at the feeling of your fingertips on his lower stomach as you brushed over the button of his pants. You were narrowly avoiding his dick and he couldn’t bear it. 

Your hands tucked into the fabric once the button was popped, and pulled, the zipper moving down smoothly. You pulled off his pants and underwear at the same time and Harry groaned hotly at the fresh air on his sensitive skin. 

As he panted, you studied him. Red, weepy tip, desperate and hard. You had caused this? You chewed on your cheek, the thought crossing into your brain that maybe you had the same effect on him as he had on you. 

You decided to give him all you had. You shifted on his body, moving so your knees were pressed to the ground in between his legs. Then, you leaned in and as ladylike as possible, let spit fall from your lips and onto his dick. 

Harry moaned wantonly above you, one of his hands moving to your hair and pulling it together, making a tie of sorts to keep it out of your face. Then, your hand moved from his hip to his dick, your fingers wrapping around his wide girth, and tugging softly, the slick of your spit making it smooth. 

You watched in rapture as Harry’s head fell back, his hips bucking slightly at your touch. He was more sensitive than you had thought. You pumped a few more times, taking immense joy in the pants and whimpers falling from his lips as you worked him. When you decided you had teased him enough, you shifted your head back down, and wrapped your lips around his tip. 

The groan that ripped from Harry’s throat had you moaning onto his skin, the vibrations just making more sounds echo between you. Harry’s voice was low and heavy and you loved the sound as you bobbed your head once, your spit and his pre-cum mixing in your mouth as you moved your lips down the length of him. 

It was sin, he thought as he watched you. Having you on him like this, letting himself feel you like this. It was pure, unabashed sin. He was going straight to hell for the thoughts of you that were floating through his head. Of you on your back, of you moaning his name, of your hands on his skin as he pushed in and out of you. 

He was definitely going to hell. 

Then you pulled off of him and licked a hot stripe up the underside of him and rolled his balls in his hand, the combination making him buck his hips again, unable to control himself. But you didn’t seem to mind. You just smiled softly--he could see your face slightly from the angle--and then took him all the way into your mouth. 

When he hit the back of your throat, he thought he might die there and then. Or perhaps he was already dead and this was heaven. Or hell. He didn’t really care, as long as you were there with him. 

You loved the feeling of him inside your mouth, the taste of him salty and perfect on your tongue. You loved the sounds you caused him to make, the ripple of his abs, the soft hold he had on your hair. You loved when he pushed into you and then apologized under his breath. You loved him. 

You added your hand back to his shaft and in quick motions, moved your hand and head together, meeting in the middle and working his length in perfect rhythm. When Harry moaned your name you knew he was close, his grip in your hair tightening and his fingernails scratching at your scalp. 

“’m close,” he mumbled above you. 

You kept going, not wanting to let up for a second, and Harry thought he was going to lose it. Were you going to let him come in your mouth? The thought had him nearly letting go immediately, but he wanted to check. 

“You can pull off,” he said, voice rough.

But you didn’t move. You just stayed stayed, taking him as deep as you could and tonguing at his tip with soft licks that had his eyes squeezing shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

And then he was coming, in long ropes in your mouth, coating your tongue. Your only movement was your hand moving from his base to his thigh, gripping the exposed skin to encourage him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, holy shit,” he breathed out, mind whirling at the feeling of you warm and wet around him. 

When you pulled off, there was a small smile on your face, and a hint of his cum at the corner of your lips. He let your hair go and swiped at it, taking it and pressing it back to your lips, watching in awe as they parted and accepted his finger. 

“You,” he murmured, “are incredible.”

You giggled and Harry couldn’t stop the next three words from falling from his mouth, no matter the fact this wasn’t the time. 

“I love you.”

Your eyes widened again, his finger still inside your mouth. Your jaw dropped, releasing it, and he watched your expression absorb his words. “You--what?”

“I love you.” He was more emphatic this time, showing you he was serious.

The words settled in your mind, rolling backwards and forwards in your thoughts. Could it be true? Could he actually feel the same way about you? Maybe so, you realized. Maybe he was telling you the truth. You searched his face for any sign that he was lying, but couldn’t find one. He looked like Harry, the one you knew well, the one you trusted with your whole heart. 

So you said the words back. “I love you too.”

The grin that ripped across his face rivalled any other in existence. “Yeah?”

A giggle escaped your lips and you nodded. “Yeah.”

Then his lips were on yours, and you leaned into him, hands moving to the back of his neck. He was delicious--tasted like minty toothpaste and the grass he had been lying in, the edge of a watermelon popsicle he’d eaten on the drive over. 

You shifted closer, but something stopped you. You glanced down and chuckled--his dick was pushed between you. 

Then he looked and he groaned. “Fuck--lemme--love can you move so I can pull up my pants?”

“Don’t want it in the way?”

He huffed, tugging at his pants once you shifted. “God, it really does have the worst fucking timing.”

