#formula one regency era au

[xdacted]

twenty seconds or twenty years?

Pairing: Reader x Max Verstappen

Warnings: fluff, Regency! Au, period-typical sexism

Word Count: 4,359

Status: Completed

Max was never one for balls or parties. 

The entirety of the social season felt bothersome, a chore. His mother, however, found his resistance to society a mere ‘bout’, a passing stinge, thinking he simply had yet to stumble across the right debutante. As such, she insisted upon his attendance at any and all gatherings, responding to invitations on his behalf. 

He was expected at nearly every event until June. 

Max was previously able to busy himself with the workings of business affairs, often called to distant corners of the nation just as the season neared, but his mother had enough of his excuses. When she stomped into his office, an invitation in hand, slamming it upon his desk, he was unable to escape. 

“You will attend,” She seethed, “If you are to take the title from your father, you must find a wife.”

Attend he did, rocking along in a carriage to the first ball of the season. A rather large event, or so Victoria had said, hosted by the Russel family. 

The estate grew closer, emerging from the darkness with twinkling lights. The strong structure sat surrounded by lush grass and proud trees, gently swaying in the evening wind. Max fought the growing knot of dread that formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. He wished for nothing more than to pass the evening as a mere shadow, lost to the crowd, unnoticed. 

The carriage slowed to a stop and Max was slow to descend, gingerly stepping down and straightening his tailcoat. He dismissed his driver with a nod, suppressing the urge to clammer back within the confines of the carriage. He was met with the grandeur of the Russel estate, staggering pillars wrapped in foliage, imposing walls that dripped into magnificent window frames, and adorned with intricate moldings. 

It was a sight to beyond, but Max could hardly stand it. 

The sounds of others pulling onto the gravel behind him prompted him to slip through a lingering horde of guests and the entrance. The large doors opened to a spacious foyer, marble floors drenched in the warm chandelier light. 

Max expected nothing less from the Russels, an honorable family attached to an impeachable name and title. He attended school with the youngest son, George, and hoped to find him before he was lost to the throng of other partygoers. Finding his fellow bachelors was the only source of solace Max found at such events. Many were his past schoolmates or current business partners, but more so, they were his friends. 

If he were to suffer, he saw no reason why he needed to do so alone. 

As if hearing his plea, a tall figure entered his field of vision. 

“Verstappen!” A voice behind him exclaimed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

He turned, the tension easing in his shoulders, “Russel.”

George stared at him, an indiscernible look on his face, “I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear that you would be attending tonight. I thought you, of us all, a perpetual bachelor.”

The comment was made in jest, but Max could not deny the truth of his words. Though he did not hold as infamous a reputation as some, Max was regarded as Unmatchable,  unrelenting in his desire to never marry or sire children. 

As far as he was concerned, his father’s wicked bloodline would die with him. 

Max could only shrug, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “ I assure you, old friend, it was far from my idea.”

It was my mother's, the thought went unsaid, but Max was sure George knew well enough. His mother worried for him. She only wished to see him happy, Max wished she would drop the marriage matter entirely. 

“I see,” George muttered, running a hand across his chin, a moment of silence passed between them. 

Then, as chipper as ever, he exclaimed, “Well, here is to the rotten luck of some.”

With a snort, Max raised his glass before bringing it to his lips. Their banter was a long-established one, forged within the walls of preparatory academy and later enforced at university. 

Max opened his mouth to inquire about their fellow bachelors, but was interrupted by two ladies making their way to him, fans held up to their faces. He was locked into a conversation before he could plan his escape. Though Max was grateful for George’s company, the sight of two of the ton’s most eligible bachelors detached from a group of their own welcomed the yapping hordes of women and mothers. They were soon drowning in a sea of fabrics and sparkling jewels, unable to do more than listen as accomplishments were rattled off and dance cards were shoved in their faces. 

Max wished they would attach themselves to truly interested bachelors, of which there were plenty, but he suspected it was not so much them as it was their lineage. The other had always been incredibly popular, but Max, well, he knew of the rumors. 

Max Verstappen, heir to the Duke of Hasselt, is a great beast - a monster, like his father. Though his stormy demeanor deterred many, the alluring promise of a dukedom attracted far more than his attitude could ward off. 

Just as the voices began to melt into one, George nudged Max with his shoulder, “Thank you, ladies, but we must take our leave. We are required elsewhere.”

Their protests were almost immediate, pushing themselves closer to the bachelors, fluttering eyes and pouted lips directed towards them. 

Truly, Max would have more sympathy if he would be given more space. 

“Thank you,” He said, voice coming out far firmer than he meant, “But we should be going now.”

They were quick to silence, shuffling apart to clear a small opening, and Max was quicker to take it. He could hardly breathe amongst the clouds of perfume, nose burning with the assaulting scents, and was grateful for their escape. 

“You looked as if you might die,” George muttered, guiding them to a small clearing by the dancefloor, “Were they truly so appalling?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, but no words found themselves tumbling out. It was not as if he were repulsed by the idea of a woman, or even of marriage, but the unhappiness he witnessed with his parents’ marriage was something he was unable to shake. His mother had been miserable, chained to a Verstappen man with no option but to provide him with the children he demanded. 

Max could never, in good consciousness, reward that with the succession of the Verstappen line. 

They arrived at the clearing before he could gather his thoughts. There, nursing glasses and wearing knowing smiles, stood Viscount Riccardo, son of Viscount Norris, and the Earl of Monte-Carlo. 

A few of his oldest friends. 

“Gentlemen!”

The men tipped their heads in respect but maintained their smirks. 

“Never thought I would live to see the day,” Daniel began, “Max Verstappen at a party.”

“I rather think it was not his idea, was it?” Charles laughed, looking over at Lando who watched on with an ill-concealed smile. 

“No,” Max sighed with a roll of his eyes, “It was not.”

Laughter erupted from the bachelors, George clapping another hand down upon Max’s shoulder. Their voices were hidden from passersby by the constant flow of music. 

“Regardless,” Lando said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Perhaps a wife could be best.”

“How so?”

“Well,” He gestured to the room, clusters of women craning their necks to gaze at them, “If you were married, there would be no reason to attend these parties. You would have your solitude.”

“It is not solitude I desire,” Max muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He could hardly imagine a worse fate, but it was one he was willing to fall into. 

“Then what do you desire, dear friend?” Daniel quipped, casting him a sideways glance. 

Max could give no response, the words a thick ball in his throat, he could only push his nose into his glass. The topic was quickly dropped and conversation floated between them easily, even as they were picked off to catch a dance or two. Still, they were left to relative peace. Approaching a pair or lone bachelor was simple, it was encouraged. But, to find yourself in front of a group, was seen as distasteful, and desperate. 

Regardless, the room only continued to fill, guests spilling into other parts of the estate, but with it, so did the knot in Max’s stomach. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingers nervously tapping upon a nearby table. 

Parties presented the unknown, and Max had tried desperately to stay far from it - the thought frightened him more than he would ever admit aloud. Within the unknown, was love. 

Love felt completely foreign, a thing of fiction or myth, a sentiment that filled the pages of novels and fairy tales. Max was told that his mother and father did love each other, once. To present, however, that affection had long been lost. 

Max had more than one idea as to why. 

His father was a petulant man, looking to command others through fear, not respect. He was well regarded in the eyes of His Majesty, but ill in the eyes of the Ton. He was cold and selfish and, despite his prayers, Max’s father. Though Max had made every attempt to differ himself, it seemed that he was his father’s son. 

And he always would be. 

“-stappen…Verstappen…Max!”

The sound of his name yanked him from his thoughts. 

“...yes?”

Charles looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed with worry, “Is something the matter? I called your name, but…”

Max shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “I am quite alright, I apologize. I was merely lost in the lights.”

Still, the look remained. 

“Honestly, Charles,” He placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, “I am fine.”

Max turned away from him before he could utter anything else, bringing his hand back to his side. His eyes swept over the dance floor, hoping to calm his nerves in the senselessness of the evening. Both Lando and Daniel had taken to the floor, pulling themselves towards their partners. They stepped to the music, the quartet hidden away in the balcony. A few paces over, was George. Accompanying his mother on a round of the room, and receiving praise for a successful opening to the season no doubt. 

The room was lively, couples turning in time and chatting coyly. Though it was not his preferred evening, he could see the appeal of such parties. 

He felt rather foolish. 

His eyes moved over the entrance, the trickle of people slowing, most finding themselves huddled around the dancefloor. Then, just as he was about to pull his gaze from the doors, something - or rather someone - caught his eye. 

A woman, drenched in the candlelight, moving through the crowd of people. Her entrance was met with no fanfare or buzz, but he was entranced. If no one had taken notice of her yet, how foolish they must be. 

She was the most gorgeous creature to exist. 

A gentle smile on perfect lips, a tendril of hair curling over her forehead, the softest hint of rouge dusted across her cheeks - Max was caught. He was caught within the lace of her dress, within the glimmer of her jewelry, within the silk of her gloves. He was caught and never wished to be released from her grasp. 

She was beautiful, extraordinarily so - blindingly so. 

She was unlike any other woman he had ever seen, working her way through greetings, and rounding the room with her chaperone. 

“Do you -” He forced himself to swallow, throat suddenly tight, “Do you know who that is?”

Charles nodded, relaying to Max her name and family, “I believe this is her first season. She was, according to my mother, a great success at the presentation to the queen.”

Max could see exactly why, a hand curled around the arm of her chaperone, dance card dangling from her wrist - each step was taken with purpose, with conviction. She was no simpering debutante, she was a lady commanding the attention of the room. Her strength was in her grace. 

He watched as George and his mother approached her, she dropped into a low curtsy, rising again with her gentle smile. They were too far to make out the words they spoke, but Max yearned to know. He yearned to hear her voice, to be near her, to breathe her air.

“Has she caught your eye, old friend?”

For the first time, Max broke his start, turning to glare at Charles. 

“Do not bother denying it,” He laughed, patting Max’s arm, “Ask her to dance.”

Perhaps, he dared, just for tonight. 

He glanced back over to her, her eyes moving across the room before finding him. He was sure he forgot to breathe, her gaze piercing through him. 

The thought crossed his mind. He could take her to dance, it would hardly mean a thing, but he was unsure if he would survive it. If he could withstand the heat of her gaze, the feeling of her hands within his own. 

Max never thought himself a weak man. 

He pulled himself away, “No,” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, “I - I - it would be best if I refrain.”

Perhaps, he was. 

He hadn’t the slightest clue what was wrong with him, but he could not possibly give himself the chance to find out, most definitely not with her. Granted, he hadn’t attended as many parties as Charles or Daniel, but he was no neophyte. Such a reaction was ridiculous, he had only learned her name, and he could not dismantle his entire life’s purpose for a woman he had only just met. 

Could he?

A look of curiosity crawled across Charles’ face once more, and this time Max feared he would be forced to hear the question that awaited him, but, as if by magic, George reappeared before them. 

“Whatever is the matter with him?” He teased, sipping from his champagne glass. 

“I think our dear friend is -”

“I am not.” 

“Oh,” George smiled, an evil thing, “I think you are.”

Max felt his face flush, a dreadful heat racing down his spine. He reached over, snatching a lute of champagne from a passing tray, his mouth felt incredibly dry. 

“I suggest you make haste, friend,” George muttered, turning to take in the dancefloor. It was filled with bodies, but Max was only concerned with one. 

She stood alongside other ladies, chatting idly before a gentleman approached. Max recognized him as a second son with little to offer, the gentleman bowed deeply offering his hand to her. She seemed to draw the same conclusion, the smallest lapse of hesitation passing over her before placing her hand in his. He turned them onto the dancefloor. 

Max was unable to answer, attention locked onto her as she danced, the music beginning behind him. Her movement was graceful and perfect, lines straight and steady. 

“You may have found your bride yet,” Charles sighed, resting his hands upon his hips, “But you will lose her if you do not take action.”

“She is not mine to have,” Max said, placing his glass down harsher than necessary, “Perhaps it is time I take my leave.”

“I did not mean -”

“No,” George stepped forward, “You never come out to these parties, stay.”

“I really should -”

“Stay.”

He looked towards his friend, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t ever revealed his reasoning behind his continued bachelorhood, but he knew his friends recognized it as something far deeper. It was simply not in their nature to divulge such feelings. 

Wordlessly, he plucked another glass from a tray and downed its contents. Quite boorish, but the slight burn helped soothe the pounding of his heart. It was far from his favorite alcohol, but it was all accepted for such parties. The stronger brandy was hidden away in the smoking lounges, and Max hardly entered those. 

“Excellent!” George cheered. 

Eventually, Lando and Daniel returned, with George departing to greet more guests. 

Despite not being the heir, George made himself ever-useful. He was often a source of great knowledge or companionship - a dutiful host too. 

“I cannot believe it…” Lando mumbled, fixing a crease in his coat, with a scowl. 

“What?”

“Lord Ambrose,” He nearly sneered, “He insists on filling up dance cards before other gentlemen can, believing it to be a ‘claim’ upon the ladies.”

Charles shuddered, “He is a brute.”

“He is a cheat,” Lando pressed, “There are open bookings at the club with no sight of a check.”

“He is an Earl,” Daniel reminded, placing his glass between Charles and Max, “To be his wife is to have security.”

“But what of love?” Charles questioned indignantly, “What of proper courtship? Of a love match?”

“What of it?” Max’s words left him before he was able to keep them back. 

“Well,” Charles turned to the dance floor, gesturing with his glass to her, “Would you court her? Or would you wish that she marry a man like Ambrose for security?” He nearly spat the word. 

“It is much more complex than that,” Max said, finding her once more in the crowd. 

She returned his gaze in an instant as if she could sense him, offering him a small smile. His heart began to pound once more. 

“Women are forced to rely on the security of a name,” He tried to busy himself with his words, “A name that can only come from marriage, a name only a man can provide. They are not left with much choice.”

Charles seemed to think. He would never truly understand, as he had no sisters, but Max did. He remembers Victoria’s first season with burning clarity, how terribly nervous she had been. Her entire life and personality were boiled down to a singular match. And once she did marry, she was removed from their family, excised, and replanted. 

Max hated it. 

“Yes,” Charles whispered, his voice nearly lost to the swell of the music, “I - I suppose you are right…”

A bubble of pleasant silence grew over them, shrouded by the music as it drew to a close. Max watched as the gentleman returned her to the other ladies, offering another deep bow before stepping away. The ladies curled around her in an instant, their eyes alight with wonder. There was a soft flush to her cheeks, but she still looked breathtaking, fanning herself gently with a hand. 

Something grew within his stomach, only it was not dread, it was something light.

“Oh, bother,” Lando hissed, eyes squirting just beyond the group of ladies. 

“What is it?”

