#she's painting the inside of the walls taylor swift colored | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlostseungmin · 2 years

Text

wildest dreams, 1989 ─── a gaze of astonishment.

masterlist. playlist.

✰ pairing — painter/artist!hyunjin x fem!reader (with she/her as pronouns)

✰ genre — strangers to lovers trope, romance, slight angst and smut.

✰ warnings — profanity, kissing, explicit sexual content, soft dom!hyunjin, protected sex, nipple/breast play, pet names, slight dirty talk, slight degrading, fingering and oral sex (f. receiving) alcohol consumption, subtle smoking, clubbing and car speeding, minors dni. lmk if i missed smth, not proofread.

✰ word count — 11.4k +

✰ songs that was used for inspiration — wildest dreams by taylor swift, falling by chase atlantic, overdrive by conan gray, and strawberries and cigarettes by troye sivan

REBLOGGING AND LEAVING A FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED. NSFW CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT. mdni.

Two people unfamiliar with each other,

One saw the other from across the street.

The other one takes glances at the stranger sitting on the other side of the train.

They exchanged looks as their hands collided on a single sandwich left on the shelf in a convenience store.

Sometimes, they sit together during the first day of classes.

Or sharing the same nicknames being written on their cups of coffee in the café as the staff calls them.

Maybe one of them fell asleep as their head landed on the other one’s shoulder when they were together while taking a bus ride home.

Probably taking the same shelter under a pouring rain after forgetting their umbrellas.

It can be wearing the same shirt as they share the same elevator, getting an awkward atmosphere.

Possibly one of them heard their favorite song from the other and complemented their music taste.

They meet unexpectedly.

There are a lot of ways to the questions that start with how, where, and when. Certain situations like that result in a blooming friendship or if others are lucky, a lover’s relationship perhaps. Depends on how someone delivers their actions. It can happen anytime when everyone knows that there are 24 hours a day. Mornings are filled with fresh smiles and nights are covered with hope when some people start their day during the dark.

Weekend nights are popular, they say you can do whatever you want, have fun now and let fate does its magic. Drunk and high, cars with no roof, loud music, cigarettes, and sex, kissing strangers in the dark. The aesthetic of Friday and Saturday nights, get an extreme hangover in the morning, fall asleep at the bar, or wake up on someone’s bed, naked. It is fun but they would be on the last list of things you’d want to do. Nothing would beat up an ice cream tub and Netflix inside your apartment. Hence, leisure doesn’t always exist and preferences are not always obliged.

His footsteps echo in a quiet part of the hall as people chatter away to the next painting. A soft pace that leads him to one of the portraits being hung on the wall. Sophisticated and fragile, with slicked-back hair, a tie, and a suit, the heels of his shoes were detectable on a marble floor. The canvas was covered with a dark color scheme yet the subject was vibrant as if it was going against its surroundings. Live flowers were taken as the muse, black represents darkness, and the white petals represent light.

It was supposed to be simple, yet your feet didn’t want to go anywhere but there. It was so beautiful, it was perfect, and every detail was captured by the artist. A mesmerizing piece of art, his eyes never left the displays but he could feel the spell you’re under, frozen in front of a frame. He walked gently and stopped at a six feet distance, hands on his back and a smile of triumph on his face. You weren’t supposed to be there.

“It’s enthralling, isn’t it?” He asked as your eyes fell in his direction. A handsome young man who is just around your age, so formal and captivating himself.

“Y-yeah,” You said, tracing a few strands of your hair, behind your ear.

It was Jeongin’s idea. That prick managed to persuade you after a week of saying no. The Charmer art exhibit is one of the famous art displays being held all over South Korea, yet the artist only relies on his pen name without showing themself to the public. It was expensive and exclusive, people consider themselves lucky if they get in. Your brother, on the other hand, said he bought tickets with the permission of his father. Despite the dislike of spending a weekend night out, he begged for you to go with him, but he’s nowhere to be found at the moment.

“Shall I amuse you with something else?” He asked, meeting your eyes.

He is so breathtaking. Siren eyes, a blessed creature who possesses a unique beauty, as if he’s a demi-god and the son of Aphrodite. The black suit envelopes his perfect physique. He was more captivating than the painting itself. Seeing him as if you were looking at red roses in a bathtub with small candles, tasting a fresh red wine, witnessing a runway of models, feeling the white bedsheets in a dark room, enjoying the fireworks, and listening to Chase Atlantic songs.