Then he pulled you back in, re-claiming your lips. He never wanted to let you go. 

~~~

WELL THIS BECAME LONG SUDDENLY! ENJOY!

[myelocin]

Diver | Miya Atsumu

Synopsis: For you, decisions have always resulted in one, then two, then twenty steps back from the jump you know you want to take, but never find the courage to do so. Miya Atsumu was one of those decisions, and it baffles you how he makes the edge seem so inviting.

Characters: Miya Atsumu, You

Warnings/Tags/Genre: Self reflection, Slice of Life, Fluff (atsumu is cute lmao), Mentions of sitting on a cliff, Friendship w Bo!!  Pining!Atsumu, hard to get reader when irl ur just confused , more sky references are surprised? no

WC: 4.6k+

a/n: this was purely based on my desire to explore atsumu and the y/n i headcanon’s character more. this is also to those who struggle to decide which risks are actually worth taking.  (atm this is not edited bc im just gonna do that tomorrow lol)

playlist: Hello by Elijah Who

++note: please click keep reading bc whole thing is posted!

-

You remember standing at the edge of the cliff and thinking about how big and beautiful the world looked at age seven. You think back to the words your grandfather tells you when he sits on the ground next to you and begins to tell the familiar tale of the boy who lived life too scared to leap. You don’t think it was a true story; some elements changed every other time the same story was retold but you listened with rapt attention either way.

Every summer when you visited your grandfather in that little house by the cliff hours away from the rush the city brought, more than half of your days were spent sitting by the edge watching the clouds chase and envelop one another. You’d watch as the blue moved into gold, then orange, then red, then back to blue—and finally dive into black. There was never a day where the chase looked exactly the same.

At nine, you still thought the world looked too vast and beautiful and now you think it was because there was still so much you didn’t know. At sixteen, you remembered seeing more streaks of pink along the horizon in the distance but when you look back at the photos now—it was still really just swirls of red and kisses of orange. Maybe that was the summer you first felt love, because the world you saw in those days were through the rose colored lenses that only you wore.

When your grandfather would ask you why you preferred to sit out by the edge instead of run in the field with the kids you knew nearby you only shrugged and said you didn’t want to miss the stories in the sky later that day. Some days, he’d sit next to you and you’d listen to the story of the boy who never leaped again, but during the last few years of his life when he became too frail for the world, he’d only ruffle your hair and go back inside the house.

There wasn’t a particular reason either; no dramatics that told a heartfelt backstory towards your infatuation with the sky, or a long spill about how you love letting the sounds of the waves crashing silence your thoughts—it was quite the opposite, really. Even when your first love told you it wasn’t working out and you spent the entire evening and the next crying over a story ended, you still sat and watched the colors changing with the expression of wonder that stayed constant since you were a child.

“I still care for you,” you remember him saying and his voice clear in your head doesn’t fight over the sounds of the waves crashing on jagged boulders below.

“—we’re just not meant for each other,” he says again but you don’t feel the need to look away from the sky because the sun’s beginning to dip into the horizon and the violets are starting to paint swirls in the sky.

“I don’t think I ever loved you, (y/n),” you hear along with the cry of a seagull somewhere on your left but you only let out the sigh you’ve held in when the show is over and the black curtains cover the sky. You remember closing your eyes to try to search for that twinge of pain you always read about when your first love is over. But, when you breathe in, you only hear the water below roar. When you breathe out, you hear your grandfather’s call from the house behind you.

That night when you stood up to leave, you dusted the dirt off of your pants and stepped closer to the edge; you weren’t going to jump but you wanted to step into that line of uncertainty to feel that rush.

The feeling you always get when you’re tipping your seat back and you let your fingers graze off of the table you’re supporting yourself with—and you’re dipping into the territory of whether you’ll fall forward or backward. Whether the fall either ways could mean good, or bad.

“Can’t we work this out?” is what you knew you wanted to try to say in the moment he turned his back. And then the first step towards him became one, then two, then three—before your hand stopped short of grabbing his shoulder because you realize you don’t want to say it.

Maybe because you were sixteen and the chemistry test you had to take next period was a more important thought than this, or maybe because this was the kind of puppy love where it as quick as it started—so you didn’t want to tarnish the final chapters with an ugly fight. But, really, you began to think, as your hand curled back into a fist and you watched him with dry eyes turn the corner and disappear, you just don’t have a reason to want to work it out.

So then as the bell rang, you turned to take a step that went from one, to two, to three, four—and then eventually six steps back.

Six steps away from the edge where you let yourself be dangled by uncertainty.

-

The strange part is you don’t remember what began shifting afterwards; when you lost sight of the horizon you spent years losing yet finding yourself in all at once.

After that night, for the years that led up to now it felt like there was never a balance when it came the climax of your decision making. Every time the atmosphere tensed and you feel your gut twist with the pressure of the outcome, your brain is suddenly creating loopholes to mend the situation and your body is already in motion—every single time moving one, to two, to twenty steps away from the drop. That way, you could rock your heels to the side or tip the back of your chair as far back as possible without the need to pull back because you know the steady ground would always break your fall.

You weren’t sure if you necessarily enjoyed it but the cliff by your grandfather’s house doesn’t look the same anymore. This time, you’re sitting in a chair on the porch, a heavy distance away from the pull of gravity down below. Because it’s safe, you reason, but the horizon from your spot doesn’t look quite the same. Peering at the strokes of colors in the 6pm sky through cracks in the porch’s rooftop makes the world feel so little.  You hear the sound of the TV running inside the house instead of the water roaring below and you know it isn’t the same.

But when the sun peeks in finality before diving the world into dark, you stand at the edge of the porch like you did at the edge of the cliff so many times before.

One foot hovering over the ground below and you know your balance is tipping, but you don’t feel anything. There isn’t a hitch in your breath and the feeling of weightlessness and heaviness simultaneously nipping at your skin.

You sigh in blankness as you thrust your body forward and let yourself dive. Before you even leap you already feel the ground beneath your feet.

The ground is only two feet below you. 

-

In your mid-twenties, Miya Atsumu came into your life in a whirlwind of laughter and expressions.

He wasn’t really that spectacular. Sure, Atsumu could twirl a pencil like the honor roll kids as well as he could land a service ace, but that was kind of it.

How the two of you became close friends was always a wonder to you as well. You knew his twin brother—Osamu, after frequenting his onigiri shop every day for lunch, but your interactions with him were mostly limited to the “hi”, “how are you”, “thanks”, and “goodbye”.

Atsumu was, well, interesting to talk to because of all the expressions that substituted some verbal cues in the conversation.

It took getting to know him for about a year and joining him in the last minute road trips he pulled with you to realize how much Atsumu embodied uncertainty.

He was like the push and the pull of the wind when you’re standing at that edge again. Like somewhere between the moments of unfiltered fear from plunging down into the ocean you know you can’t swim in, and that step back of reasoning that tells you a two more steps further means two more steps safer.

He was neither of those, but at the same time, made you feel the magnitude of both simultaneously. Atsumu, to you, was the cliff, the rocking wind, the steady ground, and the plunge below.

And it was frustrating because you couldn’t read him at all.

-

When he asked you one day if you wanted to join him for dinner, this time, just the two of you while the apples of his cheek blushed a visible shade of red despite the dimmed lighting of the sky—you felt your gut churn in uncertainty.

For a while you’ve felt he wanted to push the boundaries of your friendship into a territory more unknown to the both of you, but you thought it would just stop at the experimental prodding. You weren’t blind. You felt how his eyes would trail your profile when he thought your attention was too engrossed in a book, knew that the unmarked box of chocolates were from him because he wasn’t subtle in hiding the special instructions written on the bottom of the box. You saw the triumphant spark in his eye when you told him the gift he gave you on your birthday was exactly what you wanted even if he just shrugged and said he guessed lucky.

And that’s the thing—Atsumu was painfully obvious. He wasn’t explicit about his intentions—he was just obvious; you know he wasn’t dumb enough to leave all these hints and expect you to still not know so that frustrated you even further. Did he want you to find out? Did you want to find out?

“Do ya think you wanna get some dinner tonight?” he quips beside you, “—just us two?” he adds, finishing awkwardly as you two come to a halt in front of the train station.

You think about his offer; you really do. The feeling in your gut doesn’t go away and your left foot is subconsciously rocking backwards. One step back.

“Maybe next time,” you hear yourself say. Atsumu’s deflating in front of you and his right hand rests on the back of his head while he shoves the left into the pocket of his jeans.

Two steps, “I’d love to—“ you continue, “but I may miss the last train and I don’t really wanna take a taxi tonight.”

Atsumu’s nodding his head saying, “Of course! Of course. Yeah, definitely. Next time!” And in a way you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the fact that he could always drive you back instead of letting you take a taxi.

Three steps, as you wave at him from the top steps of the station’s exit.

Four steps, “For sure next time!” you call out as he waves at your retreating figure with a smile. Neither of you really have faith on when next time will be, nor were sure if either of you believed it in the first place.

It’s when the train doors close and you’re holding on the railing where it dawns on you that you just took about 20 more steps back.

-

Two weeks after Atsumu’s offer of a dinner date was when Bokuto comes to you to say that he understands why you rejected the offer.

“You and him are just too different from each other,” he says like he made a profound discovery and not like he’s commenting on your love life.

“Aren’t opposites supposed to attract?” you ask.

“Not all the time,” Bokuto answers almost immediately and you nod your head choosing to not expand on the topic while your mind begins to whirl at his words.

On the bright side, you were glad neither you nor Atsumu spoke much about it. The days where you’d spend the afternoons with the team until practice ended, if nobody wanted to catch dinner the two of you would eventually just part ways at the train station he walked you to every night.

“I could always drive you home, ya know, I’m a good driver,” he says when you search through your bag for your PASMO card.

“I live in the opposite way you’re going, ‘Tsumu,” you laugh, albeit still appreciative at his offer.

“I know,” he replies and rattles his keys in his hands.

You’re still digging through your bag as you look for the card you know you must have left at home before you finally sigh and look at him looking at you holding out his keys.

“C’mon, (Y/n), I won’t speed I swear!” Atsumu laughs as he leads the way to the parking lot.

-

A few more weeks pass and you’re glad no one mentions the fact that you follow Atsumu into the parking lot every time practice ends. The day after he drove you home for the first time, you flashed the PASMO card you made sure to have with you this time and told him thank you for dropping you off the day before. He only rolled his eyes as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you in the car with him.

In hindsight, you could have said no and waved him off like usual, but your feet were matching the steps in his before you could even process what you were doing. He just drove you home, made small talk, and asked about your days most of the time—so all in all it was pleasant.

And you lived in the west side of town so drive always meant that the both of you had a front seat view to the sky’s art show. One thing you noticed (and appreciated) about Atsumu was the duality in his focus.

First hand, you’ve seen up close the intensity of his focus during his serves. The air would whip itself into a deafening silence at the drop of his hand and his eyes steeled over as fast as the sounds came to a halt—it was eerie, almost. In the way that sent chills down your spine and admiration bubble in the pits of your stomach. Then, as quick as the ball slams on the spot of the ground he aimed towards—the yell of triumph he’d express and the smile that would break into his face would overflow from his whole being. Like exhaling shakily after a sharp intake of breath—Atsumu was everything intense.

But, Atsumu, you think as you peek at him looking at the skies in front of him, was also serene. The kind of focus that pulled you in all the right ways. Like the gentle teacher you had from elementary who would coax you softly to focus sounding out the words in the passage you had trouble pronouncing. His hands were steady on the wheel, at 10 and 2 and the car would slowly come to a stop at every red light instead of the sharp lurch your body moves into when you press the brake a little too harshly. He only sometimes put music in the car—he told you he prefers to have your voice as company instead of hearing about the weather from the radio.

It surprised you, but at this point Atsumu brought nothing in your life but surprises. Then again, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—you were just used to feeling the ground before you fell so his uncertainty was still very much of an unmarked territory for you.

-

“Is it something about me?” he asked when the two of you exited the car and stood outside the entrance to your apartment building.

You know what he’s talking about, but you opt to stay silent and look at him with your head tilted instead because you already feel the urge to take one step back.

He’s still looking at you even as the passing moments are stretching into an awkward silence so he sighs and shoves his hands back in his pockets—something he does when he’s nervous, you noticed—and waved you off when you opened your mouth to try to retaliate. You’re thankful because you aren’t exactly sure what it was you were going to say anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says as he turns.

“See ya tomorrow?”

He waits for you to nod and wave a goodbye at him, which he first smiles at, before he starts the car and drives away.

-

His question “doesn’t keep you up at night,” is what you try to convince yourself when it’s 2:05 am on a Tuesday night and all you’ve done so far is toss and turn in bed. To prove your own point, you’ve sat up and turned the bedside lamp on while you scroll through some unopened emails on your laptop.

Halfway into retyping the same email you know you’ve been staring at for the past hour, Atsumu’s contact photo chimes in your phone in the form of a text message.

“you up?” it reads from the notification bar and you automatically shut your laptop close, turn off the lamp, and throw your covers over your head.

“No,” you reply out loud and you internally groan because of how ridiculous you’re being.

Your thoughts from the night before still remain in your head as you’re sitting on the bench beside the court later that afternoon as you type away at your laptop. It’s still the same email you never replied to last night, but you try to ignore that. You also ignore the fact that you’ve kept count of how many times the ball slammed on the opposite side of the net when Atsumu practiced his serves.

You don’t notice it when Bokuto takes a seat next to you and looks over your shoulder at the email you’re not even halfway through typing.

“That’s the same email opened since this morning,” he points out and you groan before turning to face and quickly shush him.

He’s laughing when he takes a seat next to you.

“You know,” he begins, “I think you’re just scared to feel something for Atsumu.”

You close your laptop—the draft of your email unsaved, like it had any coherent content anyway.

“Bo, you’re being silly,” you reply knocking your shoulder against his in laughter.

“You’re avoiding the conversation, (y/n),” he laughs back and you wave him off towards the court in laughter when the coach calls for him.  He stretches when he stands back up and tells you, “We’ll talk about this later because I think you need it,” before jogging off to the other side of the gym.

Inwardly, you heave another sigh, because this was one of the times where Bokuto’s being more serious. You had to give him credit—the duality in his personality and harsh line when he switched from jesting to seriousness was impressive. Bokuto Koutarou wasn’t smart in many aspects of the domestic parts of life—he didn’t understand taxes, or why you needed to change the oil often, but he had a way of looking through the layers people build around themselves.

At first, it caught you off guard because two weeks after you met you had only been sitting outside a convenience store watching him lick the melted parts of his ice cream on his hands when he suddenly turns to you and says, “(Y/n), I wish you would take risks more. You’re too cautious.”

He never brought it up again, but every time he chose to tell you something—it was always something you knew, never acknowledged, but needed to hear.

So when Atsumu waves at you and shouts that he’ll just shower and be out in thirty minutes, you ignore the urge to step back, and smile at him instead.

You’re thinking about Bokuto’s words again as you listen to Atsumu yell something at Sakusa from inside the locker room.

You’re too different from each other.

You suppose there are differences, especially in the way you address your friends—Atsumu’s not afraid to clap your back while he laughs while you choose to keep your hands to yourself. He’s not afraid to let his intentions be known while you try to wrestle with your thoughts every time you’re shifting closer to the edge.

You could always walk away, you tell yourself every day, but every day you also choose to not do that. You know day by day and sunset after sunset you watch with Atsumu you’re nearing that edge again—and you want nothing more than take twenty more steps back but each day he offers you a new joke that you genuinely laugh at you know it’s a couple centimetres closer to where you’re afraid of going.

Bokuto’s right, you’re different from each other, but you know deep down that you’re alike in so many ways. When Atsumu talks about what he wants to do accomplish in life outside of volleyball, he talks with such a childish wonder in the certainty of the tone of his voice. At times, he was stubborn to the core—just like you were, and you realize that would clash between the both of you some day but Atsumu smiling as he’s jogging towards you has you realizing that you don’t really mind at all.

“Ready to go?” he asks and you could only nod as you follow him out the door.

Bokuto’s looking at you and giving you a thumbs up which you nervously return with a smile of your own.

During the car ride back home, you’re thankful that Atsumu chooses to flip on the radio this time; you didn’t plan on telling much of a story, and your thoughts are too jumbled up with everything for you to even settle with small talk.

“You good?” he asks, then looks over at you at the red light. You nod yes and shift the bag sitting in your lap.

“The sky looks pretty today,” you begin, “—the sunset today looks like the ones I grew up seeing when I was a kid at my grandfather’s by the coast.”

Atsumu hums, but it’s still heard over the low volume of the car’s radio, “You should take me to see one day.”

Your gut churns and you curse yourself when you habitually chose to stay silent.

“I don’t mean it like I’m inviting myself there, (Y/n)—“

“It’s okay, you should visit with me next time,” you reply then turn to watch his expression shift from flustered to surprise from his profile. You’re watching him with baited breath and your heart thumping can almost be heard when the radio dips into a silence in the commercial.

The light switches to green and Atsumu eases his foot off of the break as the car slowly gains momentum before he’s nodding his head and saying a soft, “Yeah. Sure. Totally.”

It’s quite uncharacteristic for him to be so muted with his replies, but you suppose these are one of the similarities you’re discovering you have with Atsumu. He’s confident and barks out his comments when his emotions are running high, but at the moment you know the both of you are tiptoeing around that line of uncertainty at the moment.

When his pointer figure taps the steering wheel in an unknown rhythm, a nervous habit of his, you feel yourself slightly relax. The difference this time from that hallway breakup you had when you were sixteen was both of you were at the same page. That boy who said he didn’t love you let the certainty in his intentions be known in the way you could already anticipate the long term ending for. There was nothing more to be uncovered—and you didn’t find the push to dive down for more.

This, with Atsumu, was a different story. You had curiosity with the unclarity. You craved to unravel his truth. 

Truthfully, every decision you’ve made so far had you already seeing the outcome—that’s why you’ve only felt like you were only jumping to a ground two or three feet under you.

With Atsumu, you’ve come to realize that he personified the edge. At the same time, he was the push and the pull of the wind when you’re balancing yourself between curiosity and reason. You know the frustration you feel when you can’t read him comes from the fact that you’re only seeing him from the surface. You see licks of who he is with every slam of the ball and every spark in his eye. 

But just when you feel that knot in your stomach, you allow reason to cloud your desire to jump into the blurred lines of variability— Every. Single. Time.

And it frustrates you because twenty steps back have become too comfortable for you to try to leave. You hated it, but you knew what was waiting for you every time, so you learned to find the comfort in it.

The truth is, you’ve always had the curiosity towards what it felt like to plunge. Like the story your grandfather would tell you—it ended with the boy dying by the edge he never found the curiosity to jump in, surrounded by the questions that ultimately died with him. It was a pitiful end, and up till now you believe the entire story could have been avoided. You know you’re always thinking about the dive and what comes with it, but never found quite the push that’d lead you to want to throw your body forward and seek.

You know Bokuto always had a point in the passing comments he tells you when you least expect it. Bokuto presented them to you in forms of declarations not even in questions.

The sky in front of you is the same sky you stood under when you dangled your feet over the edge, fearless, years ago. Atsumu feels like the push and pull of the wind, and the tug of gravity under your soles when he looks at you as you stand in front of your apartment building.

You’re not in the cliff side this time but you see the horizon you forgot you loved when Atsumu shoves his hands in his pockets and offers you a smile.

You hear the cry of the waves below and the call of the seagulls to your left when Atsumu says, “About earlier, you don’t have to worry about it—I was just jokin.”

“You’re scared to feel something for Atsumu,” you hear Bokuto tell you when you itch to take a step back, then, “I wish you’d take more risks.”

“I wanna take the risk,” you say out loud and Atsumu looks at you quizzically, before softening his eyes when he realizes what you’re trying to say.

And you could almost laugh because of course he understands what you mean. Atsumu knew more than he let on and you could laugh again at the mirroring of your personalities. It was opposite and identical at the same time: identical like the both of you understanding each other’s metaphors without explanation, and opposite in the way he always addresses them while you do, well, the opposite of that.

“I wanna jump,” you say even if it doesn’t make sense because you’re confident the message will reach him all the same.

Atsumu’s beaming and you think it looks like the sun that’s looked at you from the horizon for years. When he takes your hands in his, you inhale yet feel breathless because the balls of your feet feel weightless and your body is leaning forward.

And when the clouds in the sky blend with the painting and Atsumu leans forward, you let gravity take you—

Then, you’re diving.

-

[sombreboy]

Mused obsession (1)

Written by @sombreboy​ as Jungkook & @chimoona​​ as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog​​

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 7.4k ⇢Ch.warnings: (Does sexual tension count?) None.

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

Jimin shifts in his chair to find a comfortable position. He’s about half an hour into hair and makeup and already itching to get in front of the camera. It’s day one of promo shots for a clothing line he’s actually passionate about—his own. He’d come far in his career, gaining traction for his unique look and alluring personality. Now it was time to get the recognition he deserved, as a model and a visionary. He powered through a couple solid years of being a nobody, doing whatever gig got his foot in the right door. Today is the beginning of his new chapter, a rebranding milestone. He only hopes he has the right crew to make his vision a reality. 

Jungkook is a famous photographer, widely known for his brand name ‘GJK’ within the industry. Having a photoshoot with him was rare to come by, not because he is difficult to reach, but because he is extremely picky with whom he works with. Only the best of the best gets his lens pointed at them, and it just so happens, Jungkook found Jimin among many possible clients to work with.

The fashion itself wasn’t exactly what Jungkook cared for, but he had to admit that it was eye catching, fresh, and modern. However, what truly caught JK’s eye was the man behind it all, Park Jimin. He looked deeper into who this man was, and was impressed with how he’d worked his way up from nothing to where he’s at now, Jungkook himself being a large stepping stone for the young man.

Kook could see himself in him in a way, having worked his way up by being dedicated to his hard work, and at his young age—being known as the highest profile photographer in the industry.

He’s busy, setting up the studio lighting, making sure his camera is in place before roaming the room, one hand held out as his staff brought him his banana milk. A guilty pleasure. He hates coffee—but loves overly sweet drinks.

‘‘Where’s Jimin? Shouldn’t he be here by now?’‘ JK glances at his staff, who bows in apology and makes their way to call for the model that it was time.

Jimin’s heart pounds in his chest at the shaky sound of his name being called by a spooked PA. 

“Showtime, Sir,” she mutters. “Mr. Jeon doesn’t like to be left waiting.” 

The makeup artist snaps to attention and gives a final spot-check for imperfections while the hairstylist fluffs his soft hair for a “just woke up” look. 

“Who’s running the show here?” Jimin asks quietly, feeling a little cocky, but not enough to ever say it in front of the high-profile photographer. The man makes him nervous, he hates to admit. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around how he scored Jungkook for his promo shoot, but didn’t think to ask out of fear he would back out. Jimin admires Jungkook’s tenacity and work ethic, despite being the younger of the two. He had to make sure everything was perfect, knowing very well how he liked his subjects to be of visual perfection and grace. “Please tell him I’m on my way.”

Jungkook sighs when the PA comes back with the news, sipping his artificial drink with one hand firmly placed on his hip. His eyes roam the room, making sure everything is the way he wants it. Normally, the staff would do the work, but being picky as he is, he prefers to set everything up himself. That way, if something wasn’t up to par, it was all on him.

‘‘Alright everyone, when he arrives, you know the rules. I want utter privacy.’‘

Jimin steps into the studio, dressed in his first look—a clean form-fitted blazer and tight black jeans, paired with genuine leather ankle boots. He didn’t want gaudy accessories but couldn’t resist slipping slim silver rings over his delicate fingers to match his signature silver hoops. His public persona until this point has been very bubbly and light—the typical boy next door. Now he wants to flip the industry on its head and feature an aesthetic of dark neutrals with metallic accents.

He was too busy smoothing over his blazer as he approached Jungkook to realize it was just the two of them. When he looks up, he notices just one set of eyes staring back. No PAs, no stylists. Just the undivided attention of Jungkook as he sipped his sugary milk. 

“Oh—uh...hello, Jeon. I appreciate you taking on this project at such short notice,” he nods politely, reaching out a hand to shake. “Is the staff off for lunch? Will they be returning?” 

Jungkook glances down at Jimin’s delicate hands, observing the small rings adorning them. He was a man of detail, taking notice of every single piece the elder was wearing, the colours, even how every strand of his hair was placed. Letting his gaze dissect the man for a moment, still sipping his drink, he finally releases the straw with a pop as he reaches out to take the smaller hand in his. Call him rude, or maybe socially awkward, but instead of a normal handshake, he simply pulls the hand closer to his face to inspect the jewelry.

‘‘No, I asked them to leave.’‘ Jungkook simply states before releasing Jimin’s hand, ‘‘I prefer to work with my clients in privacy.’‘

Jimin swallows audibly, watching the photographer as he inspects his hand. He didn’t find it odd that he was engrossed in his appearance, however, a shiver ran down his spine at Jungkook’s reply. A new wave of anxiety washes over him at the revelation they were alone and would remain that way for the duration of the shoot. 

“I, uh, I see,” he says, eyes roaming over the younger’s meticulous setup. “You never cease to amaze me, Jeon. You think you can handle this all on your own?”

With one eyebrow raised, Jungkook tilts his head as his eyes travel back up to meet Jimin’s.

‘‘Do I think I can handle this on my own?’‘ He repeats softly, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. He brings the straw back into his mouth before motioning with his hand for Jimin to follow him onto the set, pointing towards the spot which he wants the elder to stand on. He turns around, waiting for Jimin to follow his silent instructions.

In the back of Jimin’s mind he couldn’t help worrying how it would all turn out. He has a lot riding on this, yet he knows Jungkook is a man of his word. His portfolio is anything but defamatory and unprofessional. He truly is an artist of taste. On top of that, Jungkook’s calm and nonchalant attitude was surprisingly alluring, easy to follow. 

“I hired you for a reason,” Jimin replies, belated, “I trust your judgement.” After stepping on his marker, Jimin takes in the ironed backdrop and pristine lighting structure. Jungkook seems to be more than prepared without assistance, which puts him at ease. 

Jimin falls into his role of model, standing in contrapposto with his shoulders held back proudly. “How would you like me?” he asks, staring into the photographer’s dark umber eyes. They caught him by surprise, how focused they were on his every movement.

Jungkook’s eyes never wavered from him, observing every single movement of his. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t entranced by the elegance that oozed off of the elder. His movements were so delicate, as if every step had purpose. It made him smile.

‘‘Just stay like that.’‘ Kook threw his finished drink to the side before getting behind the camera, able to properly focus on every detail through the lense as he adjusts his angle. The man in front of him is photogenic, that’s for sure. He’s gorgeous. Before Jimin was even ready for the shoot to begin, the sound of the camera going off a couple times echoed; JK withdrew a bit to check how the first series of photos turned out with a content expression.

This is one way that he likes to do it to warm up, to see how the model would react to his sudden actions. Would they be anxious? Would they get mad? Or something completely different?

Jimin pushes his hair back with his ring-clad hand, getting lost in the moment. It’s flattering to see just how eager Jungkook is to begin. Granted, his rapid test shots are more than he’s used to. He’s always ready to adapt to a new situation. 

He runs through his series of standard poses, leaning into them harder because it seems to please the younger man. If he’s enthusiastic about the process, Jimin is positive it will shine through in the final product. 

“How is it turning out?” 

Jungkook removes the camera from the tripod stand he originally intended to use, staring down at the screen on his camera while flipping through the images,

‘‘It’s okay.’‘ He nods to confirm his own words, checking before bringing the camera back up in front of his face and snapping another photo of Jimin while he was speaking. He went back into his own world of checking his latest photograph, a nodding hum in thought as he stared at it. 

‘‘The camera loves you.’‘ 

As Jungkook thought, this man truly was photogenic, and the fact that he knew how to be on camera only made the photos more beautiful. Even if he wasn’t prepared for his latest shot, it turned out to be his favourite photo of them all. His eyes fell back on the elder before he spoke. 

‘‘Grab that chair and sit on it, please.’‘

The flash of Jungkook’s camera caught Jimin off guard while he was mid-speak, but it must have turned out well. It brought a smile to Jungkook’s face as he stared down at his display screen, endearing bunny teeth peeking out from his rosy lips. He must be going for a specific style, trying to capture the feel of his clothing in a candid moment. 

God, he really is a genius. 

At Jungkook’s command, Jimin pulls over a chair and sits on it, draping his arm over the back casually.

Jungkook approaches by a few steps, crouching on the floor as he points his camera towards Jimin. This time he gives him an opportunity to be ready for the photo. However, before snapping the photo, he whispers out a few words with his sweet voice.

‘’You’re a beauty,’’ –To trigger a reaction, whether it might be a smile, a face of shock, or a pair of furrowed eyebrows, he loves to spur expressions that weren’t simply a model’s pout. Of course, he would need a few photos like that, but this part of his session was his favourite. It was like a little game, and Jimin was fun to play with so far.

Jimin’s nerves skyrocket as Jungkook compliments him. He’s used to photographers giving praise, but this felt very intimate as the younger’s voice was sweet and seductive. Then again, he probably just read the gesture incorrectly. Jimin is beautiful and he knows it well. It shouldn’t feel odd to hear those words pass Jungkook’s lips. Jimin stares back at him wide-eyed, mouth parted, trying to calm his nerves. 

Why is Jeon making him so nervous?

“Uh, t-thank you,” Jimin replies weakly. He looks around the room to read the crew’s expressions but is quickly reminded that he’s all alone, aside from the man on his knees, just a short distance away now. “That’s kind of you to say,” he confesses, cheeks warming. He swivels one of the silver rings around his finger until he can focus again. He’s probably reading too far into it.

Jungkook takes note of every little detail of Jimin’s expressions, movements, even the small stutter rolling off his plushy lips. It’s cute, he was definitely worth his time. He inches closer, getting a nice low angle of the beauty. The way the light bounces off the apples of the elders cheeks truly come into view, along with his small hoop earrings shining.

‘‘I bet there’s not a single angle you can’t pull off, Jimin.” He uses the model’s name casually, as he normally would any other client. But this time it felt a little more intimate, the way ‘Jimin’ felt on his tongue as he worded it out. He never wanted to stop saying it. However, there’s a job that needs to be done, whether he wants to play or not, so he continues to find various angles before standing back up. ‘‘Good job, now, let’s move on to the next look. Your stylists are waiting.”

Jimin hurriedly walks to the back room to change, a sigh of relief escaping his chest to see that the next outfit was laid out and ready. On his lean frame, it looked devastating. Head-to-toe worn black leather with silver trim and sparkling crystal accents, pulled together by a thin raw leather choker. “I almost want to steal it off your body,” the makeup artist comments, “it’s not fair you look this good!”

Jimin smiles back, fluffing his hair. “Maybe after the shoot. We need to get it on camera first.” 

The artist dabs a pretty red stain on his plushy lips and gives it a little gloss to shine under the lights. “He’s perfect,” the lead stylist confirms, waving off the others. She prompts him to enter the studio alone, which he does with confidence. 

His boots click on the hard floor, announcing his presence. He found himself expectant of how Jungkook would react.

Jungkook changed up the lighting a bit, dimming it ever so slightly to get a darker effect, knowing Jimin’s next theme would be something a little sexier. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was just how well Jimin would pull off the look. But then again, he really should’ve been.

Kook’s eyes widen momentarily as he sees the elder stride in; the echoing sound of his boots giving his aura an amplified effect of power. It’s such a contrast to the previous outfit.

“Wooow,” Jungkook can’t help but let his jaw fall open with a smile, not hiding how impressed he is with the look, clapping his hands together in a childish manner, “I like it, I like it!..” His hands remain clasped, approaching Jimin to circle around him, inspecting everything from the diamonds to the small choker on his neck. Without hesitation, he reaches out to brush his fingers against the material.

Jimin hadn’t put much thought towards the banana milk, but the animated way Jungkook clapped at his arrival just added to the photographer’s rare childlike mannerisms. It counterbalances his stern professional side and warms Jimin to see. 

“My photographer approves?” Seems so, especially by the way the younger’s long fingers graze his choker, tickling his neck with goosebumps. “I’m pleased I could deliver.” His eyes scan the dim room to find his mark. “Where would you like me for this portion?”

Jungkook’s eyes subtly fall on Jimin’s lips—the glossy red looks really, really pretty on him. He was pretty sure Jimin could be a doll, prettier than every single male and female he’s ever worked with. A joy for his camera lens. 

Withdrawing his hand from the choker, he delicately grasps onto Jimin’s wrist with one hand and his camera in the other before he guides him towards the second area of the studio, prepared for the darker theme. It was prepared by a large window ledge, painted in black like the walls around that specific area to give it a gothic vibe. This was also the very reason he’d chosen for the shoot to be done late in the evening, as he did not want any sun from the outside while doing this certain photo. Call him meticulous, but he just wanted things to be done his way.

“Sit on the ledge.”

Jimin allows Jungkook to guide him by the wrist, gradually becoming comfortable with the tactile way he likes to work. Jimin does as he’s told and sits, crossing his legs to rest an elbow to his knee. 

“This really goes beyond what I expected, Jeon,” he says, neck craning to take in the entire scene. “Do you put this much detail into all your projects or am I just a special case?” He smiles at the younger, trying to lighten the mood before he transitions to his dark persona.

Jungkook brushes his dark locks away from his eyes, bringing the camera up to check the scene through his lens.

“If you’ve seen any of my work, you’d know.” He says with a low voice, aiming to keep the elder on his toes with his comments. Kook knows he’s of a higher profile, and sometimes that makes people act cautiously around him—he finds it hilarious. 

He snaps a few shots of Jimin, satisfied with how effortless his beauty is. These photos are almost erotic, and that was just by looking at his face.

“Slide the leather jacket down your shoulders and keep it that way,” Jungkook instructs once more. He had simple requests, but they changed the entire photo.

Jimin smirks at Jungkook’s comment. 

Cocky, isn’t he? 

Of course he’s familiar with his work—he’d be living under a rock if he wasn’t aware of Jungkook’s tastes. His change in attitude catches Jimin’s interest and pushes him to deliver facial expressions and casual poses he’s recognized as the photographer’s preference, using his knowledge to his advantage. When he’s asked to bare his shoulders, he does it seamlessly, letting the fragrant material rest against his biceps. 

There’s something about this outfit that brings out his confidence tenfold. He hasn’t even seen the photos but he can already hear the positive reviews from competing fashion critics. In this setting he feels now more than ever that it’s his time to shine. 

“Is this edgy enough?” He asks, knowing Jungkook would be the right one to judge. With affirmation shining in his eyes, Jimin is ready to show the world what he’s capable of.

“Bite your lip.” He instructs again, a smile on his lips as he manages to get some really, really, gorgeous shots. 

This guy is ethereal. 

As the elder did as instructed, it sort of did give Kook a sense of…power. He’d never actually admit it though, it would be unprofessional… But, he likes this. He hasn’t enjoyed a photoshoot as much as he’s enjoyed this one—probably ever. He really doesn’t want the session to end.

But like any other, it was bound to happen. 

It’s late. So, Jungkook finishes off his last closeup of the choker part of his outfit before letting his camera fall, caught by the band attached around his neck. His eyes are glued to Jimin, a content sigh pushing through his lips, 

“That’s a wrap. We’re done for today.”