“There he is,” He jerked his head, something quite unlike him, “And dare I say he is -”

He was approaching her, coming upon the smallest break within the ladies’ bodies and greeting them with a hungry smile. Max’s legs were moving before he could will himself to stay put. Lord Ambrose was looking around the ladies, leaning far closer to them than necessary. 

Max was cutting through the crowd, sidestepping other partygoers and ignoring the calls of his name. Anger flared within him, perhaps it was more disgust, at Amrbose’s blatant disregard for their honor. 

Of all the bachelors, he had the most notorious of reputations. Countless mistresses and bastards littered his name, but the depth of his pockets made it a mere speck upon his title. She was well within her rights to select any man she pleased, and Max could never tell her any different, but he would not allow her honor to tarnish - any other gentlemen, just not him. 

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Max interjected, inserting himself between her and Lord Ambrose, “But I was wished to ask if,” He turned to face her, heart pounding, “I may have your next dance?”

“You are interrupting, Verstappen, as I was about -”

Her eyes went aglow with something akin to relief and she placed her hand in his, tightening around him, “Of course, I would be honored.”

The murmurs from the surrounding ladies were immediate, covering their mouths with dazzling fans, but there was nothing to hide their amazement. The beast out to dance, how unlikely. He held his arm out for her, rounding the expanse of the dance floor as they awaited the music.

“I must apologize if - if I overstepped,” He sighed as they settled away from earshot, “I did not mean to make it seem as if you needed my saving.”

“Your apology is accepted,” She smiled up at him, placing a gloved hand upon his shoulder, and the other resting gently within his grasp, “But, regardless of how unnecessary it may have been, I am quite grateful.”

“Though I must admit, Mr. Verstappen,” The music queued up behind them, a gentle melody of strings, “I was under the impression you had no interest in dancing.”

Her words were a double-edged sword and Max could not deny. 

“I, typically, do not,” He swallowed thickly, unable to withhold the truth with her before him, “But for you, I suspect there are many exceptions to be had yet.”

Her blush burned through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears, Max suppressed a chuckle. She was quick to recover, moving away from him with the first steps of the dance. It was a simple one, filled with a series of spins and skips. Despite his reluctance, he was still a member of high society. His education had included such social niceties, though he never thought he would put them to use. 

“You are a far better dancer than the rumors allow you credit for.”

“Are you one to listen to rumors?”

“Only when they make such a man to be a beast,” She looked at him through her eyelashes, though it was not coy. There was nothing demure about her gaze, it was striking. 

It was as if she wished to see into the very depths of his soul, to know all of his secrets and deepest desires. 

And Max, the great fool he is, would gladly allow her. 

He spun her in time with the music, guiding her by the waist, before pulling her near him once more. This close, he was able to see her more clearly. The shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the roundness of her face - her beauty knew no bounds. The very dress she wore, a mere cloth of elaborate stitching, seemed to be one with her body, made for her. 

He supposes it was, but so many debutants attempted to hide their nervousness behind frilly clothing and blinding jewels. She, however, seemed to command the very fabric on her skin. 

“Is there something the matter, My lord?”

Her voice shook him from his thoughts, but there was a knowing look in her eye. 

“No, no, I apologize,” He stepped behind her, reaching for her hand, “And I am not Lord, not - not yet.”

“Many men would jump at the chance to claim a title that is not theirs,” She huffed, unable to hide the roll of her eyes. 

“Well,” Max found both her hands, lifting them above their heads before tracing a hand down her spine to the small of her back, “I am not most men.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, and when he went to remove his hand, she leaned into it, “No, I suppose you are not.”

The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken desire. There was much to say, much to do, but Max only planned to keep her from Ambrose, not the entirety of the marriage mart. 

He straightened once more, clearing his throat, “My - my mother was incredibly involved in our upbringing. I learned a myriad of things my fellow bachelors did not.”

She seemed to think for a moment, cocking her head to the side, “Like…sewing?”

“...Yes,” He sighed, spinning them around, “But she said it was more with my unruly desire to be the best at…well, everything.”

His words pulled a laugh from her lips. It was not gentle nor polite, her laughter was bright and loud, pulling the attention of a few other dancers, but Max could not bring himself to care. He adored it. 

He adored her. 

“I am quite the same,” She mused, “I cannot stand to lose.”

Max smiled before he could stop himself, “Neither can I.”

He walked himself around her, holding his right hand to her waist and the other to her opposite hand. They locked eyes, Max’s blood rushing to his ears. The shy smile she offered him from across the room melted into a genuine smile, larger than the former. 

Far more beautiful. 

The music ended with a soft chord, the floor breaking apart to clap. Max slowly moved from her, unable to fight the need any longer, his eyes still trained on hers. They clapped, but the moment the applause died down, he took her hand in his. The walk back to the group was nearly a crawl. 

He did not wish to leave her side. 

They arrived sooner than he wished, but the words came just as quickly. 

“May -” He nearly forgot himself, “May I call upon you? Perhaps���tomorrow?”

“Yes,” She breathed, still holding onto his hand, “I would like that very much.”

He looked down at their hands and waited for her to pull back from him. She did with a blush moving across her cheeks, and Max was unable to do anything but return it. 

He felt like a boy, with his heart thundering within his chest, but - they locked eyes once more, the infinite land of understanding between them, surrounding them - nothing could ever feel more right. 

_____________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

also, yes, there are geographical inaccuracies, but let's all just have fun and ignore them kay??? and if you guys like this and want me to continue this with the rest of the drivers, let me know

[euphoricfilter]

like crazy ~ part one

☆ﾟpart one of four

pairing(s): namjoon x reader, seokjin x reader, yoongi x reader, hoseok x reader, jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || smut || angst || non-idol au || reincarnation au || strangers to lovers || established relationships || regency era au || gang au ||

summary: the story of why you loved to dance in the rain.

word count: 14k

tags/ warnings: duke! taehyung, jimin, fluff, so much love, angst, death(s)/implied murder, mentions of blood, mentioned suicide, mentioned puking, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut in the forms of: implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex (don't be stupid, this is fiction), oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, cum play, talks of pregnancy and babies

notes: this mini series is very loosely inspired by an au idea i wrote a while back about an immortal m/c. i'm going to try and keep updates every other week but i am moving home really soon so if there's any change in the schedule then i'll post about it!! and as always, feedback is always encouraged <3

‘like crazy’ mini series masterlist || my main masterlist

🪐 🌠 ∘₊���─── *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ───✧₊∘ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 💫

“A lot has happened since we last spoke” You look down at the gravestone, moss and mud having found home over unnerving death, “Sorry it took me so long to visit” Maybe it helped that the sun was out, tears that were meant to fall soaked up in golden rays of light that warm your cheeks rather than wet them. 

You place a bouquet of red chrysanthemums before the thick slab of stone, closing your eyes briefly. Not a thought in your mind as you revel in the peace of what was once a roaring home. 

“Now, where should I begin?” 

The day you remembered your first life, it felt as though your world had tilted off its axis. That everything you thought you’d learnt about yourself was nothing more than a singular star in a galaxy that sat in the vast universe. A mere atom in the formula that builds you as a person. 

It was like a never-ending spiral. Little pockets of a past life you were never supposed to know, hidden between rouge pieces of space rock and black holes of a different time. Where one misstep had you slipping down a rabbit hole of the unknown with nothing to grab onto. Spiralling down like you were Alice, except you were far from Wonderland. 

You weren’t even sure if you were in denial, or if it was all a far-fetched dream crafted by a wild imagination. Perhaps it was something more like guilt, because as much as Jimin was most definitely the love of your life; he was simply the love of this life.

Strange, heart-wrenching emotions had weighed on your shoulders as you remembered a past lover, who had held your heart ever so delicately in soft hands. And you’d held his, cradling it to your chest until your hearts had beaten in unison. Where wild fantasies had painted a forever, that was never going to be forever. 

Your skin had crawled as fingertips that no longer exist had danced over your body, and burning lips, kissing you in places that should only be Jimin’s. A touch not that of your lover’s, digging into sacred places, secret places that you had only ever worked up the courage to show Jimin. 

The sudden force of having to re-live grief when you yourself should also be dead had sent you into a frenzy. With too many sleepless nights, and too many harsh words sent Jimin’s way as you tried to navigate so many new stimuli at once. This love for another man was like a phantom hand latching onto your heart and squeezing, pulling, and sinking you further down. Sinking down, down, down until a whirlwind of emotions had flushed over you. Joy. Excitement. Sorrow. Heart-ache. Hatred. Love. Too much love. So much more love. A different sort of love you had never felt. Love love love. 

There were too many secrets. Secrets you didn’t truly understand, a jumble of words that melt into slush and clog your brain, sparking against neurotransmitters and mingling with more information than you knew what to do with. Secrets that go away when Jimin is stood before you, and you’re reminded of who your heart now belongs to. The world finally silent, and hands stop grabbing you, and you can finally breathe again. It was as if Jimin had become a catalyst for your fraying feelings. 

The story of Jimin had bloomed in spring. 

When the sky felt as though it were at the tips of your fingers if you were to reach up high enough. And the world smelt of flowers and herbs that sat on window-sills of rundown houses. Where skin was sun-kissed, tender and pink on the back of your neck. And all the evils of the world were taking a nap for the afternoon with the cats that lounged in the shade under trees. 

“Excuse me”

You perk up, squinting when the sun hits your eyes. 

The memory of your first encounter with Jimin will always be one you find yourself going back to. Vivid enough that when you dream of this day, you’re often tempted to reach out and touch him as if he were really there. 

His name on the tip of your tongue, tickling the back of your throat and mind, though nothing comes out as the scene replays itself for the thousandth time. 

It’s like a well-practised play, where you pose as the main cast while simultaneously being the audience. (Maybe it was more of a tragedy, a shame when you know how this one ended.) A little jarring that you have no control over your own body, lips moulding around words so many times you could recite the first conversation the both of you had over and over again. 

Sickly regret holding you in its palms, because there are so many more things you want to tell Jimin, words that he’ll never get to hear. 

It mustn’t have been very long after midday when you’d met. Sweat tickling the back of your neck and untamed grass pocking at your ankles and between bare toes. 

The air smelt of burning wood, crackling fire nothing but a whisper in the wind as footsteps crunch over gravel, and children thump into the tall grass and crush delicate flowers under the weight of their tiny bodies. 

The dress you were sewing is dropped into your lap in favour of cupping your hands around your eyes to see the face of your visitor. Your cheeks dusting the lightest shade of pink when you finally get a look at his face. 

You knew of Jimin, as did most on your estate. The other seamstresses never knew when to close their mouths, always tittering away about everyone and everything that lived in the area. Mindless gossip that you always found yourself turning away from when their giggles would get too loud, or opinions too crude for your liking. 

Jimin had become somewhat of an enigma since turning into an adult. Names were thrown around like he weren’t ever to hear them; though you know his mother works in the building next door. Sure to have heard what her friends had been saying about her son behind her back. How much of a shame it is that he has such a nice face but no money. That no woman would ever want to settle for a man with nothing to his name, even if their babies were to be beautiful. 

Or how their daughters had wandered into the city and found wealthy bachelors, who bought them dresses lined with thread made of gold, and jewellery that weigh down their necks. Who eat like royals, and prance around well-kept gardens into their husbands’ arms. 

Thoughts ever so shallow you never found yourself stooping to their level when they’d nudge you for your opinion. The bitter remark that their children had abandoned them had always clung to your lips, because surely if they cared they would have lifted their parents out of commoner status and housed them in luxury. 

The rumours of Jimin’s beauty were true, that much you now knew. Whatever child-like innocence you had left inside of you dubbing him as something akin to a garden fairy; just as you imagined them when you were young. 

Not quite dainty, yet not thick muscle, something a little softer around the edges. And with his overgrown hair haloed by the sun as he takes a step to the side, blanketing you in shade, you think he looks like a dream. 

“Yes?” your head tilts, gaze flitting to the scarce bouquet that he holds. Tips of his fingers evidence that he’d dug them up himself, wet soil clinging to his skin and boots; just as rough and old as the rest of his clothes. Though really you find you have no place to judge when you, yourself are dressed no better than him. 

“These are for you” He thrusts the flowers into your face, entirely too eager as dirt falls into your lap, though you find yourself laughing. Uncaring that your mother’s dress bears the brunt of his enthusiasm. 

You clear your throat when he avoids your eyes, “From you?” 

And he nods, watching from the corner of his eye as you take them in gentle hands as not to let any of the smaller flowers fall out of place. You lay them delicately over your lap, feeling around the grass for your thread. 

You snap it with your teeth, tying the stems of the flowers together so you wouldn’t lose any of them. A pot already in mind that you keep beside your mattress in the bedroom. Dust had collected around the rim, and lime scale clung to the insides, though you think the flowers would look lovely beside you as you slept. 

“And–” he rubs his hands over his pants, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, “And this” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. 

The tips of your fingers brush against one another as you take it from him. Curiosity wins over the heated flush that threatens to dust over your cheeks at the accidental contact. 

‘I think you’re pretty’ 

“Would you like to join me?” you smile, patting the space beside you, Jimin’s own lips curling up at the corners. 

“I’m Jimin” 

And you refrain from telling him you know. Because the Jimin you knew was the one that had been tossed from mouth to mouth, built on flimsy lies and stupid expectations. Entirely built by rotten imaginations and women who had nothing better to do than chatter about other people’s lives when their own was crumbling just as much. 

“Y/n” you giggle, outstretching your hand for him to shake. 

Jimin’s eyes curl into little crescents as he smiles, a laugh bubbling up his throat “Nice to meet you, Y/n” 

“Nice to meet you” You nod, “Oh! And, I think you’re pretty too” 

“Do you think I can take you on a date? Tomorrow?” he turns to you, and you blink up at him. 

“So soon?” 

“Too soon?” he winces. 

The corners of your lips turn upwards, busying yourself with finishing mending your mother’s dress, “No, I quite like how straight to the point you are” 

Jimin’s chest deflates as he sighs, “I thought it might have scared you a little” he admits. 

You hum, “No one’s ever asked me on a date before” you admit. 

A wave of ease falls over the both of you, a unanimous understanding that there weren’t any expectations between the two of you. That as much as love was thrown onto the table, it didn’t have to be what the two of you got out of this. 

Friendship, when you’re alone, is just as precious as a lover. Another human being with very human emotions and morals that match yours is just as special as something a little more than platonic. 

“No way” he laughs, shoulder knocking against yours, you bite back a smile, “A girl as pretty as you?” 

“Mmhmm” 

“Then it’d be an honour to be the first” feeling bold, Jimin’s arm slips across your shoulders, “And hopefully the last”

“Ah is that so?” you drop the dress onto the grass beside you, pushing yourself to sit on your heels as you turn to face Jimin. 