“I would love to,” You answered as his smile grew a bit wider, gesturing his hand, showing the way.

Two strangers, walking side by side in the empty hall, engrossed with every painting hung on the wall. He started a conversation as she listens diligently. There was a big hint of professionalism in his every movement, his fingers wrapped in silver rings that trace the air to indicate a certain piece.

“The artist calls this, A Gaze of Astonishment,” He said. “The man was looking at her, planning his entire life with a random beautiful stranger he saw from across the street,”

“Isn’t that a little odd?” You asked him as he let out a small chuckle. The painting shows a man and a woman having a distance from each other, the man was looking at her as her gaze is somewhere else. It was as if he fell in love on the spot, a random stranger made his heart beat faster.

“People are weird sometimes, they fall in love with someone they just met, even with a random stranger,” He explained. “His gaze tells the audience how he wanted to spend his life with her, or even just for a short time, maybe wanting to know this person who suddenly amused him or create a relationship,”

“Falling in love feels weird anyway,” You said, looking at your shoes.

“Indeed,” He said. “Strangers can fall in love, they meet unexpectedly and spend moments at a random time. They get to know each other and talk as if they’ve known each other for years,”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” You asked him as he nodded gently.

“I do,” He answered, taking a few glances to be familiar with your visuals. “And you?”

“Maybe,” You smiled. “I wanted to believe the things I only see in movies and what I read in books,”

“They’re real,” He said. “But only if you manage to experience such feeling,”

“It’s rare,” You said bitterly as he let out a small laugh. “Not everyone has the same privilege in life you know?”

“You have a perspective that sparks my interest, I wanted to know you more,” He said as you smiled at him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment and thank you?” You chuckled, tightening your grip on your handbag, suddenly feeling an unusual sensation. “Should we have a conversation in a coffee shop or is there somewhere else you want to go, sometime?”

“Actually, I want something unusual,” He hums, rubbing his chin to think. “Say, you want to drive out of the city?” He asked.

“With someone you just met?” You chuckled.

“I like taking the risk, besides, my manager and the guards will come and get me in 5 seconds,” He said, turning around to face your direction, reaching out his hand.

“Manager and guards? How do you know一”

“5…” He counted.

“Hyunjin!” A man’s voice echoed in the hall, standing a few meters away with bodyguards behind him.

“4… Miss, please make a decision now,” He smirked.

“How can I trust you?” You asked, heart started to beat faster in panic, taking a glance at his hand and the group of men approaching.

“3… you’ll know when you come with me,” He said. “2… it is the weekend, you can do whatever you want,”

“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?” You asked, finally holding his hand as he locked eyes with you.

“1… wise choice,” He said, kissing the back of your hand as he started to run, dragging you with him. “Don’t worry, Love, you’re good.” He winked, exiting the building and leading towards the parking area.

“Why are you running away?” You asked as Hyunjin opened the door of a black cabriolet sports car.

“Nothing, it’s the weekend, I can do whatever I want, now hop in before we get caught,” Biting your lower lip, you heard the commotion from a distance. Hyunjin is already sitting in the driver’s seat as you stand there. Sighing at the sight of the situation, you immediately kicked yourself in, closing the door with a loud bang. “Nice,”

“Hwang Hyunjin!” His manager, yet again, screamed his name, running towards the spot but the former had already driven away.

“Are you serious? Oh my gosh! My brother’s going to kill me if he finds out I’m running away with someone I don’t know,” You exclaimed but Hyunjin just laughed it out, hands on the steering wheel. “What?” You asked him looking in disbelief, but found yourself giggling at his bright expression.

“You seemed pretty lonely back there, I had to take you away with me,” He smiled, eyes focused on the road as the wind swayed with your hair, feeling the cold night air.

“You have good eyes,” You said.

“I know, that’s why I chose you because you were standing so beautiful in that black dress,” He said, glancing at you, serving a wink. “And I believe I’m no stranger to you, you heard my name, care to tell me yours?”

“Y/n,” You said, eyes darted on him.

“So, Y/n, is there any place you wanted to go?” He asked with his hands to keep steering on the wheel.