~~~

Back in the dressing room, Jimin peels himself out of his clothing, reflecting on the day. He’s positively elated by the way everything turned out, desperate to get on to the next set and see what Jungkook prepared for him. After experiencing the younger’s 5-star treatment, he knows he made the right decision in hiring him. A seasoned photographer like Jungkook was exactly what his team needed. He only hopes the feeling is mutual, and gets a sense that perhaps it was. 

“You’re a beauty”— Jungkook’s own words repeat in his mind over and over, making his heart throb at the memory. The praise meant a lot coming from his lips, not only because of his prestige but because he too was incredibly beautiful. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to think of his photographer, but he couldn’t help noticing. Tonight, he doesn’t think he’ll get much sleep, too excited for the next round.

The feeling is indeed mutual, Jungkook feels so satisfied with how his photos turned out, unable to contain the way his body almost vibrated with excitement while he was seated in the studio. 

The staff slowly came back, breaking his previous privacy to ask how the photoshoot went. All Kook gives them is a wide grin, which definitely serves as more than enough of a response—considering the way he’s always been quite the odd guy.

Everyone slowly starts to wrap up and go home for the night, however Jungkook remains at the studio, already preparing for the morning by taking down the current setup. Everything is done with Jimin in mind. He won’t be able to sleep anyway, rarely does—if the dark circles adorning his eyes are anything to go by. 

Some would say it suits his look.

~~~

The next morning, Jimin started his day like any other, but with more urgency. He took a brisk shower and awakened his smooth skin with a coffee mask and soothing cream. There really was no room for error, and Jimin felt the pressure mounting, knowing that the studio was already set and waiting for his arrival. It didn’t help that his morning copy of Fashion Times magazine had the largest photo of Industry Genius Jeon Jungkook staring deadpan into the lens as if to say “My time is money. I’m waiting.”

~~~

Having a session during the evening and continuing the following morning could be seen as hectic, but to Jungkook, it’s perfect. He can’t imagine having to wait longer than necessary to work with Jimin again.

Slowly, staff came early to help with the rest of the preparations—not that it needed much, Kook had done it all by himself during the night. 

He starts his routine with a drink—the sugary mixture—his favourite way to start off the morning as the PA places it in his hand.

“Jeon, did you even get any sleep? Your eyes…” The PA hesitantly asks, worried for his health more than anything.

“I’m great,” Jungkook ignores the question, a content smile on his face as he brings the straw to his mouth. He gives a thumbs up towards the PA, “Thank you for the drink… Also, when is Jimin coming?” He glances down at the expensive clock adorning his wrist. He was getting impatient, even if Jimin technically had time left to get ready.

Jimin appeared at the makeup artist’s station fresh-faced with an iced Americano and fluffy hair. He sat and let her work her magic as he caffeine reinvigorated his muscles. 

His first look was going to be on the soft yet sultry side—eyes framed with a slightly smudged layer of eyeliner and wisps of peachy pink eyeshadow. It would compliment the lighter spectrum of his collection, with touches of stark white juxtaposing the reoccurring dark neutrals and metallics.

In his mind it represents his old self and the self he hopes to be. The patterns and shades don’t clash—they create depth to his character. He can hear the wardrobe stylists fawn over his first outfit as they steam the fabric to perfection, giving him the boost of confidence he needs to approach Jungkook’s set. If yesterday was any indication of the photographer’s commitment to the project, Jimin was in for a shock. 

Jungkook is on his second drink by now; the sugar is very much needed after all the hard work he spent figuring out the set for the first outfit. To start, he wanted to keep it plain and simple, a metallic background to put the focus on Jimin entirely. But– no, it wasn’t good enough. Now, the idea he went for wasn’t revolutionary per se, but the way he set it up could be. He prepared a separate, smaller room by decorating every single inch with mirrors in different angles. Ceiling? Mirrors. Walls? Mirrors. Floor? You got the jist of it. Mirrors.

Kook had an additional idea, but he wasn’t sure whether or not to go for it yet. He wanted Jimin to shatter the glass– but he wouldn’t make the elder do it if it was deemed too much.

The younger was excited, anxious to see how Jimin would pull off his next look. It was almost unhealthy, the way the JK already felt like there was nothing else he could think of than Park Jimin and his beauty.

‘‘Noona!’‘ Jungkook whined as he strolled out of his mirrored room to find the staff, ‘‘Time?’‘

The way he whines is almost childish, however, the PA used to it. She knows this means his patience is running low, but merely out of excitement. His dark circles indicate hard work, and he wants to finish what he started.

“He’s on his way, Jeon.”

Just then, Jimin’s familiar footfalls echo off the studio walls. 

“Just this way,” another PA instructs him, bringing him into Jungkook’s view. “Follow him into the mirrored room. That’s where you’ll begin.” Jimin nods and follows him into the small room, intrigued by her words. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but it really was a mirrored room—top to bottom, mirrored fragments, deliberately placed. 

“Oh my—“ It was all he could muster, overcome with wonderment, seeing every angle of himself in the blink of an eye. “H-how did you—“ He turns to face his photographer and instantly notices his sleep-deprived state. His shining doe eyes narrow under dark lids, still alert despite his lack of rest, but visibly affected. Did he sleep for even a minute last night? 

“Jeon, I’m breath-taken, honestly. This is just absolutely stunning.” He can’t stop looking at Jungkook as he inspects the room and can’t decide whether to comment on his appearance or carry on. He decides the latter, respecting his process.

Jungkook’s smile widens at the praise, his bunny-like front teeth on full display, nose scrunched up, “Thank you.”

He moves to shut the door behind Jimin before placing his hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the wall. Kook’s eyes wander over the puzzled pieces of glass, doe eyes sparkling at the sight. He turns his attention towards Jimin, his smile falling back into a more neutral expression.

“This is a very special shoot, Jimin. This will be the breakthrough concept. But you have to trust me…” Kook pauses to sip the last of his drink, shaking it lightly to confirm that it was indeed empty. “Do you trust me?”

Jimin nods. The words ‘breakthrough concept’ is exactly what he wanted to hear. He’s dying to know what the visionary has in mind, and almost thinks to order a banana milk for himself to keep up with his pace. 

“I trust you,” he confirms. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

Jungkook’s hand reaches to brush a stray hair away from Jimin’s forehead, putting it properly in place before grabbing the camera that was hanging around his neck.

“Okay. First, I need you to look at the ceiling, at yourself, with sadness and frustration.” He takes a few steps back, angling the camera to his liking. “Then, you can improvise if you’d like… A few of these shots are needed. When we’re done, we will move on to the climax of the concept.” He peeks over his camera to make sure Jimin is keeping up with his instructions—a smile on his lips growing when, of course, Jimin kept up. He was made for this and followed Kook’s orders perfectly.

There’s not a moment of hesitance from Jimin as he falls into a rhythm. It was odd at first, looking at himself, seeing his own expressions as they formed on his face. Sadness, frustration, shock, anger—it was all for the climax he patiently awaited. 

He caught Jungkook’s pleased smile in his peripheral and knew his plan was falling into place. As odd as the photographer seemed, he exuded a sense of comfort and understanding that Jimin hadn’t felt in any of his other partnerships. 

He discovered exactly what Jimin wanted with very little direction, almost expounding upon a base concept and unfurling it like a flower. Jimin got on his knees, arched his back, contorted his body to discover disjointed versions of himself that made the clothing pop. When he was finished, he looked up at Jungkook with tiny droplets of sweat gliding down his bare neck. 

“How did I do?”

Jungkook almost had a dumb look on his face. He was in such deep focus, observing the small droplets of sweat glistening on Jimin’s flawless skin. His grip tightened around his camera without realizing, veins popping underneath his tattooed skin.

“Beyond expectations,” He finally replies. His tone might’ve seemed too neutral, but he meant it. Slowly, he starts walking towards the door to leave the room, but before he does so, he glances over his shoulder at the elder.

“Short breather. I’m gonna grab what we need for the next part. ...Want something to drink?”

Now was his chance—“Banana milk,” he replies, breathlessly. He had never tried the stuff. Never had the desire. However, the way the younger sucked it down made him more than curious to try. “I’m parched.”

Jungkook nods, a little surprised that Jimin would want banana milk. It’s a very sweet drink, and every single one of his staff often questioned how he could drink such ‘pure artificial sugary crap’—of course, not to his face.

He left the room, leaving Jimin by himself for a few minutes as he approached the mini fridge placed in the middle of the mess of his things, filled with his favourite beverage. He grabs two, whistling casually while grabbing the prop he needed for the next step in his photoshoot...A sledgehammer.

This was going to be the best part of it all.

Jimin stands to his feet and walks over to one of the mirrored walls. He dabs at his glistening sweat, readying himself for the grand finale. He almost stepped away to ask for a touch up from the makeup artist but heard Jungkook approach the doorway. A chill of excitement cooled his burning blood at the sound of a metallic clang.

Jungkook waltzes in with a smile, the two beverages in his hand and a sledgehammer in the other. His muscles strain, veins popping on his lower arm as the muscles flex. He carefully places the tool on the floor, letting it lean against the wall before approaching Jimin, handing him the banana milk.

“I’m surprised you asked for this drink, anybody else would simply ask for an iced americano.” But he was pleasantly surprised, nonetheless, curious as to what the elder would think of his favourite thirst quencher. He didn’t pay attention to how it probably looked when he walked in with a...hammer, but he surely will be anticipating the response when he finally asks him what to do with it.

Jimin swallows his first sip and shivers when the artificial flavour hits his taste buds. 

“It’s great,” he lies, “love this stuff.” 

He took another sip and let the creamy liquid pool in his mouth, beginning to savour the sweetness. It would take some getting used to, but he was already beginning to feel the effects. Just like the photographer, it grew on him. 

He’d become so engrossed in the beverage that he didn’t even process the sledgehammer Jungkook heaved into the room. In fact, he was a little too distracted by the younger’s strength to notice what he was carrying. The way his muscles flexed did not go unnoticed by the model. Not at all. 

“Wha—,” He chokes, swallowing another mouthful. “What’s the hammer for?”

Jungkook was emptying his drink at an inhuman speed, the slurpy noise of him sucking the straw until every last drop is gone serving as a childish reply until he puts it to the side with a lopsided smile,

“That depends if you’re willing to do it,” He counters, keeping the mystery for a mere moment. He’s intrigued, excited to see what Jimin would do about it. He seems strong enough to handle it, but just in case he’d picked a slightly less heavy version of the tool. Kook approaches the hammer once more, picking it up with one hand before bringing it over to the elder,

“I want you to hold it up, like this,” He grabs the hammer with both hands, demonstrating the motions of swinging the tool, ‘‘And shatter the mirrors!’‘

He turns back to Jimin, offering the sledgehammer for him to take.

“It will be extraordinary. What do you say?’’

Jimin takes the tool into his hands, feels the weight of it, turns it over and inspects it closely. His upper body strength isn’t matched to Jungkook’s but the hammer is light enough to swing, even for him. It seems a little dangerous, but what kind of impact would this project have if it didn’t involve a bit of danger? Jimin took a couple practice swings to make sure he was capable. Once he’s comfortable with the motion, he smiles at the photographer for confirmation—“Get ready, Jeon.”

He’s almost vibrating with sugar-fueled energy, harnessing it to throw the first blow. He jumps back and watches the mirrored shards fly across the room. It’s…liberating. He starts to feel weightless, drunk on power as he swings the hammer, posing between blows. Down to the floor, against the wall and back down to the floor. He demolishes the room until he’s completely exhausted, on his knees, sweat gleaming off his angelic face.

Jungkook didn’t utter a single word throughout, merely fixated on the moment, snapping image after image of the scene unfolding in front of him. He was in complete awe, as if in a trance. Jimin was absolutely perfect for this, and it went beyond his expectations, above anything he could’ve ever imagined. The glass flying as it shattered, surrounding Jimin like glitter—sparkling due to the flash of Kook’s camera.

As Jimin sank down to the floor, this was the absolute perfect ending to the collection, the elder shining in sweat, cheeks glistening with his eyes closed, a complete divine angel captured on camera. Jungkook had to put his camera down when he was finished and adore the scenery with his bare eyes, roaming the room with his gaze until they fell back on Jimin with a lopsided smile.

“Felt good, didn’t it?”

It felt...he feels... Jimin can’t put it into words. His hands shake from the adrenaline coursing through his veins; heart beating in his ears. He wants to feel like this every day—high on endorphins, full of courage. He nods in agreement, eyes still closed. 

“You’re a fucking genius, Jeon Jungkook.” That’s how he felt. Every bit of effort the younger put into this project only made Jimin more drawn to him. 

When he pushed him out of his comfort zone, it only solidified an inseparable bond Jimin began to feel forming. He opens his eyes and looks up at the photographer, matching his smile with a dazzling one of his own. 

“May I see the photos?” If they turned out as well as he imagined they would, there’s no way he’s letting him go.

Jungkook smirks at the praise, approaching the elder as he towers above him, eyes still just as fixated on the blonde. From this angle…Jimin is almost delicious…no, he definitely is. Shrugging his thoughts away, he offers a hand to help the man below him to get back up on his feet.

“Follow me then, we can sit outside of this room, because—well, glass.” He smiles, guiding Jimin with him with one hand, camera in the other to guide them towards the couch that had served as a prop. He slouches down on the soft cushion without second thought and pulls the camera up, flipping all the way back to the very beginning where Jimin had just walked into the room—photos that weren’t part of the shoot. Just, the look of wonder and awe in the elders' eyes was too good not to capture. “Come sit.”

Stick tacky with sweat, Jimin pulls off his jacket and slings it over the couch arm. He takes a seat next to Jungkook and leans in close to see the screen. His heart rate maintains a strong pace as he’s a little distracted by their proximity. He focuses his attention as the younger begins flipping through the camera and gasps, gawking at the shots of him walking onto the set. 

“I didn’t even think of doing a behind-the-scenes!” Even off-set, the photo composition is pure art—light illuminating his face and clothing stunningly. He leans in closer to see the fine details, balancing his hand on the younger’s firm thigh. 

Jungkook presses his lips together tightly—Jimin wasn’t supposed to see those photos. Honestly, they were more for him than the actual shoot. He just really likes the way Jimin looks when he’s not aware of the camera...