He nods, eyes flicking from your own to your lips, then back up again. Perhaps only mapping out your face into his mind, carving out every little crevice that makes you, and burning it into his brain. Or maybe it’s something a little less innocent. 

You lean forward, a chaste kiss pressed to Jimin’s cheek before you pull back; a shy smile mirroring his, flushed cheeks probably matching his too. Though you find yourself liking the feeling, something ever so foreign yet welcome, you can’t help the airy laugh that spills from your lungs. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been the incessant tapping at your window that had woken you up like a little bird was pecking at the old glass. Understandably, fear had settled in your heart, it wasn’t often you were woken up in the middle of the night like this. 

The floorboards creaked under the weight of your body as you slipped off your mattress, socked feet barely making a sound as you plan an easy escape without your uninvited visitor knowing you were going to find your mother. 

You almost trip over your own feet when the tapping stops, Jimin calling out your name. 

You scuttle over to your window, tugging your curtains open, “What are you doing here so late?” you whisper when you unlatch the window, pushing it open. 

“I forgot to give you this” he raises his arm, a singular sunflower clasped between his fingers. 

“You came all the way here to give me this?” you ask, baffled. 

“Yes, I forgot to pick you a bouquet before our date this afternoon” he nods, “That…and I just missed you” 

“Would you like to come in?” you take a step away from your window. 

You see the unfiltered surprise on his face, “Too soon?” 

He shakes his head, “I just wasn’t expecting it is all” 

You pluck the sunflower from between his fingers, turning to place it in the vase with the other flowers he’d gifted you over the last week. 

You turn back to Jimin as his boots thump against the floor, he kicks them off, shuffling in one spot as you take a seat on your mattress. 

“Come here” you hide your smile, biting your bottom lip. He’s ever so careful as he takes a seat beside you. The both of you fall onto your backs like you often did in the grass at the park. 

Soft silver moonlight spills into the room from the open curtains, cool night air washing over the both of you as you stare at the ceiling. 

“I really like spending time with you” Jimin breaks the silence, though his gaze remains trained on one spot of your roof. 

“I really like spending time with you, too” You tilt your head to look at him, unexplainable happiness filling your body until you felt like bursting. 

He hums, next words barely above a whisper. “I hope we can be together for a long time” 

“I would like that” 

Jimin turns his head to face you, the softest smile on his face, “I’m glad” 

 Love with Jimin was pure. The both of you were young enough that it didn’t matter if it were rough around the edges, imperfect; though you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. It wasn’t hard to fall in love. Not when it was Jimin.

For every date he took you on, he would spend hours in the park picking flowers for you. 

His mother had always adored them and could talk about anything botanical for hours. She knew all their meanings and all their worth. Her love for one of the world’s tiny treasures brushing off on Jimin growing up. Over the years the reason for his love had changed, something special to his mother was now something special to him. 

Because flowers now reminded Jimin of you. Where soft petals between the tips of his fingers felt like your skin under his hands, always reaching out for you, holding any part of you he could. How the world around you smelt of flowers as he braided them into your hair or you made promise rings with wilting stems that needed a little bit of love; a new life, a new purpose. 

And of course, Jimin had heard all about the men in the city who bought acres of land for their lovers. Gardens tended to with warm hands but barely there love. And Jimin’s dream was to spend afternoons in a garden, your knees brushing as he plants flower beds and vegetables. So he could wake you up each morning with a new bouquet and a letter as to why he loves you so much. 

“What’s this one?” you tuck Jimin’s hair behind his ear, pressing a kiss to his nose. 

“A red chrysanthemum” He tilts your face, thumb caressing the skin behind your ear. 

“Yeah?” you breathe, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks as his lips barely brush over your own, and Jimin hums. 

You smile into the kiss, “And what do red chrysanthemums mean?” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

“I love you” 

You pull back, eyes widening a fraction. Three words that felt like they should be whispered, a secret that the two of you shared but never spoke about. You knew you loved Jimin in some capacity, you weren’t stupid. And you knew he liked you back, he’d made that known; and yet those three words had you feeling as though love was the only emotion that mattered. That the only thing you could ever do was love Jimin.

“Too soon?” he smiles, thumb running over your bottom lip. 

You shake your head, “No, not at all” 

“This is for you too then” His free hand slips into his pocket. Piece of paper tucked between two fingers, he drops it into your awaiting palm. 

‘I love you ♡” 

Young love didn’t have to be rushed. You didn’t have to stagger after Jimin as he pulled you along, or him chase after you as you sped ahead. It could be late-night talking about all the seemingly insignificant things in life. How hard growing up was or the insane expectations for success that neither of you had a chance of grasping. 

Marriage didn’t have to be your only reason. Not when Jimin had become many of the reasons you liked waking up in the morning, or making lunch for the both of you to share on scarce breaks at work. 

It could be slow dancing in the moonlight, as Jimin hums and crickets chirp. Or afternoons spent lounging in the sun with pinkies intertwined and breaths in sync. Or, now whispered ‘I love yous’ melting into soft kisses to cheeks and lips and noses. Or pink flushed cheeks and smiles that hurt your face, the good kind of hurt that makes you giggle and want one more gentle press of his lips to your own. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You dip your fingers into the shallow edge of the lake, “It’s pretty cold” 

You peek over your shoulder as Jimin pulls his shirt over his head, lithe muscles flexing under the motions of his movements. Every sharp line and soft ridge of his body was illuminated by the silver light of the moon. 

“Guess we better warm up then” he grins, eyes raking down your body. They then linger on your face, and it’s not often you wonder what Jimin’s thinking. He usually speaks his mind, clingy shyness about his feeling for you never holding him back when it came to his thoughts. 

You laugh, “Perv” your own shirt haphazardly shucked off your body, thrown into a pile with the rest of Jimin’s clothes. 

His arm slips over your waist as you kick your panties off, goosebumps prickling the skin of your arms as your boyfriend takes a step into the lake. 

His chest opens as the initial shock of the cold crawls up his spine. Jimin watches you fidget, arms wrapped around your bare breasts, “Come on, baby” he reaches a hand out for you, walking further until he’s waist-deep in the water. 

An easy smile is on his face as he beckons you over, wading closer to you when you work up the courage to slink into the water. Your breath hitches as you take Jimin’s hand, legs wrapping around his waist. He throws your arms around his shoulders, murky water rippling around the both of you as he spins you around. Your bare chest pushes up against Jimin’s as you pull him closer, your body easing a little at the extra heat. 

“You’re pretty” he murmurs, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, hoisting you up a little higher. 

You push his hair from his forehead, lips lingering over warm skin when you lean down to press a kiss over his hairline; your hands cupping his cheeks, eyes flickering across his face. You weren’t sure how to explain how you felt, Jimin had always been better at words than you had been. 

It’s just, Jimin in the moonlight always felt right. Because for once the world fell silent, it felt like it finally belonged to just you and him. He looked ever so pretty dusted in silver, honeyed skin kissed by the wonders of the sky. Blemishes nothing but pretty places to kiss, each moment your lips touch his skin another reason for you to wonder how you even ended up here. 

“I love you” you whisper.

But that never felt like enough. Three frail words that you utter over and over again, that should really lose their meaning over time, are the only words that ever seem to come to mind when it’s Jimin. Nothing fancy. Nothing poetic. Nothing that’s more than an ‘I love you’ because no matter how many times you seemed to say it, the weight of your words is always understood by Jimin.  

And he laughs, “How abrupt of you” 

You bite back a smile, “Sorry, it just came out” 

“I might love you more, you know” His eyes close. 

You press a kiss over his eyelids, “I think that’s impossible”  

He hums, “I don’t” 

He peeks an eye open, smiling when he sees the frown on your face. 

“Every breath I take, and for every beat of my fragile heart, I will love you. Until the day I lay on my deathbed, and we must part ways, my love will be yours.” his eyes meet your own, “Though I know we’ll meet in the sky, and I’ll hand you my heart once more” 

“And I’ll hand you mine” Your eyes search his, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. 

“I’m glad, my love. And I’ll cherish it for as long as you’ll allow me” 

“Forever.” you say, wondering if his eyes really held galaxies or if they simply reflected the sky, “It’ll be yours forever” 

“Then I have something to tell you” 

Your eyebrows crease, and a strange sense of dread and excitement mixes inside of you. And you aren’t sure if you’re jittery from the cold or nerves or fear. 

“What is it?” you urge. 

Jimin swallows, hands travelling over your bare back and down your waist, “I’ve put down two gold coins for that house we had been talking about” 

Your chest deflates, lungs wringing themselves out of all the air you had until you’re laughing. Almost falling backwards into the water if Jimin hadn’t pulled you closer to his body. 

“Have you really?” you breathe, hand tangling into the hair on the back of his head, “Park Jimin, don’t lie to me” 

He smiles, chest shaking with his own breathy laughter, “Never, my love. Truly it is going to be ours” 

You shake your head, “How did you find the money for it” 

“You know I have been working double shifts as of late” he hums, wet hands pushing your hair from your face, eager to see your blooming happiness. 

“Yes, but I thought it was for your mother” 

“She earns enough to feed herself, and I wanted a place of our own. And I know how much we’ve both dreamed of this moment, I had to do it” 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” your lips mould into his, a moan of appreciation swallowed as you tilt your head; tongue poking at the seam of his lips. 

“I do now” he huffs, pulling you in for another kiss by the back of your neck. 

“We’re really going to have a home” 

“Yes” he laughs, “Forever ours” 

“I can’t believe it” you whisper, “Pinch me so I know it is real” 

A moan gets caught in the back of your throat as Jimin’s teeth nip at the tender skin behind your ear, plush lips kissing over your skin, saliva slicked and heated. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You think you can find your and Jimin’s love in the little wonders of the world. Because as much as he wanted to hand you the universe, both of you knew that was impossible. That your love was tucked away, safer when hidden in dreams of a shared future. Tucked away in a home that was now yours forever, because neither of you had plans of going anywhere. 

As selfish as it may seem, you’d stolen spring to be your own. You’d met in the spring and found a place for yourselves as flowers bloomed. You were Jimin’s spring flower and he was the sun and the moon and all the pretty things in between. 

It wasn’t hard to fall into a routine, your lives were like clockwork, never stopping. It had always been that way, except now you’d stay within the precious walls of your home, and Jimin would return to you before the sun slipped behind the horizon and dinner was finished cooking on the fire. 

Most mornings the both of you would wake up before sunrise, and you’d eat near-stale bread on the chairs Jimin had made outside the front door. Where once or twice a butterfly had come to kiss your nose in good morning, and then Jimin would kiss the same place over and over until you’re both giggling like it was the first time you’d kissed. 

And for the days he slipped out of the house before you woke, he would leave little letters around the house for you to find throughout the day. 

‘Last night I saw a star as you slept, and it reminded me of your eyes. Briefly, I thought to wake you but after seeing you so at peace, I decided to join you instead ♡’  

He’d always had a secret liking towards poetry and found himself sitting with a quill and paper as the moon sat in the sky, thinking of poems about you. And only the ones that made him smile, and made his heart jump up and down inside his chest did he ever leave on his pillow for you to wake up to the next morning. 

You’d clean the floors between sewing as Jimin worked as a blacksmith, lithe frame bulking up over the last couple of months. And he would make sure to leave you a note before leaving the house, with every little thing he would find that he loved about you. 

‘Today’s reason is your smile ♡’ 

Evenings were your favourite, as were Jimin’s. Both your bodies ease into one another’s as you sit on worn-down cushions while playing checkers that your father had carved for you as a child. 

Or you’d simply lay your head over Jimin’s thigh as he sings for you under the stars. Bellies almost full and hearts the most content as the universe writes your love in shooting stars, its ink the soft glow of the moon. 

“I have a surprise for you next week, so take the day off” Jimin’s fingers rake through your hair, tucking it ever so delicately behind your ear. 

You peel your eyes open, “And what about your own work?” 

“I have already asked for a day away, no problem” He smiles down at you. 

“What sort of surprise is it?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, carried by the wind to Jimin’s ears, who hums. 

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “I mustn’t say, it will ruin it” 

“But I’ll be curious” You jab a finger into his stomach, lips curling into a smile when he leans down to capture your lips. 

“Poor thing” he whispers, stealing another kiss. 

‘A clue to your surprise: It reminds me of you ♡’ 

“I still don’t know what it is” You slide Jimin’s most recent note across the table, and he shrugs. 

“Your final clue” He hands you another piece of paper. 

‘Think of when we first met’  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited” Jimin laughs, arm slung over your shoulders. 

You skip ahead a little, walking backwards as you smile over at Jimin who takes one of your hands, helping you twirl as if you were a princess and he was the prince. You’d spent every night sewing a new dress with leftover fabric from the tavern; a special occasion called for a special outfit.  

And Jimin had smiled and laughed so much he’d almost fallen off the back of his chair as you’d spun for him. He’d called you utterly beautiful and then tugged you over his lap for a kiss, maybe two. 

“Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been eager to know what your surprise is” 

“Happiness looks good on you, my love” Jimin stops walking, pulling you to his chest. 

“Then I must look good all the time, with you around” 

“Where do you learn these things” His hand covers his mouth, a lame attempt at covering his smile. 

“You” 

Jimin raises his eyebrows, astounded, “When have I ever been cheesy?” 

“All the time. I’ll show you when we get home, I have all those letters you’ve left me” 

“You kept all those?” he gapes, footsteps falling in time with your own as you both start wandering back down the gravel path. 

“Of course. I still have the first ever one you gave me, and then all the ones that came after that” 

You bite your bottom lip, willing yourself not to laugh when you catch sight of Jimin’s rose-dusted cheeks. 

“Then you may think I’m extra cheesy today” he announces, fingers interlacing with your own. 

“Is that so?” you hum, shoulder knocking against his arm. 

Jimin turns to you, “Do you trust me?” 

You blink. 

“Of course” 

“Then please close your eyes” 

“Right now?” your head tilts, eyes squinting to gauge how far away the end of the pathway is, “It doesn’t seem like we’re anywhere that a surprise could be” 

“We are” he turns to you, “It won’t be a surprise if you keep looking though” 

You nod, eyes narrowing; sceptical. 

“If this is where you secretly murder me then I swear on my grave I will come back from the dead Park Jimin” 

He laughs, “It would be impossible to live in a world without you, I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you if it weren’t for your own pleasure” 

You bring your hands to cover your eyes, back straightening when Jimin takes hold of your arm, turning you in the direction of the forest. 

“Careful, the path is uneven this way” He pulls you further under the blanket of trees. 

“Are we almost there” you stumble, amused laugh shaking your shoulders as Jimin’s other hand falls onto your waist to keep you steady. 

“Almost” 

The both of you stumble to a stop, your eyes squeezing shut behind your hands as you wander into the sun, out of the shade. 