“Yeah,” He breathes out, pretending that they were indeed for the shoot, relieved that the elder did see them as behind-the-scenes.

Once Jimin got closer, feeling his petite ring-clad hand on his muscular thigh, Jungkook’s breath stopped. He let Jimin look through the photos, mindlessly flipping through them for him. Kook’s focus was somewhere else entirely—fixated on how beautiful Jimin was this up close. 

Jungkook inhaled deeply through his nose, catching the scent of the elder; sweet, with a hint of the musk of a tiring session. It was stirring something inside of the younger that he knew was already there, an interest...A very intense interest.

“Jeon?” Jimin grips his thigh to get his attention, pressing his rings into the taut muscle. “Hey,” he laughs, eyes narrowing to focus on the screen, “Slow down, yeah?” 

Jungkook was cycling through the photos a little too quick for him to keep up. All Jimin could see was the first flash of his garment or a close-up of his face before they were onto the next set.

Jimin looks up at Jungkook and notices he’s barely even looking at the screen. His eyes keep wandering to Jimin, looking him up and down. Jimin’s eyes flick to his, then down to his lips which are bitten raw and parted. Jimin wets his lips at the sight, becoming all too aware of how close he is and how hot he feels under the photographer’s gaze. 

“Jungkook…what’s wrong?”

Jungkook’s dark eyes quiver as they meet Jimin’s, blinking hard once, then twice until he’s brought back down to reality. 

How is it that he is so enchanted by this man? It’s ridiculous. 

Kook bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the blonde’s rings digging into his thigh did nothing but feed into his growing infatuation with the man. Because that’s what this is, right? Infatuation? It must be.

“N-nothing, nothing’s wrong…” He stutters out his words, gripping onto his camera as he skips to the last scene, trying to avert the question any further. The images are of the mirrors surrounding the angelic model just moments before he shattered them. Kook leans in closer to Jimin to show him properly, his own smile growing at the perfect visuals. “What do you think of these?”

Even in their raw format, Jimin falls in love with the photos. The multi-dimensional element that the mirrors provided made it look as if he was appearing and disappearing at the same time. It wasn��t until he began smashing the mirrors that Jimin came into focus as one complete person, surrounded by fallen shards. 

“They’re absolutely perfect,” he breathes, catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s shimmering eyes. His lithe body presses against Jungkook as he studies the final shot. He feels him inhale sharply at the contact, tensing even more. 

Based on how intimately the photographer captured him in those last moments of their set and how he stuttered earlier, Jimin gets the sense he may be teasing the kid. It wasn’t his intention; he can’t help the way he looks. He also can’t help the way Jungkook looks—childlike innocence, masked by deep lust. 

“Do I make you nervous?” Jimin asks, plump lips curling to a timid smile.

The grasp around his camera tightens, and he’s sure that if the material wasn’t of such quality, it would burst like an apple in his hands. A short breath pushes through his lips; a breath he wasn’t even aware of holding until Jimin’s smile forced it out of him,

“No…” Jungkook isn’t nervous, but he won’t easily admit his growing attraction to the elder. Flustered, perhaps? Or, something like it...

To continue to avoid the question, he turns off the camera and shuffles away a bit, giving himself the much needed space between their bodies. It’s too much, he isn’t used to feeling this gravitation towards somebody else.

“Good,” Jimin replies, smiling wider and straightening his damp white shirt. “You’ll need to have nerves of steel if you’re going to accompany me to my mini fashion show tomorrow.” He nips his bottom lip at how cute the photographer is being, shying away so quickly after his question. “I do hope you’ll come, it wouldn’t be the same without the infamous Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook straightens his posture, head turning to look at Jimin with raised eyebrows. Oh, right—he was informed about this, but he had almost forgotten. But only because he was informed about this before even meeting the angelic man next to him. Now, he definitely wouldn’t miss the chance of seeing this show,

“I’ll be there,” He simply confirms with a small smile. Before he’s able to say anything else, his PA approaches, telling the two of them that it’s time to wrap up. 

It was done, their partnership was done. Now, it was fine for the real work, Jungkook had to perfect the photos before sending them in. Even if, in his own opinion, they could be used in their raw state, he knows there are pieces that need to be polished into his perfection. 

He turns to Jimin once more as he stands. “You did great...It was a pleasure working with you.” 

And he hopes—no, he knows he has to do it again.

~~~

Later that evening, Jimin fusses over prep for the following day, moisturizing his flawless skin and pressing his suit for perfectly clean lines. It was going to be a short show, but the turnout was predicted to be A-class. The industry’s most trusted brand ambassadors secured seats to the event, not to mention a handful of fellow celebrities. He had to be fully prepared to present his line with passion and charisma—practicing in front of the mirror until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

When his body couldn’t keep up with his mind, he flopped onto his bed half-clothed, drifting to sleep. Running the promo shoot and fashion show back-to-back was a tiring and somewhat unrealistic undertaking, but so was the rest of it. 

He wonders as he drifts to sleep, if perhaps the photographer would like to finish what they started. Maybe then he’d get to know the man behind the lens. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook was finally able to go home for the first time in days. It’s just the way he is, completely indulged and tunnel-visioned on work until it was finished. There’s nothing else that can possibly exist in his world until he feels satisfied. Now that this part of the job is over, he feels...empty, in a way. 

He wants to work with Park Jimin again. Just the thought of any other client seemed dull in comparison. 

After a long, well needed shower, he lays down in his grand bed and stretches his body out like a starfish with a content groan. 

The next morning he stood by his closet, humming in thought. He was definitely not going to miss out on Jimin’s fashion show, especially not when he was a big part of the upcoming collection. Not to mention, Jungkook knew that his presence would draw attention, and he wanted that. He wanted Jimin to get more recognition, and what better way to support this by simply showing up?

Jungkook figured he wanted to bring his camera. He surely could get some fantastic shots of Jimin—and the show! He took a long time of considering what to wear, almost texting his PA for help, but opting to simply do it himself. He ended up with...well, the obvious if Jungkook were the one picking his own outfit: Black dress shirt, black dress pants, black shoes—topped with a black suit jacket, embroidered with patterns of sparkling threads to give it a little dazzle.

He nodded, satisfied with what he saw, ruffling his mess of a hairstyle—dark curls flowing freely as he received the call that his car had arrived.

He couldn’t wait to see Jimin...

...and Jimin couldn’t wait to see him either. 

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[cordria]

Flowers

Danny skulked into his house through the back door with the intent of avoiding his parents. He’d had an extremely wonderful day thus far - no homework, no ghosts, a decent grade on his math test, and even a compliment from his science teacher on the project they were working on - and he had zero desire to run into someone who could ruin his winning streak with a reminder about chores. 

It was for nothing, as his mother was sitting at the kitchen table. Danny’s shoulders drooped. 

“Hi Sweetie,” she said. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Danny muttered, toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag near the door. “I’m going to-” he stopped, realizing there was someone else at the table with his mother. He blinked at the strange woman. “Hello.”

The woman had a kind smile with large dimples, an oversized nose, and a large black curly hairstyle. She also looked vaguely familiar. “Hello.”

“Danny, this is Katie. She and I were good friends in college.”

It clicked in Danny’s mind. The woman was in a lot of his mother’s pictures from college. “Hi,” he repeated. Taking advantage of the fact that his mother was chatting up an old friend (although ‘friend from college’ made the little hairs on his neck stand on it - that phrase never seemed to bode well), Danny edged around the table with the idea of vanishing up to his room.

“She’s a botanist,” his mother continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Danny wanted to not be here. “Katie was just passing through after picking up some specimens, but she’s agreed to stay for a while and help me with an experiment I have going. She had a unique idea for it.”

“Sounds fun,” Danny said. He was nearly out of the kitchen.

“She’ll be staying in Jazz’s room.”

Danny hesitated. Having another scientist actually in their house meant he’d have to be careful to toe the line for a few days. “Okay…”

“Can you clean Jazz’s room a little before you relax?” His mother sent him a smile. “Make sure there’s nothing lying around?”

“Oh, Maddie,” the woman said, waving her hand, “I can do a bit of cleaning. I just appreciate the offer! Let the young man go do his thing after a long day.”

Danny was about to nod and agree with that sentiment, when he remembered Jazz sucked at hiding things. Like notebooks and photo albums full of secret-breaking information. “Ah… I can clean. Jazz is a neat freak anyways, it’ll only take a minute.” 

“That’s sweet of you.” Katie sent him a huge smile. “Thank you.”

“New sheets and things too, please,” his mother added. “I know Jazz keeps her room clean, but it’s been almost a month since someone was in there. They’ll smell dusty.”

Danny waved his hand and took the chance to escape the kitchen. He trotted up the stairs, sending a quick text to Tucker that he’d be late logging into their game.

Jazz’s door was the second on the left, and the door was already open, a suitcase sitting on the bed and a coat draped on the desk chair. Danny felt something odd at seeing these strange things in his sister’s room, but he shrugged it off and glanced around. He knew about the notebook and the photo album. Now where did she hide them?

Poking around at the books on the bookshelf, Danny noticed what looked like a glass suitcase sitting on the ground. Pausing in his search for the notebook, he knelt down and studied what was inside. The glass was tinted, like sunglass lenses, and the objects inside were blurred and hard to see. They looked something like plants. Which made sense, since the woman was a botanist. Kinda weird, though, keeping them in such an odd container.

Danny left the plants to continue searching for anything secret-revealing, spending nearly fifteen minutes and not finding anything. “Perhaps she’s better at hiding things than I thought,” he muttered, slinking to the hall closet and getting a new set of sheets. “Or maybe she brought them to college.” It took only a few minutes to get the new sheets on the bed, new covers on the pillows, and to dump Jazz’s in the laundry. He lingered a few more minutes, eyes drifting over the room, trying to think of anywhere else things could have been hidden.

Feeling confident his secret wouldn’t be revealed, Danny headed towards his room. Tucker was waiting.

“Danny!”

He stopped, one foot in his room, and let his head fall back. He debated pretending not to hear his mother’s call. Twenty more seconds and his noise-cancelling headphones would have been on and he’d be surrounded by the sounds of an alien world. But his conscience tugged at him. “What?” he yelled.

“Need your help for a moment!”

He groaned, twisted on his heel, and slumped down the steps. Making sure every hint of his body screamed ‘I don’t want to be here’, Danny slunk back into the kitchen. “What?” he asked.

The kitchen table was now covered in paper. Graphs and charts and pages full of numbers were everywhere. His mother looked up with a grin, seemingly oblivious to his posture. “Katie has a terrarium up in Jazz’s room. Can you grab it please? And then, down in the lab, we’ll need some equipment. The portable lab kit will do, I think.”

Really? Danny thought as he headed back upstairs. Couldn’t do this yourself? 

But after those couple annoyed thoughts, he did start to wonder what was in the terrarium that they’d need the porta-lab. Slipping back into Jazz’s room, he knelt down next to the terrarium and studied it a little closer. 

There were five plants inside. They weren’t potted like a normal plant - their roots were dangling in the air, and the plants were suspended in the middle of the terrarium by glass rods. Two looked something like orchids, one looked like some sort of vine, and the other two looked like tiny trees. They looked like very normal plants, other than the lack of soil. 

He shrugged and grabbed the terrarium, hauling it downstairs. “Here,” he said, setting it on top of the mess of papers. 

“Thank you!” Katie chimed, reaching forwards and pulling it closer. 

In a hurry to get back to Tucker and his game, Danny took the stairs to the basement two at a time. The portal was humming calmly. He headed straight to the self where the porta-lab was kept, snagged it, and headed back up the stairs. It joined the terrarium on the table.

The glass door was open and Katie and his mother were peering inside. Despite the desire to run upstairs and get into his afternoon fun, Danny lingered, curious.

His mother dug through the lab supplies, pulled out a huge pair of gloves, and handed them over to Katie. “Perfect,” the woman whispered, reaching into the terrarium with gloved hands, and slowly releasing one of the plants from the glass rods holding it in place, and pulling it out of the terrarium.

Danny felt himself tensing, waiting for something bad to happen. Maybe it was a ghost flower, like those blood blossoms. There had to be a reason for the lab supplies and the strange, tinted glass. It’d be just his sort of luck, too, after such a good day.

But it was a normal plant. Six long green leaves. Limp white roots dangling from Katie’s gloved fingers. A small but pretty white flower hanging from a stem.

Danny was almost disappointed. “What is it?” he asked.

“Dendrobium pacificum florid,” Katie said with a smile. “A rare and quite expensive orchid.”

“It’s just a plant,” Danny said.

Katie glanced at him. “What were you expecting?”

Danny sent his mother a confused glance. “You’re doing a project… on a normal plant? No ghost… anything?”

Katie laughed. “Ghosts? Are you still on that, Maddie? Jack and Vlad too, I suppose.” 

Maddie’s smile twisted into a small frown. “There’s potential-”

“Yes, yes,” Katie interrupted. “I heard all about it many times in college. God, it’s hard to believe you three never gave that pet theory up.”

Danny could see his mother’s hackles rise. “It’s not really a pet theory anymore, if you’d follow the news.”

“Of course, dear,” Katie said, her smile indulgent. Then she turned to Danny, ignoring the look on Maddie’s face. “And we’re not doing an experiment on the plant. We’re doing an experiment on it’s genetics.”

Still with a frown on her face, Maddie nodded. “Vlad sent-”

Every muscle in Danny’s body tensed.

“-along some rather interesting data he said he’d collected and Katie’s an expert in biogenetic engineering, especially when it comes to plants. We’re hoping to see if we can recreate some of… this,” she waved her hands at the messy stack of papers, “in a plant.”

“Uh-huh,” Danny said, trying not to sound too interested. But with Vlad involved, he needed to know what this experiment was about. “What are you trying to get the plants to do? Grow fangs and attack Da... uh… someone?”

Katie laughed. “No. We’re trying to translate a unique bioluminescent trait into the plant. Like what a firefly uses to glow.”

“A… glowing plant?” Danny asked.

His mother sent him a tight smile. “Yes.”

Danny looked down at the porta-lab, at the ghost equipment and the beakers that still had traces of glowing ectoplasm clinging to them and the sensors, and put two and two together in his mind. “Will this glowing plant be able to… float?”

Katie leaned forwards. “Floating is impossible, but the bioluminescent trait caused some sort of odd gravitropism. It was the interesting part of Vlad’s research, one of the reasons I agreed to this.”

Danny blinked, glancing at his mother in hopes of a translation. 

Maddie’s smile was sharp. “It’s a bioluminescent plant with odd gravitropism, Danny. Not a glowing plant that floats, of course. Ghosts are a… silly pet theory.” 

“Ah,” Danny said.

“I’m more interested in studying the gravitropism to be honest,” Katie said, turning the plant around and around in her hands. “Bioluminescence has been done before, of course. This plant has just the right sort of genetics for what I’m seeing in this data. Fortunately it’s flowering. Unfortunately, it’s such a slow grower it’ll be years before the pollen and ovules we’re modifying will be large enough plants for good study.” 

“Think about it,” Maddie said, leaning forwards and poking a finger at the papers, “a way to create organisms, living beings, with… bioluminescent and odd gravitropism.”

Danny didn’t particularly want to think about it. He didn’t want his mother figuring out how to create plants that could glow and float. A half-ghost plant. He felt the hair raise on his neck at the idea of his mother realizing that a half-living, half-ghost creature was possible. 

Surely Vlad didn’t want her to either. What was the man thinking?

“I’m going to… go,” Danny said. “You guys play with your plants.”

He ducked out of the kitchen, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he headed up the stairs. He went through his blocked number list, found the one he wanted, and hit ‘call’. “Hi, Vlad,” Danny said when the phone picked up.

“I’m busy, Little Badger.”

“What’s with the data my mom’s looking through?”

Vlad scoffed. “Merely theoretical information. I’m hoping she can help me solve an instability issue I’m working through.”

“Theoretical, huh?” Danny slumped into his room and shut the door. “You’re not planning on her using any of that information?”

“Maddie doesn’t have the skill, interest, or technology to actually do anything with the data I sent her. It’s not even the complete set of data. I’m just using her analytical skills to find a mistake. It’s harmless, Daniel.”

“You remember Katie, from college?”

“No.” A pause, then, “The flower girl? Black hair, big nose?”

“You mean the botanical biogenetic engineer? Yes, that one. She’s sitting at my kitchen table, looking through your ‘merely theoretical information’ and planning an experiment with my mom.”

There wasn’t a response to that.

“Hello?” Danny said after a long thirty seconds of silence. He pulled the phone away from his face, realizing he’d been disconnected. He couldn’t help but smile. “Well. That was rude.”

When the doorbell rang just a few minutes later, Danny glanced out the window to see Vlad’s limo double-parked outside. Setting his headphones over his ears, he finally logged into his game. It’d certainly be interesting to watch Vlad try to talk the information back out of his mother’s hands, but Danny was ready to tune out the world and play his game.

[multiharlot]

too little too late / s. reid

summary: spencer and y/n have been together for about eight months and she’s beginning to pick up on some things she wish she could remain oblivious to.

warnings: nothing really, light cursing, definite angst, this one is a long one. lmao sorry (2 part imagine. so be on the lookout.)

masterlist 

part 2

y/n’s pov

there was always a little piece of her in everything we did. i had somehow become a third wheel in my own relationship. i had taken the backseat for someone who wasn’t even here anymore. i should have known. i should have known the moment i brought him along to get my haircut.

“how do you feel about blonde?” i ask, flipping through the color book.

spencer shrugged and looked over at the book, gently pulling it from my grasp.

“how about black?” he suggests, turning to the back of the book with the dark hair samples.

at the time, i didn’t think anything of it. and i didn’t think anything of it when he had also slyly suggested bangs. i never thought anything of it when his team came over for dinner one night and morgan had pointed out how i eerily resembled my boyfriends deceased ex-lover. i never thought anything of it when spencer would lock himself away, rereading her letters or running his fingers over the book she had gifted him. perhaps it was because i didn’t want to think of it. i wanted to deny it until he had more time to make room for me in his still heavy heart. losing a lover wasn’t an easy thing to cope with, and i had no idea what he was going through. so i only thought, that this was how it was supposed to be. i let myself believe that this sort of treatment was normal. but it’s not.

“hey spence?”

“hmm” he hums tiredly as he tightens his grip around my waist.

i drag my finger over his smooth forearm, tracing the veins bulging through his skin.

“i love you”

“mmm love you too” he mumbles into my neck as he slowly drifts off into sleep.

this was the night i finally had to admit to myself that maybe this man wasn’t as good for me as i thought he was. as i laid in bed, facing my exhausted lover, i placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb softly over his stubbled cheek and letting my hand travel from underneath his jaw and into his hair. a content sigh falling past my lips as i studied every inch of his face. as if i had to memorize it before it could dissipate from my view. a gentle and tired smile reaches spencer’s face and he opens his mouth slightly, sucking in a breath of air, and mumbling softly as he exhaled.

“maeve...”

my hand froze and i quickly retracted it from his soft brown curls. my heart plummeted into my stomach and my throat tightened. spencer sometimes talked in his sleep, and it was one of the things i grew to love so much about him. one of the many things. but as he continues to mumble her name amongst the sweet nothings that escaped his lips, i had never hated his quirks more than i did right in this moment. i shifted my body onto my back and spencer pulled me closer, her name still escaping his lips from time to time. this made my mind race. what had she looked like? was morgan right? do i actually look like her? was that the only reason why spence was with me? i hadn’t actually realized how long i had laid there, staring at the blank ceiling, but before i knew it, the sun began poking through the blinds in spencer’s bedroom window. i still found my body paralyzed from the emotions when spencer’s phone rang out. i quickly turned my body away from his, closing my eyes and i listened to him groan and grab his phone from the table. 

“hello?”

“yeah...yeah okay i’ll be there.” 

he lets out a long sigh and throws the sheets off of his body. i kept my eyes closed as i listen to his rummage through the room. eventually, i hear his footsteps come closer to me and he runs his hand through my hair, his hand traveling down to my shoulder and he shakes me gently. 

“hmm?” i hum out, too afraid to look into his eyes. 

“i have to go, but i’ll call you. okay?”

“hmm.” i hum, flipping my body away from him. 

he lets out a chuckle before i hear him exiting the apartment. i release a breath that i hadn’t realized i was holding and sit up in bed, staring at closed closet doors. the letter filled box screaming at me through screens of the door. i threw the covers off of my body and searched through the articles of clothing and pulled the small shoebox from the back end of the closet, carefully opening the lid and flipping through the opened envelopes. every part of me wanted to read what the letters had said, but i had decided that i had already gone far enough into invading his privacy. but between the envelopes, i found what i had been searching for. the small 4x4 wallet sized photo of a beautiful woman. i looked as though he had taken the photo from a print out of a new article, but she was beautiful. far more beautiful than i could have been, no matter how many times i cut my hair, no matter what color i chose to dye it. no matter how many boxes of contact lenses i had purchased to replace my glasses or how many new articles of clothing i purchased because spencer had told me how much he enjoyed seeing them on me while we were at the store. i wiped my wet cheeks and tucked the photo back into the box, every bone in my body had began to shake with anger and embarrassment. angry at what a fool i was to fall into his tricks. embarrassed that i hadn’t noticed what exactly he was doing. i was giving my all to someone who was giving me nothing in return and now i had been run dry. i took a deep breath and put the box back into the closet. i stood from the ground and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk, writing out the note. 

spencer, 

i cannot compete with someone who cannot be here to claim their victory. i refuse to continue playing the fool. i love you. and i tried to understand your pain. i tried to help you through your struggles despite the hurt you inflicted on me every time you turned me away to pine after someone who couldn’t possibly respond to you. and maybe i’m being harsh right now, but it’s been years since she passed, spencer. you had so many chances to not continue this relationship. i had left the door open for so long, yet you insisted that you were ready for this. and i let myself believe that you were. but i can’t keep pretending to be somebody you need. i can’t continue being a surrogate for the love you lost. i won’t keep laying next to you when my name isn’t the name that’s leaving your lips when you fall asleep. i can’t stay with you when i’m not the woman you’re dancing with in your dreams. i hope you find peace, spencer. everyone deserves peace. just please don’t try and find peace in somebody else again.

y/n

a sob escaped my lips as i neatly folded the paper, leaving it on top of his desk. the morning sun was still high and bright in the sky. i grabbed my phone from the side of the table and dialed my best friends number, i knew he wouldn’t be awake right now, and should this be any other circumstance, i wouldn’t be calling. 

“y/n? why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” he groans, making me chuckle as i wipe the running snot from my nose onto my sleeve. 

is that gross? yes. do i care? not particularly no. 

“trevor? i umm...i need you to come get me.” i whimper as i walk around his home, collecting my things that were placed sporadically throughout his apartment. 

“what? what’s wrong? where are you?” he rushes out, i hear his keys jangling through the other end of the phone as i ran my finger over a framed photo of us that was placed gently on the mantle. 

“i’m at spencer’s. i’ll tell you when you get here.” i sniffle. 

“yeah. okay. i’ll be there soon. do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“no...just...get here.”

i hung up the phone and take the photo from the frame, deciding to leave no memory of us. as if we had never existed. because that’s certainly how it felt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*10 months later* 

“daniel, baby, please breathe.” i smile, placing my hand on my boyfriend’s broad chest to withhold him from his continuous rambling. 

he chuckles, taking a deep breath before nodding his head. 

“i know i know. i’m sorry. this guy just...i moved here to get away from the big town crime. yet here i am, dealing with some rambunctious serial killer.” he frumps, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. 

i give him a gentle smile and clean up the plastic containers littering the small coffee table in his office where we were taking a quick lunch break after i had finished my all night shift at the hospital.

“yeah well, you have the fbi coming in. they’ll help you figure this out.” i say as i throw the containers into the garbage. 

“and i have my beautiful trauma nurse girlfriend who will definitely come save my life if i have a panic attack over this?” he asks, a dopey smile on his face. 

“of course.” i giggle, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

there’s a soft knock at the door and one of his deputies pokes his head into the office. 

“hey guys, sorry to interrupt but that fbi team is here.”

daniel looks at me apologetically and i wave him off. 

“go greet them. i’ll finish cleaning up in here and then i’ll head off.”

“okay. thank you. and let me know when you get back home please?”

i nod my head and he stands up from the couch, placing another kiss to my lips before walking out of the office. i had met daniel about a month after moving away from quantico. we had met on my first day at the hospital after he had sprained his wrist after tripping to get a cat out of a tree. i was originally very hesitant to get into another relationship so soon after spencer, but daniel had proved to be ten times the man spencer ever was. daniel showered me with the love and affection i never got from spencer, and he always reassured me when i needed it. he was so patient with me and took good care of my fragile heart. soon enough, i found myself in love with the small town sheriff and had long forgotten about the man who took my love and ran with the wind. that was, until i walked into the middle of the small office and came face to face with the bau. 

“y/n” morgan gasps quietly and my eyes skim over the team, eventually meeting spencer’s. 

my heart skipped a beat and my hands turned into fists at my side as i gripped tightly onto the pants of my scrubs. i felt a hand on my lower back and my vision shifts upwards to my curious boyfriend. 

“you guys know each other?” he asks, flipping his line of sight from me to the team. 

“yeah ummm...i didn’t know you brought the bau in...” i mumble, and daniel nods cautiously. 

“yeah i did...are you okay, y/n?”

i cleared my throat, grabbing daniels button up and dragging him down to my level, standing on my toes as i whispered into his ear. 

“spencer’s on this team.” i whisper quickly before releasing him from my grasp. 

“oh...oh” he says, his eyebrows raised as his eyes fall onto spencer. 

i quickly elbow his side and smile nervously at the team still standing in front of me. 

“well, ya’ll have a serial killer to catch, and i have z’s to catch. i’m really tired, so i’m gonna head home. but it was nice seeing you all.” i smile, nodding my head awkwardly as the deputy leads them into the back of the station to set up. 

spencer’s gaze never pulls away from me and i shift uncomfortably. 

“hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay at my house?” daniel asks worriedly. 

i roll my eyes, placing my hand gently on his cheek. 