“Are you ready?” 

And you hear the unease in his voice, a week of pressure building up. Bubbling until it’s now fizzling out of him in nervous rivulets, hands clammy as they run up and down your arms. His feet shuffle against crunchy grass, and this might be the most jittery you’ve ever seen Jimin. 

“Yes,” you tell him, keeping your eyes closed as you take hold of his hands, squeezing his fingers between your own. Jimin swallows, Adams's apple bobbing under the weight of it. 

His eyes wander over your face, “May I kiss you?” 

The corner of your lips curl up at that, “Yes” you nod, leaning into his touch when he cups your cheeks. 

The tension in both your shoulders releases as your lips mould together, ever so slowly, neither of you rushing as Jimin’s tongue teases into your mouth. He laps up every little noise that slips off your tongue, sweet like nectar. 

Your eyes slip open, entirely focused on Jimin’s. “I really hope you like it” He keeps your focus on him, foreheads still touching, noses knocking against one another. 

“May I be honest with you?” 

And he hums, “Yes, of course” 

“If it’s from you, then I will always love it” 

“That seems a little extreme” he laughs, though unease still chews away at his mind. 

“I don’t think so. Surely you would like anything I gifted you” 

He nods, “Of course, I would” 

“Then it’s no different for me, so please don’t worry” you whisper, eyes slipping closed once more as you press a featherlight kiss to his plush lips. 

“Keep your eyes closed for a moment” he whispers back, and you hum. 

Jimin’s hands fall away from your body, shadow slipping away from behind your eyelids as he steps away from you. 

“Open them” 

And you do. 

“Oh Jimin” you whisper, a twitch of your lip the first sign of a smile. 

As far as you can see, there are just flowers. The most vibrant you have ever seen, almost glowing under the warm light of the sun. For all the flowers Jimin had given you over the years, you think there must be every colour he’d ever thought to bring you; all swaying in tandem as if it were the most beautiful ocean. 

The field stretches until it meets the sky, land completely hidden by a blanket of wildflowers. 

You don’t know where to look, so many places to look but only two eyes. Your head is pulled in every which direction, mouth falling open in awe. 

“Where did you find this place?” your voice comes out breathless, gaze only briefly meeting Jimin’s before you’re drawn back to acres of untouched land. A whole ecosystem thriving on its own, untampered with by human life. 

“On the way back from a job. It reminded me of you, and I knew I had to bring you here” he steps closer to you, fingers brushing against your own. 

You turn to face Jimin, “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Thank you for sharing it with me” 

You slip your fingers through Jimin’s, “Would you like to dance with me?” 

“Right here?” his eyes widen. 

You nod, tugging him towards the sea of flowers, “Yes” 

“But we have no music” his resistance nothing more than a show as he makes no move to stop you. 

Wild grass tickles both your ankles, delicate petals of smaller flowers caressing your bare legs as you hike your dress up. 

“That doesn’t matter” you laugh, pulling him further and further until overgrown flowers dust over your waist like gentle fingers, and a butterflies’ wings tickle your cheek. 

Jimin watches as you twirl, hands outstretched for him to come closer. Your body knocks into his as he pulls you into his chest. Both of you fall in sync, as curious hands wander over arms and backs, down to waists and hips. 

You flinch when something wet hits your nose, Jimin turning his face to the sky. 

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” he says, and you tilt your head to look, “Perhaps we should go home” 

You shake your head, “But we only just got here” 

“But the rain, my love” he takes your hands, taking a step back, though your feet stay planted in their spot. 

“A little bit of rain never hurt anyone” You pull him back into your body, eyes squeezing shut as a raindrop collides with your lashes. 

The both of you are washed in a gust of shade, the sun hidden behind dark clouds that bleed into the horizon. 

“Won’t you dance with me?” you look up at Jimin, clothes starting to mould into your skin as the sky rains more unshed tears. 

“I suppose” he grins, arm falling around your waist. 

Your hair clings to your foreheads, sodden leaves wetly slapping against your arms and legs. Rouge petals that had plans of rotting on the soil now hanging on to your dress and Jimin’s pants. 

Your dress doesn’t fan out like a royal’s would when Jimin spins you, neither is he really dressed like a prince but the both of you feel as though you could be of that status in that moment. 

Your eyes fall shut, smile never leaving your face. It’s as though your body evaporates, that the world around you fizzles upwards in little bubbles and you follow their lead. Chasing after the light that shines down on you like a beacon. 

Something strange tugs at your heart, sinking you further and further into the darkness as you kick upwards until you’re spinning and the world is spinning with you. And the darkness feels all too familiar, your footsteps practised perfectly as if a routine. 

Hands roam your body. Both yours and his laughter muffled underwater, a whisp of a soul slipping through your fingers when you turn towards the deep timbre of another voice, a voice far deeper than Jimin’s. His laugh vibrates in your chest as phantom hands graze against your naked skin. And he’s calling your name, your mouth opening to call back except nothing but air puffs past your lips; air bubbles caressing your cheeks as they float upwards. 

Your feet move on their own without much thought as you turn in every which direction, only to ever be met by darkness; feet caught in quicksand that has you sinking further away from the light. 

There’s something on the tips of your fingers as you reach out and an awful pressure squeezes at your chest and the echo– the echo of a voice you’ve heard before. Everything is awfully jumbled, words shoved down your throat, acidic in your stomach– poison as it absorbs into your bloodstream. 

You stumble over your feet chasing after where the stranger’s voice had come from and suddenly your eyes are open as you collide with the floor. Brain rattling within the confines of your skull and your whole world shakes a along with you. 

Jimin’s arms cage your head, chest heaving as he holds himself up over your body. 

You feel puddles of water and sodden soil soak into the back of your dress as you sink further into the ground. 

“Sorry” he whispers, droplets of water from his hair falling onto your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, I forgot where I was for a moment” you admit, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. 

“I could tell” he laughs, falling back onto his heels. 

Jimin tugs you up by your arms, pushing your wet hair out of your face. 

“Maybe we should go home” he murmurs, “I’d hate to have another accident” 

You nod,  “I think that’s a good idea”

“Let’s go home, my love” he pushes himself to stand, and you glance down at your hands. 

“Did you hear another man’s voice?” you blink away the rain from your lashes, Jimin’s eyebrows furrowing. 

“No? It’s only the two of us here” he takes your hands, helping you up, “Did you hear someone?” 

You shake your head, “No, it must have been something else” 

“You know” Jimin starts as you trek out of the flowers, “I’ve never met anyone that loves dancing in the rain as much as you” 

“I can’t explain the feeling” You turn to him, the smallest of smiles on your face. 

“Then should we dance every time it rains?” 

“I always dance when it rains” You pull him closer to your side, a futile attempt to steal some of his body heat. 

“Yes, but I always watch. Maybe I’ll join you from now on” 

“I would like that” you hum. 

And that should have been the end of it. A conversation left in the past where its only leeway into your future is Jimin joining you the next time it decides to rain. Except, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It was rotten how for those few moments the world hadn’t been yours, and Jimin hadn’t been Jimin, and you hadn’t been you. Or that the other voice that had definitely been in your head, a whisper in your ear, an echo on the other side of the dark plane. A siren’s song pulling you further into your own demise, forbidden land you should have never passed over. 

It shouldn’t have been anything more than how much you truly loved dancing in the rain, where it was just something you had always loved and always done without thinking much about it. 

You turn your head to look at Jimin who lay beside you, finally asleep after the both of you had taken a bath. So at peace with himself and the world, as the weight of emotions, you’re unfamiliar with breathe down the back of your neck and you lay awake. 

It’s when you close your eyes, you start to fall. And the eyes that meet yours when you open them aren’t Jimin’s. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For every life you lived after this one, the love you had here will cling onto you forever, sticky like you’d dipped your fingers in molasses. And maybe it’s because this had been the first time you’d learnt what love truly was, or maybe Taehyung had carved such a large hole in your heart that only he could ever truly fill. So even in life after him, he continues to burrow inside of you as his soul finally rests. 

Pure love was an addicting feeling. And maybe Taehyung had made you greedy, grabbing onto such a wonderful feeling over and over until it destroyed you. It wasn’t fair to blame him, but surely your greed had stemmed from somewhere.

And love could only ever be as magical as you’d imagined it if it begins with Taehyung. 

And so, the story of your first life, and therefore your first love starts with Kim Taehyung. 

Taehyung and Jimin had been the most similar of your loves. Both of them had always liked the more delicate things in life. 

Taehyung liked to read how whimsical the ocean was, white seafoam as gentle as clouds, and waves that caressed ankles that wandered the shore. Or how the stars always seemed that little bit brighter when you were in love, the universe shining its approval of something so perfect. He liked the idea of faeries that danced under the light of the moon, or reading forbidden love stories and poems that hurt his heart. Only to be mended with stories of truer love and lifetimes dedicated to another being. 

Taehyung’s sole purpose in life was to become a duke and run the estate after his father passed. Except he had never liked to be shoved into a mould, crafted by hands that had no care, rough as they shaped him. He despised the fact his life was gifted to him just so he could be chained to a role he had no purpose of fulfilling. 

His spirit had always been that of a wild bird, curious about things he had no business knowing, and wanting to wander where forbidden. 

He loved the freedom that birds had, how beautiful their feathers were, gliding through the sky without a care in the world. They had something he didn’t, and maybe his admiration had stemmed from some weird sense of jealousy. But, that never stopped the look of pure joy on his face whenever he caught a glimpse of a dove dancing on the waves of the wind. 

One of Taehyung’s hobbies had become complaining about his classes. The both of you giggled under one of the trees outside his window, shoulders knocking against each other’s as he told you stories of how his politics tutor was surely a witch, and there was no doubt in his mind that his literature teacher was a ghoul. 

The world felt as though it were crumbling at his feet on the days the two of you couldn’t meet. And so, he’d send you letters in secret, asking to meet at the front gate of the estate; where he’d hand you flowers through the bars, or kiss the back of your hand, only to beckon you closer when that doesn’t feel like enough. His plush lips warming your cheeks until he finds your lips and the both of you are melting into cold metal bars, the shyest smiles on both your faces when a maid catches the both of you. 

Most days were spent in the garden, or the drawing room where the both of you could talk for hours. You liked flicking through catalogues of dresses for the coming seasons, always asking Taehyung what he thought. Wondering if he’d like a new broach for his jackets, or if a new waistcoat would suit him. How wonderful the both of you would look matching, with a handkerchief you’d embroidered for him sat in his breast pocket– every gentle prick of the needle through fabric and each delicate line of tread, laced with love that lays beside his gently beating heart. 

Taehyung liked to recount all the things he adored about love, reciting poems and lines of novels he’d read before bed, and then telling you everything he adored about you. Because ‘love’ and ‘you’ should always fall in the same sentence in his eyes. Love would never truly be ‘love’ if you weren’t in the picture. Your silhouette was painted within each frame of his life, tucked in corners of the canvas or slipped far within his heart and mind. 

Taehyung and love were perhaps a synonym of one another. 

He was the epitome of love. 

All things romance and passion, and all things special between two people that have you shy and kicking your feet. Every moment feels like the long-awaited kiss after chapters of build-up and tension, where you have to look away from the book for a brief moment to recollect your thoughts and then bite your nails to hide a smile. 

If you had to describe Taehyung in one word, you think you’ll always gravitate towards eccentric. 

“I think the reason I was born, was to love you” he’d told you one evening, the stars like a halo around his head as he’d taken your hands into his own. 

You hadn’t known what to say, the corners of your lips quirking up at the sides because, of course, he’d utter such sweet words while the both of you laze in the gardens. Not quite ready to part ways just yet. Even if your carriage had been sat outside the house for over an hour, and your supper was probably sat on the table at home. 

“What a sorry reason to be born” you’d whispered back. 

“I don’t think so. The opposite, in fact” he tugs you a little across the grass, closer between his legs, “What is the point of life if it isn’t for unconditional love? And a mind that functions with the sole purpose of loving another?” 

Maybe it was that moment that you realised you loved love. That you loved loving Taehyung and you loved that he loved you just as much as you loved him, if not more. 

“Then, you’re my reason for living” It had fallen off your tongue quicker than you had thought to catch it. Though the smile that had stretched onto Taehyung’s face is one that will forever be etched into your mind, it had been innocent, content. 

You’d seen him smile so many times and yet, something had shifted in your mind, any qualms you had about letting go and succumbing to the purest form of adoration had fizzled out in both your hands. 

Because life wasn’t so bad when you had someone to love. 

“Just as you are my reason to live” he says. 

“I hope the both of us live forever so I never forget this feeling” you’d interlaced your fingers, cheeks flushing the lightest pink that’s veiled by the silver moonlight. Though he probably feels how warm you are when he cups your face, pressing a kiss over the tip of your nose. 

“Forever?” he hums, “Even if you were to forget, I would remind you over and over for as long as we’re together, and every life after that” 

“I’ll remind you too then” you promise, though Taehyung laughs, chest vibrating under the weight of his voice. 

“I could never forget, not when it comes to you, my love” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You don’t remember when you’d met Taehyung, you think he’d always just been there. 

Perhaps the both of you had snuck out of a ball back in the day, two rowdy children giggling on the balcony as you whispered about guests. Which ones you liked, or the ones your mothers’ would mutter about under their breath. The both of you had done it so many times that it would be fitting for your first encounter. A habit the both of you would keep up as you grew older as well. 

Or maybe the both of you had camped out under the tables while your mothers flitted from group to group, and you’d stolen cakes from plates and perfectly cut sandwiches from unattended trays. Where you’d exchange slices of tomato for his pieces of cucumber, and you’d both share squares of cake from one fork. 

Friends from childhood had started bleeding into something a little more as the two of you grew and realized that maybe friendship wasn’t enough for either of you. And maybe that had been the little seedling from where your never-ending greed stemmed from. A constant feral need for constant love that was depicted in careful strokes of paintings and well-thought-out words bled onto a page with dark ink. 

Taehyung had known early on that it was always going to be you he married. There was no doubt in his mind that you were going to wed. It was not often he put his foot down when it came to the choices made for him in life, and making it a point he had no interest in any other woman than you, had always been a point he’d made extremely clear. 

Marriage hadn’t been something you’d put much thought into until Taehyung would bring it up as you drank tea together of an afternoon. And after the little seed of possibility had been planted in your mind, you knew you wanted to marry Taehyung. 

And you’d never second-guessed yourself, because if it was going to be anyone, then it was going to be your best friend. 

“If I were to wear a white dress, would you wear a white suit?” you lay the magazine over your chest. Taehyung pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose when he tilts his head down to look at you; head resting over his thigh. 

“If that is what you want” he hums, “White flowers may be too much, so let’s add colour” 

You run a finger over your bottom lip, “Purple?” 