“i will be just fine. nobody will mess with me knowing i’ve got a mr. beefy boy as a boyfriend.” i wink, bumping my hip with his. 

“yeah, stronk beef cake will protecc and attacc.” his deputy snorts, making me throw my head back in laughter. 

daniel rolls his eyes and grabs my chin, pulling my face up and pressing a swift kiss on my lips. 

meanwhile, spencer and morgan stood at the table, both staring intensely at the sheriff and the woman who used to look at the resident boy genius the same way she looked at this small town sheriff.

“looks like you’re too little too late, kid.” morgan says, placing an empathetic hand on spencer’s shoulder. 

“i lost one love, i’ll be damned if i lose another.”

[robo-writes-haikyuu]

Meeting Oikawa in Rio

Summary: Reader is a travelling photographer who encounters Tooru Oikawa in Brazil. 

Words: 2.6k ( i went a little overboard I’m so sorry) 

Warnings: none; strangers to friends to lovers kind of idea, slow burn, beach vibes, idk that’s mostly it 

a/n: This is a request for the lovely @trash-revel​!! 💖 I’m so sorry this took forever it’s probably filled with typos and grammatical errors! That said, I loved writing this 💗 Also, sorry if it’s a little too long, I felt a little too inspired! I tried to sprinkle a little bit of Portugese in it with the help of google translate (if anyone here speaks portugese I hope I didn’t butcher it and hopefully did it some justice).

As a travelling photographer, you were living like a nomad, always on the move without a home base to call your own. Instead of renting a house or an apartment, you usually stayed in hotels or airbnbs. Your goal was to travel the world and capture all of the beauty you could find in it… and little did you know that the most beautiful thing you were going to find was on your travels in Brazil.

You woke up early that day, unsure if you were actually on a healthy sleeping schedule or if it was the jet lag talking. You were enjoying your morning coffee out on the balcony of your airbnb in Rio as you watched the sunrise over the beach. The water of the ocean gently tumbled into waves onto the shore as it reflected the vibrant gradients of the morning sky. If you squinted hard enough, you could faintly see Christ the Redeemer in the distance on the mountain. After a yawn and a deep stretch, you decided that it was time for you to get ready for your daily adventure. 

You prepared yourself for the unforgiving heat by slathering sunscreen all over your body and wearing loose-fitting clothes. As you got dressed, you could immediately feel the fabric cling to you from the humidity. You made a note to bring deodorant with you because you knew way too well that chafing was only inevitable on hot, humid days. You packed your bag with your camera lenses, a couple of water bottles, some snacks, an ice pack, sunscreen, and other things that will help you navigate your new temporary home. You finished off your look with a hat and your camera slung around your neck so you could have easy access if you see anything interesting to shoot.  

After reading up on some of the attractions in Rio, you decided to visit Tijuca national park. You’ve been wanting to get out on your feet after an incredibly taxing, twenty-one-hour flight from Australia, plus there was no way you could pass up getting shots of all of the diverse flora and wildlife. Your plan was to hike as deeply into the forest as you could and then stop at the botanical garden to relax and do some sightseeing. 

You sat at the bus stop, just minding your own business and intermittently reference the bus schedule on your phone, when a voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

“Erm… perdão,” said a voice that was very much not from around here. 

You peeked over to see a Japanese man, probably in his mid-twenties, trying to talk to an elderly man sitting on the bench at the bus stop. 

“Este carro... uh... é para o lugar da árvore?” the Japanese man said tentatively, clearly struggling with the language barrier. 

The elderly man blinked a few times, and responded with “Que?”

You were equally as confused. Based on the little bit of Portuguese that you knew, you were pretty sure he was asking for a car to drive him to a tree. 

The Japanese man grew a bit frustrated and scratched the back of his neck. You could tell the poor guy was embarrassed, so you tried to see if you could help him out. 

“Do you speak English?” You ask the Japanese man. 

He locks eyes with you, and it hits you how handsome he is. His smile is disarming and his eyes are gentle. His physique is well-built like a professional athlete, and he was dressed like one too. 

"I do," he responds. "Maybe you can help me. I'm looking for the bus that goes to Tijuca national park." 

"You're in luck," you say, gesturing to the map on your phone. "That's where I'm headed."

You both boarded the bus, which was packed like sardines, and made some small talk along the way. 

“Tooru Oikawa,” he says with an outstretched hand. “I’m a volleyball player.”

“(Y/n) (l/n),” you reply with your hand in his and give it a shake. “I’ve never met a professional athlete before.” 

“It’s been a dream of mine since I was a kid,” he smiles and proudly runs his fingers through his tousled hair. “Are you a photographer? I just noticed your fancy camera.” 

“Yeah,” you cradled your camera in your hand and fiddled around with the lens. “I wanted to check out the wildlife here and maybe try out some new techniques. I figured the national park would be a good place to start.” 

“You know, shutterbug,” he says, striking a pose. “ I have some experience in front of cameras. Not to brag or anything, but I’ve been in a few local magazines back at home.” 

You roll your eyes and chuckle; this man really is something else. He’s definitely charismatic and charming -- not to mention very handsome -- although there’s something else to him that you can’t put your finger on. There was something about his smile that just didn’t sit right with you. It reminds of you of how you were at family dinners; despite how much was on your mind, you just kept smiling to avoid rocking the boat. But, maybe it was just your imagination.

You arrive at your destination, depart the bus and find an uphill path that leads deeper into the forest. The two of you decide to walk together and continue to get to know each other. You tell him about how you were a travelling photographer and you had a lot of your works published in different magazines. You also tell him about your travels and all of the places you’ve visited. 

“What’s one place you haven’t gone to yet?” He asks as he kicks a stray pebble. “Where do you plan on going once you’re done here?”

“Definitely Japan,” you say. “That’s up there on my list, especially the countryside. I just think the scenery there would be amazing to see in person.”

“I’m from the country, you know” he said with a wink. “Maybe we’ll have another fateful encounter there and I’ll show you around sometime~” 

You can’t help but hide a blush from hinting at your cheeks. 

Despite how flirtatious he is, he seems genuinely interested in you. And you’re equally impressed by him; the way he talks about his history with volleyball demonstrates his deep passion for the sport. He talks about volleyball as if he was knight preparing for battle; he goes into detail about strategies, formations, techniques, everything that makes a good volleyball player. He also goes into detail about his past rivals, although there was an edge to his voice when he talked about them. You decide to not pry too much on the subject. 

“So what you’re saying is that you’re kind of a big deal,” you say. 

“I mean,” he responds with a wink. “If you think so, then I won’t argue.”

That’s when a toucan flutters out from the bushes and nests into his hair. Oikawa panics and flails his arms, trying to shoo away the bird, but it seemed to have no intention of leaving his locks. 

“Wait,” you say, steadying your camera in front of your eye. “Don’t move.” 

The look on Oikawa’s face jumps from surprised, to angry, to embarrassed. He crosses his arms and pouts with red cheeks; it seems he was trying to make a good impression on you and the toucan sabotaged his plan. His pout slowly relaxes when he sees the look on your face; you were so mindful about the angle, the lens, and the lighting; it reminded him about how he is with volleyball. He also had to admit, you had a really cute smile; he simply smiles and accepts his defeat. 

“Sorry,” you say, snapping a few more. “I’m almost done.”

“No no,” he says. “Take your time.”

That’s when you notice something different about him; this smile seemed totally different from how he was smiling when the two of you were on the bus. The way he smiled then seemed routine or rehearsed. This smile, however, was enough to make your chest flutter. You swear if more people saw a smile like this from him, the world would be a much better place. 

“You better send me a copy of those,” he teases, sticking his tongue out at you. “Someday, people might pay good money for them.

“You know it,” you say with a giggle. Although, you couldn’t tell if he was complimenting your work or if he was just that full of himself. 

You walk up to him and gently lift the toucan off his head and toss it into the air for it to fly away. 

“Well, I hate to leave you like this,” he said, pulling out his earbuds from his pocket. “But I need to get my afternoon run in. I look forward to bumping into you again soon, shutterbug~” 

With that, he jogged away, leaving you in a small cloud of dust. The nickname sticks with you and endears you more to him. You stand there with a smile on your face, as you hoped that this wouldn’t be your last encounter with him. 

And it wasn’t. As a matter of fact, bumping into Oikawa became a near-daily occurrence for the two of you. You always took the same bus to the national park where he went for jogs and you went for photo ops. Although, the two of you eventually exchanged numbers and made plans to hang out somewhere else. 

Every time you talk to Oikawa you always learn something new about him; you learn that his favourite food is milk bread, that his best friend, Iwaizumi, is taking sports science in college, and that he was captain of the volleyball team in his third year of high school. You tell him about your home country and what it was like growing up there, and how you’ve been pursuing photography since you got your first DSLR camera. You tell him about your favourite foods, your favourite music, and your favourite movies. 

One evening, after Oikawa was done practice, the two of you decided to make plans to grab dinner and go for a walk on the beach. At dinner, the sun was still high enough in the sky that it wasn’t quite sunset, but it was low enough in the sky that the temperature started to cool off.

The more you think about it, the more it starts to feel more like a date. 

“What kind of photos do you take?” he asks. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think you’ve shown me any of your work.”

You take out your phone to open up your digital portfolio and you hand it over to him. He scrolled through your gallery and saw various shots from nature, urban settings, and studios.  He came across a folder in your gallery labelled ‘100 Strangers.’

“What’s this all about?” he asked, flipping through the images. 

“Oh, that’s just a long-term project I’m working on,” you said. “My goal is to take portraits of 100 strangers that I meet in my travels and post little blurbs about them.”

“I’d offer to pose for a picture for you,” he says, leaning in as he rests his elbows on the table. “But it seems like we’re not really strangers to each other anymore.”

You can tell he’s flirting, but you don’t let him get away with it that easily. “I still have those shots of you and the toucan, you know.”  

He flinches and hunches over in embarrassment. “You’re a meanie, shutterbug~”

“What?” you say as you take one last bite of your food. “I love that picture. It’s cute.”

He suppresses a grin as he digs his fork into his food. He tries to act nonchalant, but the blush on his cheeks betray him. 

“So,” he says, bringing his food to his mouth. “You think I’m cute?”

A blush sneaks onto your cheeks and you avert your eyes from him. From the corner of your eye, you see him grin to himself in satisfaction. You avoid answering him entirely and just ask the waiter for the bill. 

It’s now sunset and the two of you were walking on the beach. You decide to take off your sandals and just enjoy the feeling of the warm sand in between your toes. The breeze was perfect, and it was enough to take the edge off the humidity. You then take out your camera and start adjusting the settings on it. It was golden hour, after all. 

You glance over at Oikawa, who ‘s just at the edge of the water and dipping his toes in. He looks out onto the horizon, where you could barely make out the silhouettes of the mountains, and takes in the balmy breeze. The wind swished through his hair elegantly, sweeping it just the right way that made it look effortlessly styled. You steadied your camera and snuck in a couple of shots. 

He looks over his shoulder at you upon hearing the shutters and grinned. “Couldn’t resist a photoshoot of me, shutterbug?” He held up a peace sign and placed a hand on his hip, awaiting more shots from you. 

After getting a few more shots in, you join him at the shore and dip your toes in, jumping at how surprisingly cold the water was. 

“You didn’t answer my question, you know,” Oikawa says, turning to face you. 

“Huh?” you chuckle nervously and tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. “What question?”

“Do you think I’m cute?”

You hesitated and wiped your clammy palms on your shorts. You definitely developed feelings for Oikawa, and you were sure he felt the same way about you. The problem, though, is that you were hesitant to jump into a serious relationship, given all of the travelling that you do. 

“I...” you murmur, nervously wiggling your toes into the sand. “Listen, I don’t want to get your hopes up. I travel a lot  and I get so busy with work that I--”

“Hey,” he chuckles while scratching the back of his neck, trying to mask his disappointment. “It’s totally alright if you don’t think so, I just thought--”

“N-no it’s not that,” you blurt out. “I don’t want to jump into anything serious only to have it ruined when I eventually start travelling again. I really do like you, Tooru, but I don’t think that would be very fair to you.”

Suddenly, you found yourself merely inches away from him. He softly chuckles and places his hand underneath your chin to tilt your face up to meet his. You look up at him, your face hot from both nervousness and excitement. 

“You put a lot of pressure on yourself, don’t you?” he says, as if he wasn’t one to talk. “Don’t worry about all of that stuff. How do you feel right now?”

You feel his fingers gently combing through the ends of your hair, sending tingling sensations all through your body. Your pulse quickens as he places a hand on the small of your back; he doesn’t go any further though. 

“I…” you murmur, leaning in and placing your hands on his chest. “I think you’re really cute.” 

He lets out a hearty chuckle and wraps both of his arms around you to pull you in closer to him. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says, inching closer to you. “Because I think you’re very cute, shutterbug.”

You close your eyes and meet your lips with his. From that day forward, the two of you spent everyday together until you left for your next destination. You always kept in touch with one another through text, video chats, and voice calls. Even through the challenging times, the two of you wouldn’t have wanted to be with anyone else.

[inkwell1013]

Lillies and Roses

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Genre: Humor, Oneshot, Outsider POV, Flowershop AU (just barely)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Mistaken infidelity, mild elements of body horror

Summary: Cameron has been running his family’s flower shop for years now. When a handsome yet peculiar redhead walks in to buy flowers for his boyfriend, he thinks nothing of it. But when that very same boyfriend comes in a week later to buy flowers for his fiancé, Cameron finds that he has a decision to make. Does he tell Crowley that Aziraphale is two timing him with Anthony or does he keep the secret? Or Crowley has two names and confuses a poor, innocent florist.

- - - - -

Cameron woke up early, as he always did. He brought in the latest shipment of flowers and swept up the shop floor ready for the customers. Things were always quiet in the mornings, when he was the only person in the store, and he took the opportunity to listen to some music while he worked.

Things were quiet most of the time. His shop was small, and he got just enough customers to get by. That was fine with him though. He enjoyed his quiet, unbothered life.

Whistling along with the music, he set up a few arrangements on the centre table and decided to work on a few special orders whilst he had the time. The door to the shop creaked open a few minutes later, and the bell rang, letting him know he had his first customer of the day.

He turned around and gave them a friendly smile. “Good morning,” he said. “How can I help you?”

The man was strange, though Cameron couldn’t immediately put a finger on what was unusual about him. It was a collection of odd traits which, when combined, made for an overall peculiar man.

He was wearing sunglasses even though it was bright and sunny outside, and Cameron swore he saw a flash of yellow eyes from underneath the dark lenses, but that was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him.

The man’s movement was almost serpent like and when he opened his mouth to speak, a forked tongue flickered out. Cameron blinked in surprise but when he looked again, it was replaced by a regular tongue.

Snake eyes. Snake tongues. Slithering. Serpents.

He shook his head. He was just imagining things. Covering his surprise with a classic customer service smile, he spoke. “Pardon?”

The man frowned. “I said, I want to buy some flowers for my boyfriend.”

How unusual… He even hissed his words like a snake.

“I can help you with that sir,” said Cameron. “Any particular type?”

The man thought for a moment. “Lilies,” he said at last. “He likes lilies. White ones.”

“You’re in luck,” said Cameron. “I got a fresh shipment of those this morning. It’ll take a little while for me to make the bouquet, but you’re more than welcome to wait in the shop.”

The man agreed and Cameron went to fetch some lilies from the back room. He found some suitable flowers and brought them out.

“So, tell me a bit about your boyfriend,” he said, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut the stems to the correct size.

“Why do you want to know?” Crowley asked, leaning up against the centre display table.

“Just making small talk.” Cameron wrapped the stems of the flowers with an elastic band.

“He owns a bookshop in Soho,” said the stranger. “Our anniversary is soon, so I thought I’d surprise him. Lilies are his favourite flower.”

“That’s sweet of you. He’s a lucky guy.”

“If anything, I’m the lucky one.”

Cameron nodded absentmindedly, holding the bouquet upright to check that everything was in order. Once he was sure that everything was in place, he laid it back down on the workbench and pulled out a notecard and pen.

“The flowers come with a personalized note,” he explained. “What do you want me to write on it?”

The stranger thought for a moment. “Could you write ‘Happy anniversary Aziraphale. I’m really glad Armageddon didn’t happen. Love Crowley.’?”

“What?”

“It’s an… inside joke.”

Cameron laughed. “And a unique one for sure,” he said. “How do you spell Aziraphale?”

Crowley spelt it out for him, and Cameron scribbled it down, along with the rest of the message. Then, he rang him up at the till and took the payment.

“I’ll come again soon,” called Crowley, as Cameron waved him goodbye.

***

Two weeks later, on a chilly spring afternoon, another strange person came into the shop and Cameron couldn’t help but be reminded of Crowley when he saw him. On first impression, he was unassuming - the only thing even slightly unusual about him was his unnaturally white hair. Still, there was something unequivocally wrong about him. Something off.

Cameron blinked and when he opened his eyes again, the man was gone. Instead, a creature was hovering before him. Concentric rings of eyes twisted around each other, framed by six wings which were large enough to touch either side of his shop.

He blinked again.

Two of the wings curled in on each other, forming a vaguely humanoid shape. The creature wrapped two of its wings around its body and Cameron watched in horror as three heads lurched their way from the thing’s shoulders. There was a human head in the centre, flanked by a lion’s head on the left and an ox’s head on the right.

He blinked again.

The creature cocooned itself in its wings. The two sets of remaining wings merged into a single pair. The wings were thrown backward revealing an otherwise normal human form, save for the bright while halo floating above it.

He slammed his eyes shut, blinded by the light. When he cautiously cracked them up again, he was faced by a regular man.

“Are you alright my boy?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just a little out of it,” said Cameron.

Had it all been in his head? He would have to go and see a doctor if these… hallucinations continued.

“How can I help you?” he asked, doing his best to keep his worry at the back of his mind.

The stranger gave him a friendly smile. “I’m looking to purchase some flowers for my fiancé,” he explained.

“Then you came to the right place!” said Cameron. “What kind would you like?”

The man considered for a moment. “Red roses, if you have them,” he said

Cameron nodded. “You’re in luck - I think I still have some of those left. This will only take a moment, so you are welcome to wait.”

Cameron went through the same motions he had gone through two weeks ago and every day since: fetching the flowers from the back room; arranging them; cutting the stems to size. The familiar routine was a comfort to him, especially after the strange occurrence that had happened just moments prior.

“So, how did you and your fiancé meet?” he asked.

The man smiled. “We’ve known each other for a long time,” he said. “When I first laid eyes on him, I knew he was different. But we didn’t get along at first. We were quite different people, and our families were… I don’t want to say at war, but it certainly felt like that sometimes. We were on opposite sides of a conflict we had no part in.

“Despite all that, he kept surprising me with his kindness and compassion. We ran into each other again and again, and somewhere along the line, between the clandestine dinner dates and getting drunk together in my bookshop, I realised I liked him. And I realised I loved him not long after. Things fell into place after that.”

“That’s so sweet,” said Cameron, as he finished making the bouquet. “Would you like me to write a note to go with the flowers?”

“I would like that,” said the stranger. “Could you write ‘For my dear Anthony. You bring light to my life. All my love, Aziraphale.’?”

Cameron went to write the message, but his pen stilled halfway through as his brain caught up to him.

Aziraphale.

This was Crowley’s boyfriend.

And he was buying flowers for a man named Anthony.

His fiancé named Anthony.

Cameron desperately tried to keep his expression neutral, even as his heart was racing. He hurried through the rest of the note and thrust the flowers into Aziraphale’s hands.

“I’m afraid we’re closing soon,” he announced, ringing Aziraphale up at the till. Aziraphale handed over the money and Cameron shooed him out the door.

Once he was sure that Aziraphale was gone, he let the horror he was hiding show on his face. Aziraphale was a cheater. He was cheating on Crowley with Anthony, and there was precisely nothing that Cameron could do about it.

***

Looking up a stranger in the phonebook made Cameron feel like a stalker.

He was surprised when his search turned up no results. You would think someone with such an unusual name would be easy to track down, but there was no one anywhere in the phonebook with the first name Crowley. It was like he never even existed. Aziraphale’s name wasn’t in there either.

He searched for them on social media too, which was an equally fruitless endeavour.

In a last-ditch effort, he searched for their names on the internet. When he searched for Crowley, the only search results to show up were some fictional characters and a brief Wikipedia page on a biblical demon.

Aziraphale’s name garnered even fewer results. There are a few reviews for bookshop in Soho owned by a man with the same name, which he presumed was Aziraphale.

He also found a blurred black and white photograph of a man under the images tab. The man was probably Aziraphale’s grandfather or something, though the family resemblance was almost uncanny; they could have been twins. If the photo weren’t so old, Cameron would have assumed it was Aziraphale himself.

He closed his laptop, having exhausted all his options. There was nothing he could do.

***

The shop door slammed open, and the sudden thud made Cameron jump. Whipping around, he was greeted by two familiar faces – Crowley and Aziraphale.

“My apologies,” said Aziraphale (cheating bastard). “We didn’t mean to startle you. It was the wind.”

Cameron cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “It’s fine,” he said. “I was a little distracted anyway. How can I help you?”

Aziraphale grinned like the adulterous douchebag he was. “We’d like to buy some flowers please,” he said.

“Any particular type?” asked Cameron, plastering his face with a bland costumer service smile that barely managed to cover up his scowl.

“We’ll have a little look around, if that’s okay?” said Crowley, arm still wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulder. Cameron gave a quick nod, and the couple started wandering around the shop. Somewhere along the line, they split apart, ending up on other sides of the shop. Cameron had found his opportunity.

Aziraphale was examining a bouquet of azaleas when Cameron caught up to him, with what could only be described as a serene expression on his face. He whispered something to them, and Cameron swore that they brightened up a little at his words.