“Of course” he nods, “I’ll braid them into your hair too” his fingers tickle over your hairline. 

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows, “I think it’s bad luck if the groom sees the bride in her dress on the morning of the wedding” 

Taehyung runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “To hell with tradition” 

“Your mother isn’t going to be very happy” you smile, “All she ever talks about is the perfect wedding” 

Taehyung smiles, “Yes, but it isn’t her wedding. I think I’d be beyond miserable if we weren’t to see each other, I must tell you how beautiful you look before we meet at the end of the alter” 

“It would only be a few hours” you press, eyebrows raising. 

“A few hours too many. Who is supposed to help me with my tie if not you?” 

You fully sit up now, “You’d have a maid or two aiding you” 

Taehyung frowns, whatever paperwork he was reading long forgotten on the couch as he tugs your legs over his thighs, fingers dancing over the bare skin covered by your skirt. 

“But they don’t do it as you do, and I have to look my best the day we tie souls and vow to be lovers for the rest of our time alive. It’s an important day” 

“I suppose you’re right” you hum, brushing his hair from his forehead, “I too, would be lonely if we were to part on such a joyous day” 

It hadn’t been long after the both of you had entered adulthood that Taehyung’s father had died, and only a few months after that the two of you had gotten married. 

You’d worried for Taehyung, knowing that even though his relationship with his father had never been the best, at least a small part of him should have been sad that his soul had left to rest. But no matter how much you lightly prodded, and made sure to ask if he were okay, Taehyung never shed a tear. 

He never truly found a way to articulate his feelings; losing someone he never saw as a father left the smallest hole in his heart. A pinprick, because Taehyung wasn’t heartless and knew the old man had brought him into this world, something he will forever be grateful for– but that was it. 

For the thousands of days you and Taehyung had spent together, the day he had proposed would be your second favourite of them all. He hadn’t made it extravagant, nor did he make it a huge point by proposing at a large gathering. He knew you despised those sorts of events, so he had asked you to be his bride at your favourite spot. 

The pond in Taehyung’s gardens had always been your favourite. It felt as though the world only belonged to the two of you when you spent evenings alone, sat on the bench, where fireflies danced over the water, their reflection like little stars scattered across the pond, the moon so much larger in its reflection than it looked in the sky. 

The day of your wedding, and all the days after that would forever take the top spot.

Taehyung had always loved your soul. He knew you were pretty, of course, you were; you were the most ethereal being he had ever come across. 

The faeries and pretty little wonders he read about, he always pictured you in their place. But it wasn’t always about the way you looked that had Taehyung coming back for more, or his heart thumping ever so hard against the skin of his chest whenever you were around. 

He thought you had the most wonderful soul that he liked to dip his fingers into, gentle like the softest waves, or cradle it to his chest. The most delicate part of you, ever so precious, the rawest form of yourself that he’d hold on to for as long as he was allowed. Because if one day the two of you were to ever part, he’d find the path of your soul, trace his fingers through every dip and curve he’d memorized, and make his way back to your side. 

The night of your wedding, the night the both of you had given yourself to one another fully, was never a moment Taehyung thought he’d be ready for. It’s not that he was second-guessing his choice– sometimes in life the moments we’ve been waiting for feel like a lifetime away. So many hours and even more minutes between now and then, that when the day stumbles before you in all its joyous glory, no amount of falling into your mind in silent preparation had ever truly prepared you for this. 

Taehyung had worshipped your body like you were his only goddess, you were his religion, his reason for life and death and everything he breathed and consumed in his fragile mortal body. Your souls knotting as your lips pressed so gently against one another, their pinkies forever intertwined as they melted like candle wax and hardened as one lifeform. 

Taehyung particularly loved the feeling of your nails digging into the delicate skin of his shoulders. A feeling forever ingrained into his mind, sending a shiver up his spine when his mind wanders to how you looked in candlelight, spread bare for him to defile. 

The both of you felt as though the honeymoon phase was nothing but lies, an easy scare for those who fell too fast, drowning in acidic love that dragged two people away from one another in harsh waves. Because for you and Taehyung, it never ended. 

Every day that you woke up to Taehyung beside you, had you burying your face in your pillow, smile so hard to contain you covered it up with a kiss to Taehyung’s lips as he slowly woke up. 

“I love you” he’d murmur, eyes barely open. 

“I love you more” a hand cupping his cheek, you’d press a kiss to his jaw; sometimes tickled by the stubble that had grown in. 

Something ever so mundane, yet it always seemed to bring you so much happiness. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For a week during the summer, Taehyung would hand his duties over to his assistant and take you away for a short vacation. 

You liked the little house the both of you owned on the other side of town, secluded from the rest of the world. 

It had been one summer when your love for rain had started. You often found yourself reading by the window when the summer showers would pay you a visit, dousing the garden in muddy puddles and the gentle pitter-patter of the world’s tears hitting the ground easy white noise as you danced across pages of books. Or simply watched Taehyung sits on the piano bench, only so he could sit in your company.

Taehyung had always loved playing the piano, one of his many loves that he’d buried with the immense amount of work that had piled on to him since taking the seat as head of the household. The grand piano that sat in the far room of the house was his secret door of salvation. 

“Will you play me a piece?” you motion towards the piano, doors to the garden hooked open. Sure to slam shut with the wind picking up. The air was a little sweeter that afternoon, a gentle breeze raking through your hair, licking at the tops of the pages of your book. 

“I haven’t played for a while” Taehyung closes his own book, “But if it’s for you, I could never say no” 

You take a seat beside Taehyung as he flexes his fingers, gently running his hand over the ivory keys. 

“Would you like me to get your music book?” you lay your head on his shoulder. 

He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. I doubt I’d remember how to read much of it anyways” 

“Do you remember my favourite piece?” 

Taehyung’s tongue wets his bottom lip, “I should hope so” 

Your eyes close as the first note penetrates the air, your head jostling slightly as Taehyung reaches the other end of the keys, his cheek knocking against the top of your head. The tips of his fingers dance elegantly, gentle with each deep hum of the piano’s song. 

You perk up at the first sound of rain, barely there, almost concealed by Taehyung as his movements become bolder, each thick note more pronounced, each deep hum vibrating through your skin. 

You lift your head from his shoulder, “I didn’t think it would rain today” 

You take one look at Taehyung, the smallest smile teasing at his lips when you stand. You kick your slippers off by the open door, toes curling into the damp grass as you step outside. 

You blink as a raindrop falls on your nose, slipping until it’s wetting your lips. You turn back to look at Taehyung, waving when he lifts his head to look at you; and he winces when he presses the wrong note. 

You wander further into the garden, hiking your skirt up so it won’t drag across the wet soil. 

As the rain gets heavier the sound of the piano is slowly drowned out, the world yours for the moment before you’re turning back to Taehyung. 

“Tae” you call back inside, beckoning him over when he turns towards you, “Come dance with me” 

The piano is left and forgotten as Taehyung pushes himself to stand, shoes piled with your slippers as Taehyung steps into the garden. He slinks towards you, hair starting to cling to his forehead as the rain gets heavier. 

“You’ll catch a cold” he takes your hand, tugging you into his chest. 

“But the world is so beautiful when it rains” 

“Just this once I’ll indulge you” he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

As much as the world looks wonderful in that moment, Taehyung outshined it all. Your clothes stuck to the both of you like a second skin, your hair tickling the side of your face, clinging to you like sticky wet vines down the back of your neck.

Taehyung’s hands wander your body, pulling you closer when you start to drift away– your hips finally falling in sync. All those hours of classes on how to dance are washed away by the rain as the both of you stumble, almost falling over each other’s feet. 

“Look” you point towards the back of the estate, “there’s a rainbow” you laugh. 

Taehyung follows your line of sight, “How pretty” he hums, his hands falling to your waist. 

Your fingers tease over his chest, heart hammering under his skin, mere seconds away from jumping out of his skin. Taehyung’s hands wander further down, a surprised moan catching in the back of your throat when he grabs the meat of your ass; tugging you into his body. And you can feel his growing erection against your stomach.  

“Not in the garden” you whisper, fingers trailing lower until you’re gently tugging at his belt. 

Taehyung leans down, warm breath fanning the side of your neck. He presses a wet kiss to the unblemished skin, “I wouldn’t give the serving staff the pleasure of seeing you fall apart for me” he whispers, sodden hair falling over your shoulder.

You take his hands from where they’re teasing over the top of your thighs, “Let’s go” you take long strides back towards the house. 

“Where to, my love?” he trails after you, the most giddy smile on his face. 

You look at him over your shoulder, “Our bedroom” 

Your feet slap wetly against the tile floors, muddy footprints trailing behind the both of you. Youthful joy thrums throughout your body, giggles hard to keep down as the both of you stagger through the hallway towards the bedroom. 

Taehyung’s overzealous in the way he opens the door, and you both wince when it bangs against the wall. The briefest clarity grazes your mind before lust sets back in, and all you can focus on is the incessant throbbing between your legs, and the man stood before you. 

You kick the door closed, Taehyung pulling his wet shirt over his head when you turn back to him– your dress is soon to follow. 

“Would you mind helping me?” you turn your back to Taehyung, shoulders curling inwards as his fingers trace over the intricate ribbing of your corset. 

He’s gentle as he tugs at the ribbons, and you heave a sigh of relief, muscles finally easing a little. Dull throb sinks out of your ribs as you heave a deep breath. 

You turn around, Taehyung’s eyes trailing to your bare chest, curving down the slope, fingers itching at his sides to sink and dig his nails into the plush flesh. He swallows, Adams's apple bobbing under the weight of desire. 

“My beautiful wife” he whispers, hands running up the length of your arms before he’s teasing the edge of your breasts. You trace over his belt, tugging impatiently as he pulls you towards the bed. 

You fall backwards onto the mattress, air momentarily punched from your lungs. Taehyung’s arms cage your head, thigh nudging your legs open for him. 

Your wet hair sticks to your neck, small droplets of water falling over your cheeks from Taehyung’s own hair as his eyes wander over your face. Windows to his soul wide open as sickly sweet love dances within his eyes, adoration you know you’ll never get from another man bared naked, yours for the taking. 

You rut up against his knee, damp cotton panties dragging deliciously against your clit. 

Taehyung’s arms flex as he leans down, plush lips trailing down your jaw, gently plucking soft moans from the back of your throat with every mean nip of his teeth over delicate skin. 

Your thighs clamp around Tae’s leg, arms slithering around his shoulders as you use him for your own pleasure, short bursts of pure arousal wracking up your body with every purposeful tense of his muscles. 

“Good girl” he groans, falling to hold himself up by his elbows as his lips map out the rest of your body– kissing over your neck, the underside of your breasts, down towards your stomach. You whine as he kneels before you, hips bucking upwards to try and chase the slowly fizzling pleasure. 

He kisses your mound over your underwear, tips of his fingers barely brushing over your clit as he trails them down towards your covered folds. Thumb splitting your labia, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he feels your slick heat.

He can’t seem to stifle the chuckle that slips past his lips either as you whine, the most pitiful pout tugging onto your face as he teases you. 

“How needy” he croons, adding a little more pressure over your entrance, “I’ll make sure to make you feel good” 

You lift your hips, a silent invitation for him to tug your panties off, and he does, dropping them beside him; forgotten as he looks at your slick soaked pussy. 

“Tae” you whisper, impatient as your fingers tangle into his wet hair, careful as you try and tug him closer to where you needed him most without hurting him.

“Hm?” he hums, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he pushes them open a little wider, making it easier for him to slip closer to his favourite place. 

Your toes curl as he bends, placing the lightest kiss over your clit, “Want you” 

“Want you too, my love” he murmurs, hot breath fanning over your folds. 

He licks a bold stripe from your entrance to your clit, tongue dipping past your walls before he’s pulling back, wad of spit dribbling over your already sodden cunt.

Your thighs threaten to twitch closed, and when Taehyung notices this he tugs them over his shoulders, dragging you a little further to the edge of the bed. 

His thumb teases over your clit, thrumming at the sensitive little bud as he pushes his tongue back inside of you. The moan you let out is sure to have echoed down the halls, your embarrassment only amplified when you feel another dribble of slick gush past your walls, sure to coat Taehyung’s chin shiny. 

“M’ gonna cum” you hiccup, hips frantically bucking upwards as Taehyung further smothers his face into your pussy. 

He hums, a new wave of arousal coursing through your body at the unexpected vibrations. 

It’s a haphazard flick of your clit that has you tumbling head first into your orgasm, thighs quivering as they clamp around Taehyung’s head, though that doesn’t seem to deter him as he licks into your cunt, swallowing down your release. 

“S’ too much” you sob, hands pushing your lover from between your thighs. He kisses your knee, head flopping across your leg as he looks up at you. 

Your stomach clenches at the dopey smile on his face, thumb running over his bottom lip, still shiny with your arousal. 

“Are you tired, my love?” he asks, fingers curling around your wrists, kissing your palm, then the tips of each finger. 

You shake your head, “I can still go if you’d like” 

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you”

You swallow, unexplainable love swelling inside your chest. 

“Please make love to me” you whisper, pink hue deepening in shade on your cheeks as Taehyung stands at full height, shucking off whatever clothes he still had on. 

You can’t help but wet your lips, watching as he runs a gentle hand over his length, slicking his cock up with pearly beads of precome. 

You push yourself up further on the bed, legs falling open as Taehyung kneels before you. 

He runs a finger through your folds, barely dipping a fingertip inside of you before he’s pulling out, pushing your thighs further apart. 

He guides his cock to your entrance, slicking the head with your cum before he’s gently pushing into you. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, cunt clenching around Taehyung’s length as he gently rocks into you. 

He groans, barely pulling out before feeding you another inch. His hands roam up the length of your body as he finally bottoms out, hips rutting into you by habit. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss which he melts into, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head, tongue teasing over the seam of your lips. 

He licks up into your mouth, concoction of your saliva clinging to his tongue when he pulls back. 

“Ready?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, muscles falling lax as Taehyung pushes your thighs up to your chest. He almost pulls out, the air punched from your lungs as he snaps back into you. 

Unabashed, you moan, Taehyung’s name tumbling from your lips like it were the only word you knew as he thrusts into you. 

It’s wet when Taehyung’s thighs meet your ass, sticky with arousal that clings to both your skin and moans a harmony with one another. 

Your hand snakes down the length of your body, between your thighs, teasing over your clit as Taehyung throws his head back, utterly consumed by unadulterated pleasure. 

“Together” he groans, hips losing their calculated pace. 

His cockhead nudges over your sweet spot, a whine dripping off your lips that Taehyung catches, kiss messy, teeth clashing. 

You pick up the pace on your clit, fizzling pleasure slipping down your spine, slick gushing from your hole, so many feelings, so many emotions– all amplified as endorphins buzz at your brain, a shockwave of dopamine setting you alight.   

You feel Taehyung twitch between your walls, your pussy clenching sporadically around his length as he nears his orgasm. 

Taehyung tips over the edge before you do, creamy white cum painting your walls in thick ropes. Your own orgasm following as you feel another wave of Taehyung’s seed flood your cunt. 

His hips twitch as you continue to clench around him, pushing his release further into you. 

Your chest stutters as you try and catch your breath, fingers splayed over your mound as you fall back into reality. 

Your moan as Taehyung pulls out, a hiccup following as he presses a kiss to your cheek. His fingers gather up the dribble of cum that follows his cock, pushing it back inside of you. And you twitch at that, overstimulated. 

He reaches behind your head for a pillow, your thighs falling to the bed, to which Taehyung tuts. 

“Lift your hips up for me, darling” he soothes, singular hand gathering both your ankles, pulling the lower half of your body from the mattress so he can slip the pillow underneath you. 

“You’d look awfully pretty baring my child” his hand trails down your stomach, over your womb. 

“I hope this time we are lucky” you tell him, finger interlacing with the ones over your stomach. 

“Me too, my love. Our child would be the most precious little thing” 

You smile, eyes slipping shut as you paint the image of what your baby would look like, “I hope they look like you” 

“I’d always wished they’d look like you. Their mother holds all the beauty of this cruel world” 

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, “Then how about they look like the both of us, as their father shares all of that beauty” 

“That would be wonderful” Taehyung pushes himself off the bed, slipping on a robe that had been forgotten on one of the chairs that morning. 

“What if they aren’t a boy?” your hands fall over your chest, watching Taehyung as he gathers the bowl of water and towels. 

He turns to look at you, “What would it matter if they were a girl?” his eyebrows furrow. 

“Wouldn’t you need an heir” 

He wets his bottom lip, “Boy or girl, I’m not bothered, my love. If we were to have a son then I would never subject them to the horrors of becoming heir. And if we have a precious little daughter, I would love her all the same, and if one day she decides she wants to take over the estate then I would let her” 

The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “Then I am glad” Your hand finds his as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, dipping the towel into water, gently dragging it over your sweat-slicked skin. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Falling in love with Taehyung had made you a lot of things. 

Juvenile had never been on top of that list, though when you think about it, it really should have been. Or that somewhere written in the fine print of your story, neither of you would die, that you’d both freeze in time and continue your lives for the rest of eternity. 

Some days when you’d sit alone, you wish Monet had been around during your life with Taehyung. His paintings as beautiful as the love you shared. Paintings full of purpose, the world through the eyes of a man– impressionist paintings that had so much raw colour, so much more vibrance than the real world. 

You wish he’d have been able to put paint to canvas, where every gentle stroke of his brush was a piece of stupid, young naivety put into breath-taking art. Meaningful, purposeful, and beautiful. Because your ignorance would have made a beautiful collection, a series of a time when the future wasn’t as perfect as his art. Bringing both you and your lover to downfall. 

Your life was not the art of Monet, nor was it as mesmerising as Van Gogh’s Starry Night. You weren’t frozen in time like you were part of history, forever documented on paper and hung for the world to see. 

You were naive enough to think that with Taehyung’s new rise to power, somewhat unexpected in high society, he wouldn’t have one or two enemies. 

The end of your first life hadn’t been what you had wanted it to be. 

As much as you remember the day you had gotten married or all the afternoons you and Taehyung had spent in the garden, dancing in the rain, under rainbows and the sun that peeked through the clouds, there to celebrate your love just as much as the both of you were; what was supposed to be the perfect ending like all the far-fetched stories Taehyung read, this was more of a tragedy. 

Because that’s what it was– farfetched. 

You remember the afternoon that the perfect life you had, had crumbled. Sand slipping through your fingers, falling to the bottom of the hourglass. 

You lay on the couch, your foot tapping against the arm, Taehyung’s quil tinking against the bottle of ink. In recent months you’d found yourself reading Taehyung’s favourite books, all of their spines worn down, loved and read over and over. 

“Do you smell that?” you push yourself up onto your elbows, the book laid over your lap. 

“Smell what, my darling?” he takes off his glasses, hand running over his tired eyes. 

Your eyes meet Tae’s, “Something smells as though it’s burning” 

The both of you sit in silence for a moment before Taehyung pushes his chair back, peering out the window. His fingers try and pull at the latch, finding it stuck, and he turns back to you. 

“Maybe I’m imagining it” you tell him when you see his eyebrows furrow. 

“I can definitely smell something” he turns back to you, “I can’t tell what. Go and call someone to open this window, it’s jammed”

Your book is dropped onto the couch as you push yourself up, you go to open the door to Taehyung’s office, only for the door not to open. You push a little harder, shoulder knocking uncomfortably against the hardwood. 

You press an ear to the door. 

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, stalking towards you. 

“It won’t open” 

Taehyung makes a noise from the back of his throat, and you step out of the way when he takes hold of the door handle. 

He mirrors your earlier action, shoulder knocking against the door. 

“It won’t open” he turns to you. 

“I know, my love” A gentle smile moulds onto your lips. 

You press your ear to the door again, “Do you hear that?” 

Taehyung follows; ear pressed to the door, “Burning?” 

“Burning?” you stand straight. 

You crouch down, fingers feeling over the gap between the floor and door, “Hello?” you call out, hand flinching away as heat licks over your fingers. 

“Is anyone there?” Taehyung shouts, fist banging against the door. 

“Taehyung” you tug at his shirt, trying to pull him away from the door. He relents, taking a step forwards, “Taehyung, it’s a fire” You take his hand. 

“What?” 

“It’s a fire” You show him your fingertips, hands shaking slightly as the reality of what was happening settles in. 

“You’re hurt” he murmurs, “If one of the staff would just answer we could treat your wounds” his lips barely brush over the burn. 

“Taehyung it’s barely an injury, not when we’re locked in here with a fire right outside that door” 

He swallows, “We’ll find a way out” 

“How?” you dare ask, “We can’t go out the window, that’s suicide from this high up” 

His foot taps against the floor, hand running over his jaw in thought. 

Your focus is snatched away from your lover when something creaks, burning flames slithering under the crack under the door, molten snakes with no goal in mind. 

Taehyung pulls you further into his office, the door crackling as the flames start to chew it up, an onslaught of heat spilling into the room. You can smell the gasoline, splintered wood glistening in it as the door creaks off its hinges, flinging the fire further into the office, and you watch as it singes over the carpet. 

The flames dance before you, a mesmerising dance, crawling up the walls, heated footsteps stalking across the rug, heady puffs of carbon monoxide smoking into the air. 

Your hand flies to cover your mouth when a thin wisp of smoke slips down your windpipe, tickling your throat and searing at the inside of your lungs. 

Taehyung pulls you into his chest as you back into the wall furthest away from the fire, “It’s going to be okay” he heaves, his own hand covering his nose and mouth, dry cough spluttering past his lips. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as the fire slinks closer to the both of you, dangerously close, teasing as it flicks at your ankles, its amble arms chewing up the bookcases, rage only amplifying with each novel it consumes. 

You catch sight of a silhouette standing outside the office, body veiled by thick flames that continue to slink into the office. Another splash of gasoline only makes it burn brighter, sweat tickling the back of your neck. 

Your arms slip around Taehyung’s waist, and he helps you both sit on the ground, arms now holding your shoulders. A lame attempt at holding you away from the blazing fire that creeps closer. 

Your lungs can’t seem to get enough oxygen, panic setting into your bones as you heave for a full breath. Your eyes water as you choke on what should have been a rush of oxygen, only your lungs burn with the ash that settles inside of you, clinging to your windpipe– coating the inside of your mouth. 

“Try not to–” Taehyung coughs, hand lifting to clasp around his throat, cheeks flushing a deep red “-breathe it in too much– cyanide” 

A yelp gets caught in your throat as the flames flicker too close to you, singing the hem of your dress. You try and kick it away, hand flapping down to make sure the fire doesn’t chew at any more of your clothing. You try to ignore the prickly burn to your bare skin, eyes squeezing shut as you try and curl in on yourself to make you smaller. 

You tug on Taehyung’s shirt, dry cough lurching your body forward that Taehyung tries to catch only to heave. 

“I love you” you whisper, the both of you cornered. Nowhere to run. 

The figure stood outside the office long gone, fire now out of their control. A wild beast that had no plans of stopping until it had chewed and gnawed at your home, until it had nothing to fuel it anymore, leaving behind piles of ash and broken dreams– charred bodies and guilty minds to the ones who had started this. 

You flinch backwards when Taehyung’s desk folds in on itself, flames spitting out its joy as the planks of wood slowly char under the heat; a warning for your own destiny. 

His fingers lace into the hair on the back of your head, pulling you into him, “And I love you. When the both of us are reborn, I will find you, and we can fall in love all over again” he manages, the flames looking like hellish wings behind his back, slowly licking at his shirt, sizzling the fabric– more chemicals sifting through the air and into your fragile lungs. 

Taehyung curls further into you when the fire licks at his shoes, easily chewing through the leather, deft fingertips tracing up his legs, and over his body.

“Don’t say that” Your fingers loosen their grasp on his shirt as you heave for another breath, mind entirely gone as you spin, the world spinning with you. Your brain felt as though it were being flushed out with helium, pressure so much you think it might explode. 

Your eyes squeeze shut.

And when you open again, Jimin’s there. 

His eyes still wide with shock. 

You feel bile rise up your throat at the sight of him, blood smeared across his perfect face, puncture still oozing red from his neck soaking through his shirt fully. Your floor is in no better shape, though you think there's as much of your own blood as there is his. 

“Jimin?” you whisper, vision momentarily veiled by salty tears that fall down your cheeks like pitiful pearls, mixing with the crimson the drips from a gash in your head, dull ache migrating to behind your eyes. 

“Jimin you have to wake up now. Please” 

He doesn’t move, not when you hear footsteps from the other room– heavy boots that clatter against old wood– not when you call his name. Not when the front door creaks closed and the world is silent once more, or when your chest stutters out another breath and you feel another wave of blood gush out of your stomach, adding to the puddle below the both of you. 

“Jimin” you call again, choking on your own sob, fists balling up, “Jimin, please don’t leave me. I’m scared” 

You look into his eyes. Nothing. All signs of life spilt onto the floor. 

In a sick and twisted way, you’re glad Jimin had gone before you. 

You’d have hated it if he had to watch you dead on the bedroom floor while he slowly follows you. At least now you could be with him a little longer, even if you couldn’t tell him goodbye for the last time. Or tell him how much you love him, or how happy he’d made you, or how grateful you are. 

So many words left unsaid, that you swallow back down with a sob. And they mix with the bile that singes your throat, so close to spilling onto the puddle of red as you make eye contact with your dead lover. 

You drag your body through the blood on the floor, closer until your chest is pressed against Jimin’s and your body falls lax against him, arm slung over his side. 

You press the palm of your hand against your open wound, what little hope you had left inside of you, the smallest voice whispering that maybe you could survive. Though somewhere deeper down you know that your soul will soon follow Taehyung’s, and now Jimin's too. 

You push your head into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, tangy, metallic blood staining your lips as you kiss over the tainted skin. 

He was still warm, skin still very much his as your fingers skim over his back. Ever so gentle as though he would crack if you weren’t careful. And you would have gathered him up in your arms if you’d had the strength. 

And at that final moment when it settles within your mind and your heart that your body can no longer hold onto the slither of life still inside of you– the easing thump of your heart mellowing inside your chest. You remember the little note Jimin left on his pillow for you to wake up to that morning. 

“When you and I hug, our hearts are locked behind our ribcages and touch through our skin. Always beating in sync. And for as long as my heart beats beside yours, it will belong to you. For those moments we part, perhaps it falls out of sync, and when we reunite, my heart may just be reminded who it beats for. And we will be in sync once more ♡’

☆ﾟ thank you for reading!! reblogs are always appreciated, and please let me know what you think!!

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[f1-giuki]

Ao3 Masterlist:

Hello readers *in James May's voice* and welcome to the masterlist of the fics I wrote/ I am writing! There are playlists and song recommendations for each fic!

I hope this post will be understandable and not too ugly!

1. A Sunday Kind of Love series: an ongoing series of fics set in the Emilia Romagna countryside, tons of fluff. They can be read alone. playlist.

1.1 Hearts of Gold : 9.4k words, summer fic. playlist. fic post.

Plot: One late afternoon in August Charles sat on a very pretty round bale, eating a slice of watermelon, white sunscreen on his face, cursing himself for having stained his last clean white t-shirt. He was having an unexpectedly good summer break, for someone with his bad luck (his fiat panda was holding on for dear life under the sun, much like his Ferrari F1-75, so this might be a stretch). To be honest, being on holiday in the Emilian countryside shouldn't have been his first choice of vacation, but he needed something different, something unusual that could take his mind off of racing for a while. But he needed a distraction, not a way to forget, so he chose to stay close to Maranello, his second home, but just in another province.

And something different he found indeed, someone rather than something. Someone with blue eyes and the constant need of sunscreen.

1.2 Moka Pot Mondays : 4k words, blurbs and slice of life. soundtrack.

Plot: The Italian countryside is the setting, Summer break the time and Lestappen are our main characters.

1.3 Cosa Sarà? : 9.2k words, end of summer break AU. playlist.

Plot: Charles sat on the side of the dry canal, in the field opposite to that which held his first kiss with Max. He would have sat with the Dutch in front of their field, but a tractor harvested it one afternoon and now only pointy golden thorns populated that lonely field. It felt like a prelude to a new chapter. Life goes on, like that song says.

And so Charles turned around and watched the alfalfa field and smelled the little purple flowers from a distance, complicit with the wind. The Monegasque was a nostalgic and a romantic person, the Regency era would have loved him dearly, and that field contained all the shades of the memories he held dear during his holiday. From the green of his old bike to the different shades of purples that tinted the fresh fruits he ate, passing from the blue of his lover's eyes.

That little field was going to be embroidered in his heart, like the hand on the small of his back, or the mischievous grin on Max's lips.

1.4 September : 8.5k words, set during the September European triple header. playlist.

Plot: August came to an end, some say sipped away like a bottle of wine, and with it ended the summer break. The Formula 1 season got back on track, for the last European races. This however didn't stop Max from tightly planning confessions, weird coming out moments and some unfortunately needed therapy sessions.

Luckily for him Charles Leclerc, his stubborn Charles, had other plans, such as casual homoerotic times in hotel rooms surrounded by fans, getaway cars to eat sandwiches and sheepish heart-eyes.

And maybe, with a lot of food, support from their stupid friends and some ABBA songs, maybe the two idiots will be able to finally say those three little gigantic words.

1.5 you're as beautiful as my home : 8.1k words, the fall and winter vibes are finally here friends, playlist.