He was talking to the flowers. First the snake eyes, then whatever had happened when he first met Aziraphale, then their presence on the internet (or lack thereof), and now the guy was having a conversation with a bunch of azaleas.

This pair was seriously weird. They matched each other in that way – like two particularly ugly Christmas sweaters or strange modern art sculptures. They fitted together so perfectly that it was difficult to imagine them apart. It was difficult to imagine that Aziraphale would fracture their relationship by doing what he had done.

“I know about Anthony,” he hissed, venom clear in his voice.

“Pardon?

“I know that you are a cheater, and I will expose you if you don’t come clean right now. Please, spare him any further heartbreak.”

He expected Aziraphale to blow up at him, or get defensive, or even cry.

Instead, much to Cameron’s surprise, Aziraphale laughed so hard that he could barely stand up, having to grip a hold of the table to keep his balance.

“Crowley are you hearing this?” he chocked out. “I’m a cheater, didn’t you know? Two timing you with Anthony.”

“Yes. You’re a real scoundrel alright,” said Crowley, wrapping Aziraphale up in his arms. “Adultery. What an unforgiveable sin?”

“Well, you certainly know something about unforgivable sins, don’t you dear?” There was an undeniable smirk on Aziraphale’s lips, that Crowley mirrored.

“I can show you another unforgivable sin if you want,” he whispered into Aziraphale’s ear.

“Crowley! You bad boy.”

“Its in my blood. Can’t help it,” said Crowley with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Cameron found himself feeling rather irritated and left out of the conversation “I’m still here,” he snapped. “What on earth is going on? Why are you two so happy?”

How could these two go right to flirting after he had dropped a nuke on their relationship?

“We don’t mean to upset you dear,” said Aziraphale. “It’s just amusing. That’s all.”

“I’m telling the truth. I swear! He came into the shop two weeks ago to buy flowers for another man.”

“Those flowers were for Crowley,” said Aziraphale.

“But they were addressed to a man named Anthony,” insisted Cameron.

“Anthony is my first name,” said Crowley.

“…What?”

“Did you really think Crowley was my first name?” he laughed. “Anthony is my given name, but I usually go by Crowley. It’s just a preference.”

“You said they were for your fiancé!”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “I proposed to him three weeks ago. I am his fiancé.”

Everything clicked. “He’s... Oh my God. I feel really stupid. I am so sorry. That was… I am so sorry,” he stammered.

Crowley patted him on the shoulder. “Its fine kid. I would have assumed the same thing if I were in your situation.”

“No, it’s not fine. I need to apologise.” Cameron face was bright red. This was so embarrassing. “I assumed the worst of you,” he said. “And that was wrong of me. You have my sincerest apologies. I’ll be happy to give you a refund.”

“No thank you,” said Aziraphale. “In fact, we have a favour to ask. Would you cater our wedding?”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. You’re a good lad, and your flowers are to die for. They’re easily the best in London. Will you do it?”

“I’d love to!”

There were lilies and roses at the wedding.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Not Yet

A/N: Up next in the “Play the Hand You’re Dealt” request lineup is this nerd. This takes place in the not so distant future for Benjamin and Reader in the TGTBT Timeline and features Benjamin thinking about something that hadn’t really crossed his mind until just now... 

Word Count: 1,807 

Requested by:  @malionnes​​ - Benjamin, General, That’s a first! & Memories or Photos

 “Is this your wife, Professor?” 

What? Benjamin’s head snapped up from the add/drop form the young woman had just handed him, unsure which part of her question was more jarring, which word was more responsible for the way that his pulse picked up. He’d only officially worn the mantle of Professor for- he glanced at the clock- forty five minutes, and Lee, Rebecca, a second year student whose name he recognized from one of Dr. Kesting’s previous classes, had just been the first one to address him by it. Guess I should get used to that before today’s lecture. 

It was still slightly surreal to him, the whirlwind of success and recognition he’d gained in the last few months. He’d become a shoe in for any consortium or conferences that the UCL History department was invited to, attending one in Edinburgh over the summer with another scheduled for Washington, D.C. in November. His previous role as Kesting’s research assistant had translated into a Reader position within the department, filling in to teach classes when needed, grading papers and proctoring exams. The completion of his Master’s level degree, a feat in itself that at times seemed impossible, had coincided with Professor Oberman’s  retirement, leaving an opening in the department. Kesting had offered it to Benjamin and Benjamin alone, and despite the fact that professorship had become a career goal, he was stunned that the opportunity had presented itself so quickly. 

“Will you do me a favor and pinch me?” He turned to you after getting off the line with Dr. Kesting, eyes the size of gold doubloons and a smile just as bright. He let out a laugh that was just an excited burst of air as he dropped his phone to the striped cushion of the corner patio seat, palms falling to your thighs. “This has to be a dream.” 

You bit your bottom lip as it curled upwards in a grin and shook your head before leaning in to kiss him. Throwing your arms around his neck, you gave a tug to pull him closer as you lay back against the pillows. Bracing himself with one hand on either side of your rib cage, he followed you down eagerly until his chest was pressed to yours, his arms slipping behind and underneath your body. You sighed and he deepened the kiss, wondering how life could possibly get better than this moment, when he felt a sudden sharp sting on his tricep. 

“Ow-” he pulled back to look at you, eyebrows drawn together and an amused smirk quirking one cheek to the side. “I didn’t mean literally, you know, I-” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t keep the sunshine from them. “I know,” you rubbed your thumb over the skin you’d just squeezed and scooted back into a seated position. “But it’s not a dream.” Your hand slid down his arm until it found his, and he pushed his fingers between yours. “You worked so hard for everything you’ve earned, and you deserve every bit of it.” You licked your lips and narrowed your eyes, shifting closer to him. He raised your linked hands as you ducked under his arm to rest your head back on his shoulder, where it was before his phone had rung. “You need to realize that, Benjamin.” A warm rush washed through him as a breeze blew through the yard, ruffling the hydrangeas and lifting your hair to tickle his neck. “And I’ll pinch you a thousand times if that’s what it takes.” 

He shook his head, smiling to himself. She would. He blinked twice at Rebecca, the freckle faced girl adjusting her round lenses and leaning forward on the balls of her feet to inspect the framed photo on his desk. 

“She’s quite pretty.” Rebecca smiled. She is. Heart- stopping. Breathtaking. Captivating. All things that he knew for certain he hadn’t yet felt about another person at Rebecca’s age, that he hadn’t truly experienced until he’d felt them for you. 

But you weren’t his wife. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, already hating the way the next word would sound before he said it. “Girlfriend, actually.” He tapped his thumb against the stack of papers, the muffled crinkling sound joining the tick of the mechanical clock on top of the bookshelf that took up one wall of his small office. The face was a painted enamel with striking blue delft- style embellishments, a pair of carved wooden hands poking out of the middle to point at hand painted numerals. The entire gear box was open, full of ticking, whirring cogs and coiled springs working in a continuous loop. Each and every piece from the smallest screw to the commanding 12 and every tooth and groove of the innards had been painstakingly refurbished and cobbled together by your hands, the parts scavenged from here and there, from different time periods and of different materials. On the back you’d used a fine tip on your wood burning tool to carve the word Timeless. It was a secret, hidden message that only he knew was there. The clock had been your gift to him for completing his Master’s, and it had been the first thing that he’d hung in the small room. 

“Well, you look really happy together.” The young student gestured to the framed photo, your eyes bright over your wrinkled nose, mouth open in a laughing grin. He had one arm around you, holding you close to him as the other held the camera out in front to take the picture, but where you were looking directly at the camera, Benjamin had his forehead and nose pressed to your cheek. Even though his eyes were closed and only half of his face was visible it was clear that he was beaming. 

Benjamin nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, thanks,” he gave her a kind smile that she returned. “We are.” Really happy. “So, Rebecca,” he brought the focus back to the reason that she was standing in front of him in the first place. “You want to transfer into my Untold Stories of the First World War class?” 

The girl’s eyes lit up with interest and she bobbed her head enthusiastically, stepping closer to Benjamin's desk. “As soon as I saw you’d been assigned to it I knew I wanted to take it. I mean,” her hazel eyes darted to the open office door, beyond which the rest of the history department faculty member’s offices lined the square-shaped hallway. Coast clear, she turned back to Benjamin and continued, a conspiratorial tone to her squeaky voice. “I learned way more from you than I did from Dr. Kesting last semester,” Oh! He felt his eyebrows jump in surprise. “And when you gave that lecture in Scotland?” He tilted his head. “I watched the livestream online.” She bit the inside of her cheek and chuckled, pointer finger coming up to scratch her forehead nervously. “I want to focus my thesis on the type of things that you study, Professor Greene,” Thesis? She’s thinking about that already? Her dedication and drive impressed him. Not a lot of people get this excited about dead guys and global catastrophes. “So when I heard that you were teaching this class I knew I wanted to transfer into it. I mean, if there’s still room obviously, I know it’s sort of last minute.” 

Last minute? It starts in two hours. He laughed and reached for a pen from the clay cup that sat next to the framed photo. “I think I can fit one more in.” He signed off on the form, giving his permission for the Registrar to add Lee, Rebecca, 2nd year over achiever and major History junkie to his class roster. “See you in class, then.” 

She thanked him and hurried off to get her class switch sorted and acquire the necessary materials from the bookstore, but the interaction stayed with him through the rest of the morning, even after Kesting and  another professor, Alba Hayes- Ancient Civilizations- poked their heads in to say good morning. 

“Is this your wife, professor?”   

The question had made his heart race and his adrenaline spike, at once catching him off guard and making complete sense. He had known that he’d wanted to become a professor of History after meeting Dr. Kesting, knew that he wanted to extend his time in Academia until he was old and gray and people took the wrinkles in his face as grumpiness before they got him talking about The Bolshevik Revolution, or what London looked like before WWII. His Master’s degree, the conferences, research papers- all of it kept fueling an ever building desire to consume knowledge and ignite it in others. 

But wife? It was a word that had been assigned to another woman, briefly. But Julia hadn’t filled out it’s meaning, not even after the papers were signed and the rings and vows exchanged. He thought about the life that the two of you were building together- the collection of coffee and tea pots that lined the shelf in the kitchen, glass and copper and clay and steel- the wall of books and records and knick knacks and clutter in the living room- the garden that you’d planted together, the jar of coins and buttons and scraps that rusted and oxidized and marked time in ways that clocks couldn’t on your dresser in the bedroom. He thought about the ups and downs and all the firsts that you’d encountered and gotten through together, another first brewing in his mind as he contemplated what making you his wife might mean for the first time.   

His chest swelled as he took a breath in through his nose, eyes flicking from your frozen laugh in the silver frame, to the clock that rhythmically ticked along with his thoughts.Timeless. That’s what he had with you. No deadlines, no expiration dates, no pressing matters or weighty decisions perched on razor sharp edges, just unassuming, accepting, supportive love. Just things he’d never known he could have. Just things you’d given him as freely as he’d given you. 

He looked down at the planner on his desk blotter, the whole calendar year displayed in the top corner with a circle around the week of Spring break, the word Istanbul?? Scrawled in blue ink. Professor Oberman had decided to retire in Turkey after his spur of the moment trip there last year proved to be something of a personal journey, and he’d invited Benjamin, and in turn, you, to come visit him for a few days. Just like masterfully crafted and lovingly restored gears in the clock, something started turning in his mind and he smiled. 

 “Is this your wife, professor?”

She isn’t. He took the pen he’d signed Rebecca’s form with and underscored the city’s name. Not yet. 

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor​  @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​  @suchatinyinfinity​​​ @thesumofmychoices​​​  @gollyderek​​​  @malionnes​​​  @becs-bunker​​​ @warriorqueenofnarnia​​  @elanor-of-imladris​​​  @traeumerinwitzhelden​​​ @songtoyou​​​  @michellemybelles-world​​ @obscurilicious​  @octosapiens​ @luminex3​ @with1love1anu​

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[wlw-imagines-blog]

A Kiss and I Will Surrender. (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Anon: Wanda x reader where r blushes a lot and w makes is her mission to see r blush as much as possible?

Pairing: Scarlet Witch x Journalist!Reader

Warnings: this is really long. a little sexy

A/N: Essentially, this is an au where Endgame occurs, and everyone lives happily ever after. And yeah, that’s an MCR quote.

You stood among the crowd of reporters and citizens, all gathered beneath the new Avenger’s Tower. Cheers echoed down the streets, people chattering excitedly at the grand opening of the new headquarters of S.H..E.I.L.D. and the Avengers themselves. 

Elbowing past a few rowdy fans, you waved your photographer over to a clear space with a perfect view of the front doors.

“Come on, Eddie,” You pulled out your notepad. “They should be here any minute.”

“Easy, Y/n, we got all the time in the world,” Eddie responded, setting up hos camera and its lenses. “They’re practically celebrities, they’ll be fashionably late.”

Just as Eddie finished his sentence, a rumbling in the distance made heads lift up. Above the tower, a massive quinjet was slowly descending onto the empty area of street to the crowd’s left. The crowd was stunned into silence.

You shaded your eyes and watched the plane land. Next the jet were several dark figures against the sun. You managed to make out Carol Danvers, or Captain Marvel, and Doctor Stephen Strange. Tony Stark swooped down in his iconic Iron Man suit, and the crowd erupted into thunderous applauds. A grin made its way onto your face as Eddie’s camera snapped picture after picture. 

“What’s up New York!” A voice called out, and from nowhere, Spiderman landed on the steps of the tower, eliciting another round of cheers from the people. He fed off the energy, posing and waving to the crowd. 

Clouds suddenly gathered, thick and grey as Thor landed at lightning speed. Energy crackled around him as he brandished Stormbreaker. Despite the joyous occasion, he seemed reserved. Almost cold.

You waved that thought away as another Avenger landed directly in front of you. Red swirled around her, flowing through her auburn hair, lighting up her eyes.

All the moisture left your mouth as your heart crawled into your throat. 

Scarlet Witch. 

Wanda Maximoff.

The strongest Avenger. 

She surveyed the crowd with an unreadable expression. There was no pride or  relish in the publicity. Instead Scarlet Witch seemed more watchful than excited. Her eyes locked with your for a second. You could have sworn she offered you a smiled. 

A hot blush flooded your cheeks as you looked away, grinning and biting your lip.

The demeanor suddenly shifted, then she was all smiles and waves to the people.

Your hair whipped around your face as the quinjet landed, bay doors opening. The heroes of the universe stepped out.

Captain America, Black Panther, Hulk, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Antman, and other various heroes stepped out, and the crowd went insane. They made their way to the steps of the tower, waving and shaking hands, Occasionally stopping for photos. You smiled as the crowd began to chant “Avengers” off-beat. 

Your heart swelled when you saw another weak smile on Scarlet Witch’s face, tears brimming her eyes.

The ceremony went off without a hitch.

You carefully navigated around the main floor of Avengers Tower, converted for the evenings festivities. Journalists, high rollers, and socialites all laughed and drank, mingling with the heroes. 

Eddie was off taking pictures of the heroes with various celebrities. You sat at the bar, reviewing the list of heroes you interviewed, matching them to the recorded portions on your phone. 

You had managed to interview Natasha Romanoff; reserved yet all the more alluring, Stephen Strange; arrogant while annoyingly intelligent, Bruce Banner; unbelievably easy to talk to, and Steve Rogers; the star-spangled man himself. Alongside those heavy hitters, you had also snagged Valkyrie, Sam Wilson, the Wakandan general Okoye, Spiderman (who refused to take off his mask, but had changed into a suit), Colonel James Rhodes, and Carol Danvers.

You and a few reporters had surrounded Tony Stark, who laughed and held the atmosphere of the room in the palm of his hand. You elbowed your way to the front and managed to ask him three questions and get three answers while still remaining civil.

Now you sat, as faint blush from the cocktail you were sipping crawling up your neck, and flipping through your notes. Someone sidled up next to you, tall with long hair.

“Sazerac, cut the absinthe,” A a woman’s voice called to the bartender. “And anything she wants.”

You raised an eyebrow and turned to the stranger, only to be greeted by Wanda Maximoff.

“Scarlet Witch,” you breathed, heart hammering like it did at the entrance of the tower. You could already feel your face burning at her gentle gaze. 

She seated herself, hands folded. “So, I’ve seen you around the room, chatting with everyone, and I haven’t even caught your name.”

You ducked your head and tugged the hem of your dress down. “It’s Y/F/N Y/L/N, I’m with the Tribune. They sent me to rub elbows with you and your super friends, Miss Maximoff.”

The bartender placed the drink in front of her. “Please, call me Wanda.”

You smiled. “Wanda.” The name tasted comfortable on your tongue. “Alright.”

Conversation between you and Wanda flowed like water. You talked about your profession, and managed to convince her to tell her side of the story.

“For the Tribune?” Wanda asked over the rim of her glass. “Or is this just for your ears?”

Your fingers brushed against your notepad. The alcohol was making your head gently spin. “No, it’s just for me.”

She smiled before explaining the battle of Wakanda, her memory-less time in the Soul Stone, and the final fight at the ruins of the Avenger’s compound.

“And now I’m here,” Wanda concluded. “With you.”

Your face flushed again at the intense look she gave you. It as though Wanda could see every inch of your skin, and was slowly figuring you out, before she even knew a thing about you. 

You nodded and lowered your head to your drink, but Wanda stopped you, hand suddenly cradling your face. “No, don’t do that. I love how you look when your skin goes all pink.”

A gasp caught in your throat.

She hummed, lost in thought. “Like an angel.”

You closed your eyes, falling into a trance, before Wanda sharply pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that.”

You glanced at the empty cocktail glasses in front of the two of you. The pleasant light-headed feeling began to spread to your chest. 

“No,” You said, stopping her from retracting completely. Her wrist was cool against your burning fingers. “I-I I like that.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, tongue darting out to wet her lips. 

“You know,” She whispered, pressing into your space. “We can take this conversation upstairs. In private.”

It was as though your heart was in your throat. Unable to move your lips, you nodded, letting Wanda take your hand and lead you away from the bar. You took your bag and notebook, entranced by the woman in front of you. 

The two of you wove around the crowd, bumping into strangers and conversations, but you couldn’t make sense of anything except Wanda.

You followed her up an elevator, into a dim bedroom, letting her hands press against you. 

Your skin felt as though it was dry tinder in summer, and Wanda was a thunderstorm in the distance. Every touch, every finger that ghosted over your skin crackled with energy. The air in your chest felt tight and hot. 

Lips attached themselves to your neck, sucking and kissing the flush that threatened to consume you. Your hands automatically moved to her hair, holding her in place while her mouth elicited a soft moan from you.

You walked her to the bed, laying Wanda down. She pressed a kiss to your lips, and you tentatively opened your mouth, savoring the way she licked your bottom lip before sinking into you. 

Her hands found you the zipper of your dress, tugging downward at a tantalizingly slowly rate. 

You were the match. 

Wanda was the friction.

All you needed was little bit of her to set you ablaze.

Wanda stopped, tracing your cheekbone with a finger. “Are you sure?”

You gazed down at her, hair strewn about the mattress. Want curled in your gut.

“Yes.”

Wanda grinned before pulling your down.

[shawnpetermuffins]

Pictured with You (viii.)

A/n: please don't hate me for this. I swear it'll get better.

Summary: noticable tension and... sick days?

Warnings: do I even need to warn about angst anymore? I mean, its me we're talking about. Of course it's angst. But also not really.

Word count: 2.2k

***

We're never alone anymore. Haven't been in weeks. It's strictly professional, like it was always supposed to be. But it's killing me slowly not talking anymore. That was always the fun part of this, but I not only ruined any future prospect of us bring linked romantically, but now we're barely even friends. That's what hurts more than anything. Because the things I couldn't tell Connor were things I could tell Shawn and he'd be more than willing to listen to me go on and on about whatever. And Connor listens, of course he does, but he's bluntly honest and sometimes a little overly judgemental. He's always been the rational one in our friendship, while I go and mostly make things a bigger deal than they need to be. I love having him, but I miss how easy it was with Shawn. But every time I think I've built up the courage to talk to him about that night, talk to him about us, I chicken out at the last second.

We're all lounging around the green room, a few of the band members playing their imaginary instruments, going through the chords they've played at least a hundred times before just to be super sure they have it. I snap a photo or two of Shawn fiddling with his inears. They're a little tangled with the collar of his shirt and I have half a mind to go over and help him. So I do, without thinking about it, somehow forgetting that we haven't talked in weeks. That we haven't been this close to each other in weeks. That he probably doesn't even want me anywhere near him after I just left him without warning - like so many girls before me have done. (I thought they were idiots to leave this precious man alone after only a night with him. They were, but somehow I'm one too, now.) Which is probably why his body tenses ever so slightly when he feels my fingers on the back of his neck, untangling the tiny wires.

"Sorry," I say so low I think he can't possibly hear me.

But he mumbles out a soft "thanks" and looks down at himself, debating with himself whether or not he should unbutton his shirt a little more, exposing the black undershirt and the chest hair that peaks through that top. He buttons and unbuttons the same button three times while I stay standing there.

"Leave it unbuttoned," I mutter. "The fans go crazy for it."

He doesn't respond, only looks in the full length mirror that is currently reflecting his tall frame and my shorter one, and finally unbuttoned the shirt one more time, leaving it at that with a single pop of his collar.

My breath catches as I remember leaving marks all up and down his torso, more toward his waist though, knowing just how big the story would be if the fans saw hickeys around his chest and neck. That didn't stop him from leaving them all across me though. I swallow harshly, pushing the thought away as I walk to the other side of the room where my camera bag is sitting. I take out one of my other lenses, trying to decide which one I want more. The one I was using now took the greatest portraits, but the other caught the details in the background, with its wider angle. I'm mulling it over when I the light beside me shifts a little.

I turn my head to see Mike smiling warmly at me. "Hey," I say, switching out the lenses.

"Hey." He just stands there while I take a few test shots around the room.

"Need something?" I ask when he still hasn't said anything.