Plot: The 2022 F1 season ended and Charles couldn’t stand the loneliness of his flat without Max or the flights to Italy inside grey clouds bringing rain around. So he decided to keep himself busy, having fun in Max's plane, causing the Formula One world to wonder if he could be a queer icon during podcast interviews and buying a house in Italy.

Max is right there by his side, befriending old people, providing perfectly timed songs, unwanted opinions about paint colours and homemade French fries and cakes, mostly enjoying the colourful chaos of Charles’s mind, with his cheeks red from Daniel’s teasing.

Or a set of stupidly romantic episodes starting from the 2022 Japanese GP

1.6 I would never take my eyes off of yours : 25.2k words, the April break au, playlist.

Plot: Max doesn’t exactly love spring. Well, we should say he doesn’t like certain aspects of it, like the insane amount of pollen flowing around in the air, next to bees, flies and all the other insects that exchange the blond mop of his hair for a flower bush.

What he loves about spring, though, is the warm sun, the spotless blue sky, cut only by the white traces of planes, and trees in full bloom. He also loves when Charles drags him to countryside festivals and dinners, when he composes new things on the piano, when Charles fights him after suggesting he should bleach his hair and especially when he gets on his knees.

Max should really change his mind about spring... 

2. Homeward Bound : 74.4k words, 12 chapters, completed, Magic/Urban Fantasy AU. each chapter has a playlist, c1, c2, c3, c4, c5, c6, c7, c8, c9, c10, c11, c12.

Plot: Max Verstappen liked many things, like playing the piano, jazz music, Star Wars (Mark Hamill, comrades, say no more), his new flat in New York City, Daniel's cuisine and Charles Leclerc, the cute ghost that flies in his living room. He didn't know if that made him a necrophile or something (Sebastian says it doesn't, it's just a confirmation of his being a bisexual disaster).

Max moved to New York to follow his dream of being a jazz pianist but he would have never imagined that such a transatlantic move would imply the discovery of a magical world he always lived in but always ignored. Or that he needed to fight people with an enchanted sword to stop the fucking Apocalypse and being able to date Charles, but yeah, another day in the New York City life.

3. The Sting series: what happens when top-tier Interpol detective Charles Leclerc and world-class thief Max Verstappen (or as he's known in the field: The Dutch Baron) cross paths?

3.1 You could hang it in the Louvre : 10k words, one shot, art theft AU. soundtrack + bonus.

Plot: Charles, a young Monegasque, is one of the top detectives for stolen artworks in the Interpol organisation and hates with a borderline homoerotic passion the Dutch Baron, an art thief who keeps on ruining his career plans.

Max, a young Dutch, is one of the most wanted thieves on the globe and Charles’s archnemesis. He’s kind of an idiot, hence the idiotic nickname he chose for himself after his first big heist, the Dutch Baron.

What happens when Max’s new and biggest heist goes let’s-say-not-exactly-well and Charles sees his face for the first time?

3.2 Late night devil, put your hands on me: art theft AU, 6 chapters, completed. soundtrack, fic post.

"Do you want to know what is more incredible?" Max asks, staring at Charles' full and round pecs without any shame.

"What?" Charles asks, enjoying how Max's cheeks get redder and redder as he licks clean the fork.

"Stealing the Nine Pieces of Eight, with me," Max says and Charles drops his fork in the plate.

"The Nine pieces of eight? Isn't that like a legend? The owner of those artworks is unknown…" The Monegasque asks, furrowing his brows.

Max grins and rolls his eyes.

"I know a guy..." Max says, pulling Charles close by the elastic band of his boxers.

or: World-class thief Max Verstappen asks Interpol Detective Charles Leclerc out on a date (to put on the world's most complicated heist ever conceived) but things never go as planned.

4. Red, White & Orange-Nassau : 54.9k words, 9 chapters completed, Royalty AU. fic post.

Plot: Diplomatic accidents don’t necessarily happen because of political feuds, sometimes they happen because a certain rockstar can’t shut his mouth at a royal wedding and the Crown Prince feels the need to obliterate his idiotic face, with those gentle green eyes and that stupid dark eyeshadow he always wears.

Said European crisis, as the New York Times put it, is more likely to happen if those in the room fighting are Charles Leclerc, frontman of rock band Moonlight, and Dutch Prince Max Emilian van Orange-Nassau Verstappen, the two eternal mediatic rivals.

But what if the fight ruins the short streak of good press the Dutch Royal Family got, what if suddenly the Dutch public opinion stopped liking Max, what if Charles’s reputation starts cracking too and with it his chances to win a Grammy?

What if this leads to a fake public truce and an equally fake friendship? Could this be the start of something at court or just the beginning of the end?

5. Fast and loose (and all that jazz) : 2.2k words, one shot, older sugar daddy Max, young sugar baby Charles.

plot: Max comes home from work and Charles, his sugar baby/young boyfriend, has a surprise waiting for him, a surprise made of red lace and dirty talk.

6. When I kissed the teacher (under the mistletoe) : 23.2k words, one shot, kid fic, uni professor Max, young dilf Charles. playlist, fic post.

plot: The Monegasque waits for a second before inhaling roughly and speaking.

"No, but I need two favours, actually, Professor," Charles says, keeping his head on the desk.

"Uhm, yeah?" Max asks, scratching his head.

"Could I call you Max just for my next question?" Charles asks.

"Uhm, a little unorthodox, but if it's relevant to your point, yes, you may, Charles," The Dutchman answers, his pitch raised just a bit.

Charles bangs his head against the desk once again, nearly cursing before speaking again.

"What I wanted, Jesus, sorry, what I wanted to ask you, Max, was if you'd like to go out, on a date, with me?" Charles asks and he doesn't dare look at Max to see his reaction.

7. If you'd have been there (if you'd have seen it) : 3k words, one shot, sugar daddy Max, sugar baby Charles. Christmas special! fic post.

plot: Max comes home after yet another problematic situation at work and Charles, his sugar baby/young boyfriend, has prepared a very kinky and tight Christmas gift for him.

8. Something to give each other : 6k words, two chapters, completed, lestappen rule 63, landoscar, friends to lovers. Valentine's special! fic post.

plot: "You know, you should just talk to her, Max, you’d be surprised how a conversation can solve things!” Oscar repeats for the fifteenth time that day. He’s chopping some tomatoes up for his famous tomato soup. 

Max huffs on the couch, sadly hugging her stupidly big IKEA bear. They named it Carlos, just because Lando thought the IKEA employee at the register was called Carlos and was hot.

“That's rich, coming from you, Mr I pretend to be straight instead of telling Lando I'm bi because then I fear he'll friendzone me intentionally!” Max points out.

9. Evil under the blossoms : 11.6k words, one shot, lestappen, florist Max, detective Charles, fluff. playlist, fic post.

plot: Max shows Charles the way to the plants lab. 

"That's where I think the robbery happened. These are the shelves where I keep the single flowers, this morning the tansies spot was empty. That is the greenhouse, but there are no missing plants in it. Then the rest of the lab here is a mixture of trees and different plants, the bushes that disappeared were there. I track in the register everything I sell, and I never miss a day, I'm-

"A plant nerd?" Charles jokes with a teasing smile. 

"A plant nerd, yeah..." Max answers blushing. 

or 

Max is a florist and one day flowers start disappearing for his shop. He calls Charles Leclerc, private investigator and childhood crush, to help him solve the case.

10. Prepare for trouble (and make it double!) : 19k words, 2/5 chapters, lestappen 1970s tennis au, interview format, playlist, fic post.

plot: The Davis Cup has always been the most important international tennis competition for national teams, but from 1970 to 1980 the tournament was renamed "International Cup" and moved on a continental-basis. For half of that decade, the European team was the team to beat.

These four iconic players, Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, George Russell, Esteban Ocon, under the guidance of Austrian tennis legend Torger ‘Toto’ Wolff, wrote one of the most epic pages of global sport.

After all those years, they have no more qualms in revealing the secrets and the stories of their time in the funky and undisciplined Dream Team (alongside an incredible amount of gossip concerning Verstappen and Leclerc).

This interview tells their story and the story of the strongest tennis team in the world.

11. Brat Summer : 3.5k words, one shot, spideypool lestappen, deadpool max and spiderman charles, smut, playlist, fic post.

plot: “You mean to tell me that Sebastian Vettel, Iron Man, the guy who just saved the universe, was worried about me? And asked me to go on a mission with fucking Deadpool for my safety? I call bullshit!” Charles shrieks, nearly crying, the Avengers consider him a baby, he might as well behave like one.

12. First Impressions : 38.2k words, 3 chapters, completed, pride and prejudice lestappen au, girl!charles au, eventual smut, fic post.

plot: Miss Charles Leclerc, the daughter of a country gentleman, meets Mr Verstappen, a rich gentleman who owns land, at a ball in a nearby town.

At first, Charles is resolved to hate him, thinking him proud and full of prejudices against the people of her rank, but, as her life erupts in is various turmoils, her feelings start to change.

13. Dripping wet : 5.8k words, one shot, maxoscar, misuse of grindr, pwp, fic post.

plot: Oscar's bathroom sink is leaking and he needs a flathead screwdriver to fix it. Luckily for him he found a nice makeshift plumber on Grindr under the name of 'Max'.

14. Wanna know what I got goin' on down there? : 4.7k words, one shot, maxoscar, pwp, Max has a dick piercing, playlist, fic post.

plot: "He got it, Lando," Oscar says, blushing and making a face.

"What? Motherfucker disease?" Lando asks, raising an eyebrow.

“A piercing...” Oscar tries to explain, taking a steadying breath. This is the moment where Lando will call Carlos to ask for the number of a good exorcist.

“Max has several of those, Oscar, be more specific,” Lando complains.

"He got it there..." Oscar whispers, turning around, as if afraid of someone listening to him, making Lando's face light up with laughter.

15. Are you thinkin' 'bout me? (I'm kinda thinkin' you are) : 4.4k words, one shot, lestapstri threesome, pwp, Max gets a tongue piercing, fic post.

plot: Charles Leclerc is in his hotel room, sending him borderline erotic pictures of his boyfriend. He didn’t know his dirtiest fantasy was just waiting for him in his hotel room.

16. Prompts : tell me a song you love at the moment, an f1 pairing you like (whatever pairing!!!), and if you want fluff, smut or angst and I'll write you a blurb inspired by the song!!

[themerlinlibrary]

Favourites Friday (June 2023) – Slow Burn

TML Favourites Friday round-up! June 2023 round

What is Favourites Friday? – The Basics

a different theme is announced on Friday each week; FF recs must match the theme of the week

only one FF rec per person per week/theme

FF recs must be unique within that week/theme; no double-posting the same fic for one theme!

no self-recs during regular rounds

only self-recs during self-rec rounds (last Friday of each month)

Theme for week 3: Slow Burn!

Annum Inanis (The Empty Year) by anonymintea E, 43k, Merlin/Arthur Canon Era

We Can Always Run by queerofthedagger, art by kairennart (Personaje) M, 148k, Merlin/Arthur Canon Era/Divergence

the king is dead (long live the queen) by princessoftheworlds T, 150k, Gwen/Arthur/Merlin Post-Canon, Modern Era

Most Sincerely by Chasingbrooklyn G, 56k, Merlin/Mithian Regency AU

As a Sea Shell by bathilda bagshot (wellthengameover) T, 12k, Merlin/Arthur Canon Era

All lives are (love)stories by amithia E, 192k, Merlin/Arthur Canon Era (?)

Lights Out, Away We Go by Imagined E, 90k, Merlin/Arthur Modern AU; Formula One

The names that make us by Misaratis E, 35k, Merlin/Arthur Canon Era

A masterlist of all round-ups can be found here.

If you want to make sure you never miss a FF rec, or would like to participate and share your own favourites; join us on the Discord TheMerlinLibrary! Happy reading!

About the FF round-up lists:

Recs are listed in the order they were posted on the Discord; the order does not imply any sort of ranking.

The pairing given in this list is the main pairing of each respective fic – please read the tags for any possible minor or side-pairings, as well as any potential warnings or triggers.

Pairings and Eras are given as tagged in each respective fic. (?) signifies that the tags were unclear and I do not know enough about the fic to fill the gaps.

Round-ups are compiled on the weekend of the week after the respective theme of the post (when the new theme has already been anounced), to avoid omitting potentially belated FF recs.

Since I am running FF alone, it is not always possible for me to have the round-up list up immediately – please be patient.

The weekly round-up is not a guarantee! Again, I'm running this alone, so it can only be posted for weeks when I have enough time on my hands to compile a list. If you'd like to help out, feel free to contact me on Tumblr ( @zaharya ) or Discord.

[gryffindormischief]

Today, I got home from work and opened a google doc. Instead of filling the blank page with some hinny fluff or working on the jily professor AU I have tragically neglected over the last months, I wrote this.

Over the past few days (dare I say even longer), there have been accusations and side glances and “subtweets” about plagiarism and stealing content within the HP fandom in general.

First off, some tips to not seem like you’re targeting one person in particular...contact both authors of joint fics that are allegedly plagiarized. Otherwise all your arguments or accusations start to feel like a personal vendetta. @fightfortherightsofhouseelves and I wrote Torch together. If you have a problem with that fic, contact both creators. A second tip I would offer is hiding on anon is a bit weird and forces an author to address the note publicly or not at all. I understand being nervous to contact somebody, but honestly leveling this type of serious claim against someone is a thing you should be nervous about. It’s something that shouldn’t just be tossed around flippantly. It’s hurtful, it’s damaging, and it makes people not want to create.

That leads to my second thought, on fandom in general. I personally joined the HP fandom later than most after I read the books and wanted more. First it was edits, then I found Jily fics from a rec post, and finally I started creating myself. I think for a lot of people in fandom, it’s something of an escape. A fun outlet to make friends, interact over shared interests (namely the HP series), and even start to flex your creative muscles. Before fandom, aside from a creative writing class, I had never thought I was the type to write fiction in any form. I was a cite your sources, make your arguments, keep it real type writer. Since 2017 I have started to enjoy exploring a new side to writing and realized I do in fact love a good exploration of a fictitious universe. The point of that back story is that when we make fandom combative through things like ship wars, “who wrote the trope first” accusations, and other toxic behaviors, it takes away that fun escape from a lot of us. The world is difficult enough without us turning on each other for something so small and unfounded.

What do I mean by unfounded? Well first, fanfiction is made for tropes. In fact, most genres of fiction have their own classic “tropes.” The romcom “boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl” etc formula, the fantasy “orphan discovers secret about their family and their own magical powers,” I could list so many but I won’t. The point is, most fiction when boiled down to basics is going to sound like at least one other work when that work is also boiled down. Legally, this type of similarity isn’t even going to get someone a successful case of plagiarism. In fact, there’s a case directly related to HP where JKR was accused of plagiarism because another author had already written a story about a boy wizard who went to a wizard school that had a special event similar in basics to the Triwizard. You might guess the case was unsuccessful given the fact that Goblet of Fire still floats around in the literary universe with no mention of any other owner. And that’s just it, concepts in art/fiction/writing aren’t “ownable” - you can’t copyright “boy wizard discovers powers.” It’s too broad, too vague, and honestly the most important one in my opinion: it stifles creators.

You might not care that your favorite author experiences stress relief and personal satisfaction from writing that Bed Share AU or Regency Era AU or whatever. But all of us would care if creators stopped creating. I wait for WIPs to update with just as much excitement as the next person, and I hope that people who read my fics still anticipate updates. But if accusations and mean anons keep flying around, those updates are going to slow down and maybe even stop if we don’t do something. This isn’t a threat, it’s just the truth. If every time someone uploads a Royal Jily AU they think they are going to unleash anons accusing them of stealing another person’s concept, how often are they going to post? Real life has enough of that kind of stress and eventually people are going to get tired of having more stress in the “fun” areas of their life.

Fanfiction, by virtue of its definition, is a work inspired by another original piece. Tropes are central to the creation of fanfiction. We all love a bedshare, or in the HP fandom a Muggle Coffee Shop AU or whatever your personal favorite is. Tropes are story concepts we all interpret in our own way. With the almost endless number of Hinny or Jily or HP in general fics created since the books were released, we are bound to find a similarity here and there. It’s not stealing, it’s not bad, and it’s just how fandom works. It’s part of the comfort in reading fanfiction - Harry and Ginny are usually going to get together, Harry has black hair, Ginny’s is red. Do you think she has freckles? Does Harry? Is Ginny short? We all love to throw a “fresh pickled toad” reference or another nod to canon. Does the first fic writer who ever incorporated any of those things into their fic have a monopoly on those things for all time? No, of course not. Because the familiarity of fic, of tropes, of characters, is part of why we love to write and read it. We are celebrating our shared love of characters, stories, and universes we all explored through reading.

I think fandom and the creators and readers that make it up, are really special. It’s a little corner of the universe where we don’t have to pay, we don’t have to go somewhere, we just scroll through an app or an archive and share our mutual enjoyment. Infighting and accusing and quiet side eyeing of things like writing a fic of missing moments in HBP is silly and destructive. (note: Ao3 currently has 180 works tagged for Hinny & Book 6)

We can all do our part to keep the fandom a pleasant place to be, and it starts with remembering that everyone behind the username and the (probably) fan art icon is a real person. A person with a life and emotions and feelings that can be hurt. Even an anon that makes me mad - they’re a person. We need to respect each other and think how we would like to be treated. And even beyond that, think about what our actions will do to other fans, to creators. If we keep up with the unreasonable and illogical standards floating around recently, we’re going to falsely accuse ourselves out of new content.

[sungbeam]

tag game!

rules: recommend 5 or more of your own works that you would rec to someone asking what they should read first & explain a little bit about the work. these can be the most popular, the ones you think are underrated, or your own favorites! then tag five other writers! 

tagged by: @jaehunnyy tysm luvvie !! <3

tagging! @loveliestfelix @leejungchans @koishua @bunnybeehun @ethereal-engene

when she loved me — zhong chenle ; this one is like,, literally my baby. i spent a short amount of time on it, but the plot idea had been stuck in my head for MONTHS. it all came out to be about 24k words, and it kind of follows a formula that seems to be my style 😅 blissful happiness to painful depression

all quiet on the final frontier — choi yeonjun ; again, def follows a pattern/formula haha but this one is a sci-fi au and the ending might def make you cry (sorry) but it's brief, and it's kind of like star-crossed lovers (?)

in all your endeavors, forever — kim hongjoong ; i've linked the teaser to the fic instead of the oneshot bc i have yet to finish it lol but i love it so much, even if it's causing me pain to write :') it's just quite emotional, imo, but it'll be a beautiful relationship

lighthouse — lee jihoon ; i've written a few comfort fics for seventeen, and tho i do love all of them, i'd thought i'd give a shout out to woozi's since it was one i never really expected to write out until i saw this one pinterest thing that really,,, brought it to life? (the three taps!)

rock, paper, scissors — nct wayv xiaohenyang ; this has been sitting in my mlist for quite some time! but i have a specific attachment to it bc i think it deserves a lot more attention tbh 👀😅 like it's a love square, but it brings the chaos of this trio to kind of a regency-era au ish

a late night talk — yang jungwon ; i also have a couple other really soft won fics, but this one, i actually thought gonna be a total flop, but ig more people like sleepy time talks w won than i expected kdbfkd

**shoutout to veins — choi seungcheol ; rb it so i will write the wedding drabble !! 😼😼

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

Christmas Wishes

We’re nearing the end of my 12 days of Sanditon journey, this is the last Regency era fic. But it’s a long one to compensate. If brevity’s the soul of wit, I don’t have it.

Pairings: Babington/Esther, Crowe/Clara, Sidney/Charlotte

For the 12 Days of Sanditon Prompt ‘Tree’, hosted by @sanditoncreative​

Synopsis: A Sanditon AU in which the Parkers and Denhams are rich, Crowe is a lord, and Babington isn’t.

Full story available on AO3

‘Miss Denham, Miss Heywood, Miss Brereton, I'd like to introduce my friends. This is Lord Crowe and Mr Babington.’

Esther, Charlotte and Clara studied the men in front of them. The Lord looked at them appreciatively, but he didn’t appear to be too steady on his feet. His friend, on the other hand, had quite a studious look about him with his beard and less stylish clothes.

‘Our friend assures us of good sport here,’ Lord Crowe smirked, ‘shall we find any?’

Another immature playboy, unable to grow up because he never had to worry about a thing in his life. Esther fought to refrain from rolling her eyes. Her aunt wished for her to marry soon and well, since she was already past twenty-five, but it appeared all men she met suffered from the same chronic ailments: stupidity and superficiality.

‘I believe there is very little shooting in the neighbourhood, sir.’

‘I wasn't thinking of shooting.’

Now her eyes were rolling, and she didn’t even care.

‘My friend was thinking of dancing, I'm sure’, the one named Babington said with a light-hearted laugh.

‘Could we persuade any of you young ladies to dance with us?’ Mr. Babington asked.

Clara’s eyes took in the drunk lord. No doubt she saw in him a way to escape her situation. ‘I'm sure you could, sir’, Esther replied as Clara and Lord Crowe were already taking each other by the arm.

The bearded man offered Esther his arm and she took it, allowing him to take her to the dance floor.

Your brother will be very pleased with you, Mr Parker’, Charlotte smiled.

‘Yes, I hope so. Crowe’s a well-intentioned man, he just has a couple of bad habits he has a hard time kicking. But what’s more important, he's a good friend of the Prince Regent. Now, if he could be convinced into coming to Sanditon, then the general rejoicing would be unconfined, I imagine.’

Charlotte couldn’t help but agree as the two continued their walk.

‘So, Mr. Babington. A friend of Mr. Parker?’

‘Ah, yes. I taught him at college.’

‘You’re a professor?’

‘I’m only a doctor, unfortunately, the world does not need many of those’, he admitted with some shame.

It was a polite way to say he had a hard time finding a job, but the man was a scholar nonetheless. At least he would be more interesting to talk to than the other guests present.

‘What’s your field of expertise?’

‘Economy and Philosophy.’

‘Practical studies and formulas versus the study field of dreamers? How odd.’

He couldn’t help but respond to her amused smile with a laugh of his own.

‘Ah, but the economy as it is, is proof of a certain philosophy. Right now, the philosophy of our economy is capitalism and liberalism. Our economy is formed by our idea of what a good economy should be. I enjoy reflecting on economic systems. You frown, Miss Denham, do I displease you? Perhaps you find the topic tedious. I confess, it isn’t the most engaging topic for most people. Forgive me, I am not used to the company of women, or society in general.’

‘I don’t mind philosophy, but I rather dislike economy. It’s only money.’

Mr. Babington’s eyebrows rose, as would anyone who didn’t know Esther Denham but knew how much influence money had on one’s life.

‘I don’t like sounding superficial, Miss Denham, but money is never just money.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘I dislike money because in my opinion, far too many people consider money the ultimate goal. Everyone’s obsessed with it. According to me, it is a means to an end, not a goal in and of itself.’

‘Ah, there is a philosopher in you’, he laughed.

‘You thought me shallow?’ she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head vehemently, before turning her around.

‘No I did not. You never gave that impression. I simply misunderstood your previous statement given your position in society, but I understand now. I believe I agree, but just to be safe, might I enquire as to what you deem a worthy goal?’

He was incredibly honest, Esther had to give him that. Even though she was pretty sure he’d just confessed to being surprised that a rich woman didn’t care a lot about money, she found herself interested in continuing the conversation. If he kept it up this way, she was almost tempted to have a second dance with him after this one.

But now she wished to impress him, instead of answering with generally accepted goals. Unfortunately for her, her goals were in fact quite commonplace.

‘A goal could be happiness, ample money helps to take away worry and makes one able to do things one enjoys. To have a happy marriage would be a goal, if both or one partner are wealthy enough, they are able to marry instead of being kept apart by circumstance. Children are a goal, and money comes in useful to provide for them when they need clothes or a doctor.’

‘Just my two cents’, Esther shrugged.

‘Now I understand, and now I can say I agree?’

‘I thought a philosopher always managed to critique or question a certain idea.’

‘Oh I can, but I don’t see a particularly big flaw in your line of thinking.’

‘Humour me, provide me with one critical note.’

‘There are philosophers, and countless of everyday examples, of poor people being very happy, and rich people being miserable, of children lacking in nothing with parents having plenty of money yet dying.’

‘Money helps achieve a goal. It helps. There’s still other forces at play. But I daresay for the majority of people, money is necessary to at least have a shot at reaching their goals. Those who can be content despite incredibly poor circumstances, are few and far between.’

‘I know. I knew my argument was weak, and I already agreed with you, but since you asked, I told you. I would not dare to go against a lady’s wishes.’

That made her smile, and decide to have another dance with him should he ask. But Lord Crowe asked her for the next, and Babington didn’t try again.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

‘Aunt, what is that?’ Esther asked upon entering the room her aunt was currently occupying with her commanding presence.

‘You too?’ Lady Denham asked. Clara shot her an apologetic look, but Esther simply turned away. Their bond had bettered, but she still hadn’t forgotten her frolicking with Edward.

‘A pineapple. I’ll host a dinner to celebrate Miss Lambe’s arrival to Sanditon. New money always comes in handy in places like these. Had your brother not been the stupid oaf he was, I might have been able to couple them, but he simply had to squander away his life the way he did. No matter. Miss Lambe needs to be convinced of the merits of Sanditon to invest in it, and Lord Crowe needs to be convinced of yours, Esther.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Lord Crowe is a prize well worth the winning. You will be seated next to him. And you will present yourself as a lovely and eligible wife. You are a wealthy English lady of impeccable family. I am well aware that you have so far frittered away these advantages and wasted your most beautiful years with walking, painting and reading silly books, but you must marry one day and he is rich and has important acquaintances. I married well twice to ensure our family had money. I only ask you to marry well once. Though it is unfortunate he appears to be young and in good health.’

‘The man’s a drunk’, Esther sighed while ignoring the stabs her aunt tried to deliver.

‘You may prize yourself lucky if that’s his only fault. Besides, most drunks can’t do a lot. At least he’ll leave you in peace.’

‘Perhaps you should put him with Clara, since she didn’t seem to mind yesterday.’

Her cousin threw her a shocked look, but didn’t disagree. She would be stupid to insist on not sitting beside such a wealthy bachelor.

‘No, no. There will be no escaping this Esther, you have to try at least.’

‘Doesn’t Clara have to marry as well?’

‘Yes, but you’re the easier one to marry off. You have money and name.’

‘One could say that after attending two season a year for almost ten years in a row, she is obviously not easy to marry off’, Clara noted sharply.

‘Girls. What did I tell you after that fleabag left? There would be no fighting over my inheritance and there would be no animosity between the two of you. But if this is the case, I shall put both of you next to him. Betting on two horses has always been the wiser strategy. I trust you do understand the difference between the arts of courtship and sarcasm, Esther? I hope I do. You'd better. If neither of you secures him, I will be very disappointed in you. And you don't want to fall out of favour with me, do you?’

‘No, Aunt’, the girls replied.

‘You have your work cut out for you. That man has seen a lot of the world, and without a doubt a lot of women. It shall take no little amount of flirting and being pretty to make him choose country girls over the age of twenty like yourselves. Once you've secured his hand in marriage, you can go back to wasting your days like usual. I want to see both of you married before Christmas. And that is both a wish and a command.’

The girls nodded and waited until Lady Denham left before Esther went back to her novel, and Clara to her piano.

[xdacted]

Formula One Regency! Au

Hello!!

Thank you all so much for your feedback on 'Twenty seconds or twenty years?' I am so glad that so many of you have enjoyed it and want it to be continued for the rest of the drivers. I WILL be continuing it with the other drivers

There were just a few things I wanted to clear up before we dove into this AU:

For the most part, these stories will all exist within the same 'universe'

Each story posted will act as a stand-alone, so, you don't need to read the others, but it might make more sense if you do

For any past drivers or even drivers of other categories, you wish to see done, please let me know :)

This will be geographically and historically inaccurate, but we'll look past that 'cause this is for funzies

Max's story, 'Twenty Seconds or twenty years?', was to test the waters, but all the following stories will include the entirety of the relationship arc - from beginning to end

That being said, I ask your deepest patience. While I know you know I am the least consistent uploader, these stories will take longer because they have more content. I want to give you guys something worthy of reading, so, please be patient with me <3

Also, while I will be taking driver requests, because the stories will (for the most part) exist in a single 'universe', I will not be taking story requests. I am still open to hearing them, but just know that I have a plan for how the stories will play out sooooo, it might not appear

And that's it! I am so excited to work on this project with you guys!! YAY! Please let me know if you have any questions or if you want to request drivers :)

See you soon!!! mwah<3

also if you'd like to be a beta reader, babe, hit my line

TAGLIST

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, comment below this post:)

(i didn't know about taglists until i saw the comments, but i figured out what they are soooo lmk if you want to be on it<3)

-xdacted

[xdacted]

hi :) i absolutely love twenty seconds or twenty years and was wondering if you’d ever be down to do a part 2?

hello!! thank you so much, i'm so glad that so many people have enjoyed my little 'project'!! that warms my heart <3 but i wanted to let you know that YES, i will be doing a part 2

yayyyy, i'm excited to get it finished and more info will come out about the rest of the drivers later in the week

mwah thank you for your question<3