"Do you have a second to talk?"

I shrug, "Sure. What's up?"

"No, not here. Follow me?"

I furrow my brows but promptly follow anyway. We stand just outside the dressing room, but far enough from the door that you couldn't hear us unless you were literally standing in the doorway - or you know, if there wasn't nearly 50,000 people screaming lyrics back to Shawn's opening act. "Mike, is everything okay?"

"That's what I was just about to ask you."

"What?"

"You look like you need to talk to somebody. And the guys and I have noticed a little bit of… I don't know, tension between you and Shawn lately."

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to think of anything to explain why he's noticed and why we're being weird. "It's nothing. We got in a fight. It was stupid."

"Well, it can't be that stupid if it has you guys avoiding each other for three weeks. Did something happen?"

"Mike," I plead, not wanting to tell him the intimate details of my one night with Shawn. "Look, don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll be back to normal in a few days." If I could stop being so goddamn terrified of talking to him. "We're just both too stubborn for our own good."

"Are you sure? Because you can tell me. I'm not gonna go out and tell anyone. I'm just worried about you."

I shake my head, "No. Really, we're fine."

"Just a lover's spat, right?" He questions with a smirk.

I let out a nervous laugh, "something like that, I guess."

"Hey," he pats my shoulder sympathetically, "It'll get better. You guys will make up. I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, thanks."

"And I mean, you're bound to have a few fights here and there. It's hard being with a person twenty-four/seven for months on end. Especially a significant other. And when the relationship is still so new?" He shakes his head, "But you guys will come out of it even stronger. I can tell just by the way you look at each other."

I furrow my brows, mostly because he thinks we're together. "How do we look at each other?" I ask timidly.

"Like you're the only two in the room." With a chuckle he adds, "sometimes it seems like you want nothing more than for that to be true."

I swallow hard because right now more than ever, I do wish it was true.

---

Shawn literally goes on in less than five minutes, and even though I've been there for dozens of shows already, I feel suddenly really nervous, nauseous actually. Like extremely nauseous. The whole crew is walking toward the stage, but I'm steps behind them all, growing slower by the second as my stomach turns over again and again. We are just passing the bathrooms when I run into the women's room, barely making it into a stall in time to spill my guts. I cough a few times, finally standing up. I try to be as quick as possible because the crowd is getting louder and I can hear Mike on the drums. I rinse my mouth out, grab my camera from the sink and book it to the main stage, practically running into Andrew on the way.

"Where were you?" He asks, but he doesn't seem mad, more concerned. He definitely noticed how pale I looked, just like I noticed in the terrible bathroom lighting. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I mumble. "Just forgot my extra memory card. But we're good."

"Y/n," he catches my arm before I can walk away. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm good," I nod and he finally lets me go, just in time to catch Shawn walking onto the stage, the crowd becoming deafening.

"Where were you?" Connor yells in my ear after the first song is over.

"I got sick," I say back, bringing my camera up to my eyes.

"Again?"

I shrug. No, this isn't the first time today that I've thrown up. It's actually the third, but the only person who knows that is Connor, and that's because he was with me when it happened the first two times. I don't think much of it, even though I probably should. I don't get sick often, rarely ever, if I'm being honest. And I especially don't get sick to the point where I'm throwing up. I'm assuming it's just my body's way of finally rejecting all the steady travel I've been doing.

Different time zones every other day, different food, different weather - one day it's hot, the next I need three jackets to provide me even the slightest amount warmth. It's got to be that. There's nothing else I could possibly think of that would have me feeling this sick. Except for one thing…

Please god, don't let it be that. Let it be absolutely anything else in the world but that.

---

Connor follows me to my room after the show and I plop against the cool pillows without any thought at all. But I feel his eyes on my aching body.

"What?" I groan, sparing him a glance through my hooded eyes.

"You've gotten sick a lot today."

I hum, "I'm fine. It's probably just a stomach bug."

"Could be that," he nods and sits down next to me. "Or it could be something else."

My body stiffens at the thought. "Connor-"

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

I let out a broken sob, covering my face. "I don't know."

"Y/n… how could you be so careless?"

"I wasn't! We were safe!" I say, removing my hands from my face dramatically.

"Clearly not safe enough if you might be pregnant."

"Stop saying that. I'm not!"

"You don't know that, though. That's the problem. That you don't know. This could be really bad for you, and Shawn! Your careers are literally at their peaks. You can't have a baby right now."

"You think I don't know that? You think I want to raise a baby on my own at twenty-one?"

He frowns, "what makes you think you'd raise the baby alone?"

I only glare at him. "Really? A twenty-two year old rockstar, who can literally have any girl in the fucking world, is going to settle for his knocked up tour photographer. Think about that for a minute, Con. That type of thing doesn't happen in real life. That's movie stuff."

"He'd be a great dad, you know." He says it softly, mostly to himself.

"I know," I sigh. "But not now. I can't spring this on him now. Especially not when we haven't really spoken to each other in weeks."

"You have to tell him."

"Not if there's nothing to tell. And why are you all of a sudden on his side? Every chance you get you're telling me that he and I can't be more than friends. What's this 'he'd be a good dad. You have to tell him'?"

He just shrugs, "despite everything that I tell you, I really do like Shawn as a person. I tell you all these things because I don't want to see you get hurt. He's gone so much and whether you like to admit it or not, you need attention."

I gape at him and slap his arm, "I'm not an attention whore!"

"That's not what I mean," he laughs. "I just mean, with him being gone like 10 months out of the year, you're not gonna get the attention that's needed in a relationship. You'll feel left out. He'll feel bad for not being with you more. You'll both be miserable. And I'd hate for that to be the case."

"And what would that mean for… this hypothetical baby?" I ask, putting my hand on my stomach.

It takes him a while to say anything, "I think he'd stop for that. I think he would do everything he could to be a part of the baby's life. But a girlfriend is a different priority than a baby is, y/n. He doesn't have to stop for a girlfriend. But he would for a baby. Especially because you know he wants kids. He wants to give them the world and he'll stop at nothing until he does just that."

I don't say it, but I know he'd do the same for a girlfriend. Maybe not stop touring, but I have first hand experience on what he would be like as a boyfriend. Attentive and sweet and cautious and aware. He does all the things Connor says he won't be able to, and that's what makes it so hard for me to back away from this.

---

After another agonizingly long hour of discussing what I should or shouldn't do, Connor finally leaves the room. I let out a deep breath and close my eyes, leaning against the door. This whole night was too much, first with Mike and then Connor. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't girls claim to have guy friends because there's less drama?

My phone buzzes from my nightstand where I put it to charge only minutes ago. I roll my eyes, still standing at the door, and I wait there for a good three minutes before I make my way over.

Shawn's name lights up my screen and my heart falls into my stomach. I gulp as I read the text over and over at least three times.

We need to talk

I pray to God that it's not as bad as I'm anticipating. But then I remember what I might have to tell him and I know it will be.

Yeah we do. My room, 10 minutes?

How about 5?

Ok…

And just as I throw my phone down on the bed, another wave of nausea hits me. Jesus Christ, please don't let me be pregnant.

***

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[starswornoaths]

Months and Malms Ago

Serella had thought herself the only one who had used her tomestone. Upon a chance review of what data it had collected, however, she found a recording addressed to her. A recording she had not been expecting.

Or:

Hi I didn’t need to make this depressing but I’m on my bullshit and I needed this out of my drafts it’s been here for a year h e l p.

The Steppe was beautiful in the twilight hours in its own melancholy way, Serella observed from her perch on one of the higher cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of the lush landscape. The night sky was chasing after the falling sun— N’haama ever reaching out to touch her beloved Azim, ever stopped by the horizon, according to local beliefs. A belief that felt closer to home than she had felt for months now, so far away from all she knew. 

She watched the mundane nothing and everything that happened around her. With her knees curled to her chest she watched the deep blue of unimpeded night fall upon the land. Watched the way the world around her hushed itself in preparation for bed. She watched until the stars began to twinkle amidst the blue of the night sky and sighed deeply. This was both her most loved and loathed time of day, where the world was quiet enough that she could gather her thoughts— but also silent enough that she was left to them.

Still, she found solace and much needed distraction in the handheld tablet that she now pulled out of her pocket. A tomestone used to store and gather data any way it could. Truly, for how remarkable the technology was, it offered little to most; a small storage device, able to record audio, pictures, and motion but useful for little else.

For Serella, it was something to cling to.

It had been a parting gift from Cid and the Ironworks crew before she had gone to Carteneau to activate Omega. Nero had been outright aghast at Cid’s declaration that it was the bleeding edge of what Garlond Ironworks had developed in handheld technology, because, “Garlond! Do you not realize that in Garlemald there are such devices that can transmit data without connecting to another device how are you the pride of our nation?!”

Serella got the feeling that he was largely blustering at the whole ordeal for blustering’s sake. 

Though at first she had no idea what she was meant to do with it, upon her entering Ala Mhigo for the first time and drinking in the sights of the land of Uthengentle’s birth, she found its purpose. With a camera lense and ample storage, she had quickly taken to using it for taking pictures of places she had been, things that she discovered, all in anticipation of showing them to her loved ones upon her return.

Whenever that was to be, she thought bitterly.

The device itself— and every photo she took on it— quickly moved from a curiosity into a tangible piece of what will be for her— proof that this will be over, that there will be people waiting for her back home, that she will be home at all. Each photo she took was a promise to herself: I am taking this home with me. 

Turning her photos into such lofty promises of will be, however, turned into her scrutinizing every photo she had taken, scouring over them to see if there were pictures that needed deleting because she really needed to remember to move her thrice damned finger or looking for which photos she liked the most. It had become part of her ‘winding down’ ritual for the night, ever since they had landed in what felt like a whole world from home: before bedding down, she would scroll through her pictures, reminding her of how far things had already come even while she knew there was still so much more yet to go.

Still, Serella often opted to do so in solitude, whenever she could; even if the only solitude to be found was burying herself fully beneath her blankets, she took it. With the group sleeping safely within the Mol tribe’s boundaries, however, she had the liberty to scurry off to find her own solace; better no one see her and worry over her petty homesickness, she thought. Twelve knew they had all been fretting over her enough since her loss against Zenos as it was, the last thing she wanted was to add to that concern.

Nearing the end of the new photos she had taken, she raised a brow when she began to see photos she could not recall taking. She scrolled through curiously.

Photos of her— taken by Uthen, judging from the height difference between herself and the camera...and photos Uthen took of himself and his surroundings, too. Innocuous photos, all told; a shot of her stumbling through sign language with a member of the Qestir tribe back at Reunion, a shot Uthengentle took of himself with a friendly arm slung around Lyse, who in turn had an arm around Arenvald back in Rhalgr’s Reach before everything went up in flames, a shot of her enjoying a bowl of udon with Yugiri in Kugane— with his own grinning face peeking from the corner of the shot, and a slightly tilted, off center shot of a baby chocobo. She recalled that day— and that bird— because Uthengentle had slapped at her arm while tearfully insisting that she had to look at him, he’s so small but he’s doing his best Ellie look at him, as he had put it. 

She particularly liked that one— he had been an adorable little chick.

Pleasantly surprised by his additions to her collection, she closed out of her photo gallery— and after a few moments of consideration, opted to look through the rest of her tablet to see what else Uthengentle had decided to put on there without her knowledge. Sneaky shite, she thought fondly.

Scrolling through the other files and folders that she had, she had begun to think that there was nothing else when a file caught her attention— she had never bothered to check her audio folder, knowing she had recorded nothing of the sort, but upon inspection, she found there was precisely one file to be found within.

Curious, Serella mused, tapping on the icon to bring the file up. She had half expected it to be only a few seconds long, perhaps long enough for Uthen to say something silly, when she was surprised to see that it was a few minutes long— and had been sitting on her tablet for some time, if the date on it was anything to go by. Comparing the timestamp to what the current date was put it at just under a year ago.

Her frown deepened as she tried to think of why that date was significant, though quickly gave up on the attempt; even with a calendar function on the tablet, she had not paid much mind to the precise when of her leaving Eorzea, and by the time she had thought to, it was a lifetime too late, and she was left adrift. She had decided that it was better that way.

Still, she pressed play and held the speaker end up to her ear, fully expecting to hear Uthen ramble about something that he was crafting or trying to craft. Perhaps he had inspiration for a new weapon augmentation — or it might have been Cid using it to test its functionality— 

“Ella,” a voice from what felt another lifetime said softly in her ear.

It was a moment before she realized who she was hearing, though when she did, her breathing stopped. His voice continued but she had to fumble desperately to pause the recording, unable to hear his words for how her heart pounded in her chest. 

Aymeric, she thought with aching, bittersweet warmth. 

It hurt more than she was prepared for, not having immediately recognized his voice— how long had she gone without hearing it? How long had she been away from home? She had dreams of him— and the rest of her family scattered throughout Eorzea— but with absence, their details had grown hazy in her mind. Their voices were distant echoes, their touch a forgotten memory. Hearing him again brought clarity to it all— and to how much her mind had blurred to numb her to the distance. To help her cope.

The date’s significance slammed into her mind with all the force of Titan’s fist: it was the night of the Alliance’s decision to liberate Ala Mhigo, to go to war in earnest against the Empire. The last night she had seen Aymeric, tucked away in their room in the Carline Canopy before he had to journey back to Ishgard, and she to Gyr Abania. He had known of the device— she had showed the Alliance Council the data on Omega that she had collected from Carteneau on this very same screen— and must have fumbled through figuring it out to record her a message. 

A message she found a year too late.

Still, she restarted the recording and held the tablet up to her ear with a trembling hand, her throat already closing around the lump that had formed within it.

“Ella,” the recording repeated. “I know not when you will find this. It is my intent for you to find this later, after you have left— or rather, that is my hope, presuming I have this figured out.” There was a breath’s length of a pause. “Before I say aught else, I should start with an apology. For everything that you are about to go through.

“For you are leaving on the morrow— somewhere that I cannot follow you. For the Alliance has asked it of you. For I have asked it of you.” She heard him take in a soft breath, and she forced down the lump in her throat. “I know you will contest me on that point, so I will say only that I am sorry that you have to leave at all. I am sorry that you must risk yourself in ways that few others are forced to.

“Though even as I am sorry… I cannot stress how proud I am of you. How proud I have always been of you. But know that I am not only proud of you in victory— pray know that I am proud of you for trying most of all, dearest. Even should the worst come to pass, that will never change.”

“Stop,” she wheezed despite knowing he could no longer hear her, despite never wanting to stop hearing his voice again. 

Her eyes stung. Breathing became difficult— it was as if, months before she would lie broken in the blood soaked sands of another nation he whispered a reassurance he would somehow know she needed. Perhaps she had always needed it regardless. Unaware of her anguish grounded in the past as he was, Aymeric’s recording continued on, and she continued to focus her entire being on it. 

“Though while I am apologizing, I would beg forgiveness for my...reservation. Earlier. Though we have only just...come to know one another, I know not why I had ever feared your touch for how I yearned to feel it. I feared that in seeing...me, you would be reminded of all that had transpired in the Vault..and the price of my folly. That it would hurt you to even look at me.” After a pause, he added in a whisper, “Never have I been happier to be wrong.”

Now that he murmured into her ear from that night so long ago she recalled it with aching clarity, and made a mental note to chastise him for apologizing. She knew what he was referring to— he had been reluctant to take his shirt off before they made love for the first time. She’d told him he could leave it on if he so chose— she had no preference— though he insisted that he would not want to hide aught from her. As it turned out, what he feared her seeing were his scars from his time in captivity.

Understandable, but silly. She’d told him as much between kissing every single one of them. She would tell him again in her next letter, whenever she would have the next opportunity to do so.

“I,” he breathed a laugh into the microphone, soft and disbelieving. “I find it strange, speaking to you like this. Knowing you are mere fulms away from me, this seems the coward's way of expression. You deserve to hear this in person, even if I did not know you will only hear this after we have parted— and for how long will we be apart, I wonder.”

She let out a sob and instantly clapped her free hand over her mouth— she would not dilute the sound of his voice with her blubbering, of all things. The blue of the night sky blurred— and almost looked like a familiar but half remembered coat she had not seen in over a year. Or rather...how she remembered it looking.

“You have said before that there have been lovers that have left,” he said in that slow, careful tone he had when he knew he was traversing a verbal minefield. Though he had rarely used it in speaking with her, she could hardly fault him for using it now. “That there have been those who have courted you falsely, and demanded you stay when the realm would yet need you— and when you would yet need the realm. I fear this might be in the back of your mind as you march on our command, that months and malms will sever our ties.”

Her throat closed, and she nearly choked on another sob. While it had been a scarred wound, she had shown it to him, much in the same way she had shown him every scar that marred her body that night in the Canopy. He would know that this would only needle at her nerves, her fear that her obligations would burn this bridge, too.

“Pray never fear that my heart will change— Ishgardians are not bred of fairweather stock. We endure the storm for the encroaching sun, come what may.” 

When he paused again, she wept in earnest— how did he managed to always find the words that she so desperately needed to hear? Even when he was no longer beside her?

She heard a shuffling sound— she could almost picture him shifting his weight from one foot to the other in that way he did when he wanted to say more.

“And...my heart already decided some time ago, Ella. I have been careful not to say overly much; I would not burden you with myself more than I already have.” She added chastising him for thinking himself a burden to the rapidly growing list of things her next letter would contain. “All the same, it felt...important that you know, given the circumstances. I love you.” 

Her heart almost stopped beating. 

“Please know, above all else, that I love you, Serella. With all that I am.” His voice cracked, and she curled tighter into herself, squeezing her eyes shut to better try and conjure a clear image of him in her mind— and cried when she could not.

The way her heart clenched made her wonder if it would burst under the pressure, even as she felt tears trek hotly down her face. She bit her knuckle to keep her sobs quiet and prayed he still had more to say— Gods, but what he had said had already been more than enough, more than she'd ever dared hope to hear him say.

“So rather than plead with you to stay, I would ask of you this: go, Serella.” He said, his voice soft but solid in his conviction. “Go and let your light push back against the dark. I shall be waiting, praying for the Fury to shield you.” He sighed deeply. “Though that is a prayer for the dawn. For tonight...I will simply pray for the strength to say all of this to you before you leave. But if my cowardice does not leave me before we sleep, then...goodnight, Ella. I love you.”

Just like that, the recording stopped.

It was an abrupt goodbye, rather different from the lingering, hesitant farewells they had exchanged in Gridania. 

The Fury must not have heeded his prayers for courage that night: he had said none of this to her. They had made love again upon her emergence from the baths— the only time he would have had to record this message— and though they spoke in quiet whispers lying in bed together for much of the night, he had said none of this.

Though he had certainly looked like he had more to say, she had noted at the time. 

Even standing at the crossroads, where she and Uthen would continue south and he and Lucia would continue north, they had lingered where their travelling companions had taken their paths a ways to give them privacy. Aymeric had looked as though he had more that weighed on him, even then. 

And this had been it. Telling her he loved her. 

She had hoped, had wanted to tell him of her heart besides but she had feared pressuring him— doubtless he had been driven to silence for much the same reasons. 

Before she had even realized what she was doing, she was scrabbling to her feet, her limbs imbued with frenetic, desperate energy. She felt her own aether near vibrating beneath her skin with the want to go home. Just for an hour. Just for a moment. Just long enough to find him, to be reminded of what shade of blue his eyes were and tell him she loved him, too, the sweet fool, and she could—

But...no. That wouldn’t be wise, she reminded herself, even as her eyes stung all over again. Never mind what time of day it would be in Eorzea— and he would likely just be unavailable besides— she had obligations here. While nothing prevented her from just leaving for a little while, to drain herself so heavily of aether for how vast such travel was when they were on the eve of the Nadaam; in comparison to how important this was— to help the Mol tribe, but also to further aid the liberation of Doma— and later Ala Mhigo— what she felt didn’t matter. What he felt...couldn’t matter. Not yet.

Though...it could matter enough. Enough to make her fight that much harder, push herself that much farther to accomplish her goal that much sooner. 

Better he not see her like this, anyroad. With hair haphazardly growing back in all manner of directions it could, with her eyes puffy and red, and trembling like a leaf. Better she meet him on the cusp of victory, on the edge of home— ideally, after she’d been able to get a full night’s sleep in, but that was fantasy.

Obligation fettered her in place— the aether she felt prickling under her skin like a thousand needles softened and dissipated. She could wait. She was fine. Sinking like a dropped anchor she scrubbed at her eyes with one hand. The other hand was already starting the recording over from the beginning, already pressing the device to her ear again that she might memorize the cadence of his voice once more. 

“Ella…” said Aymeric, and she was home again, if only for a moment.