“I have no idea, but since you always amuse me, you decide,”

“My pleasure to amuse you, even more, babe,” He winked. “It’s going to be a long way and the night is still young, why don’t we take our time?”

“Feels like I’m doing something illegal,” You laughed.

“It’s not illegal when you think it’s legal,” That caught you off guard and looked at him, crossing your arms, relaxing against the backrest.

“Ya, I love the way you’re speaking to me,”

“Then be my guest,” He shrugged but still had a smug smile on his face.

Two people who only know each other’s names, rushing a car ride in the night was strange in the thoughts of others. But for you, it felt like freedom.

It was an unusual thing to do, but the bright stars and moon, the clear black sky are telling you to go for it. The wind is getting colder, but that didn’t stop you from sitting at the top of the backrest, throwing your hands in the air while Hyunjin stepped on the pedal, speeding the car unlike usual. A scream of joy as your fingers spread wide, playing with the invisible friend. Hair strangled at the back, your dress flying with it as the smile on his face never faded. Despite it being so foreign, you fell in love with the concept.

Every worry and thought suddenly vanished into thin air, the stubborn college requirements, the coziness of staying at home for the weekend, the pressure you get from your father, and the thought of Jeongin’s face if he realized you were gone. It didn’t matter to you anymore, this moment is one of the best things happening in your life. Maybe coming with Hyunjin wasn’t a bad idea, after all, a handsome young lad, inviting you to run away in the random way as possible. This was it, riding in a car with no roof and the loud music playing on his radio. Your head swayed from left to right, enjoying the half-relatable lyrics.

The city lights flew by, cars rushed to get home, shops closed down for the day, quiet streets of the night, the loud beating of your heart, it was beautiful to get out yet still skeptical with Hyunjin. You bit your lower lip, landing back on the seat. His siren eyes darted on the road, his long black hair swayed with the wind gently, big hands and long fingers collided with the wheel, and his coat was wide open revealing the black polo inside, tie loosened while embracing the collar. This man is so handsome for the sake of your weak heart. Out of all the people in that hall, he chose you.

“Done checking me out?” He asked, slapping you back to reality.

“I-I wasn’t,” You scoffed as he smirked.

“I can feel those pretty eyes of yours staring straight to my soul,” He said, making blood rush towards your cheeks.

“Do you always do this?” You asked.

“Do what?”

“Driving in the middle of the night with some stranger?”

“No, I usually go alone, but this night is different,” He said. “I thought you’d say no when I asked you to,” He paused, taking a glance in your direction. “Why did you come with me?”

“I don’t know, maybe some man whose name I just knew was being chased by his manager,” You chuckled. “You’re Hyun.e are you?”

“In the flesh,” He said.

“You’re one interesting flesh,” And Hyunjin then smirked at the statement.

“And you’re one beautiful stranger,”

Your body faces his direction, leaning at the backrest as you enjoy the sight of him driving with the cool wind gushing by. It was mesmerizing and heavenly being so free at a time like this. Closing your eyes for being comfortable, a fresh feeling of being outdoors. You never wanted to go home, not yet, you just wanted to stay like that for a while, or maybe the whole night. It was worth it, running away with someone you just met, but it couldn’t last long.

Not a moment later, the sight of the beach was painted outside the city. Small white waves crashed on the shore as the moonlight’s reflection swayed with the seawater. The sea breeze was way more relaxed than the city air, it sent shivers down your spine as if you were sitting on a block of ice. Hyunjin suddenly took a segue as the loud music from his radio stopped the moment he parked the car, a few meters away from the water. The lights and engine were turned off, he ran his fingers through his hair before he decided to take off his coat.

Meanwhile, you were too preoccupied with the view. The sound of waves crashing on the shore was too relaxing and soothing in the ears, it was so quiet and no people were around. Just you and Hyunjin, the stars and moon, the water and the disheveled sand. City lights were so distant and some lampposts by the trees had their wires fried. Yet, it wasn’t so dark and it wasn’t so bright.

“It’s so beautiful here,” There was a hint of astonishment in your voice, one that Hyunjin fell in love with. He liked the idea of you admiring things at a distance, eyes that are good observers.

“I know right?” He said, sliding his coat on your shoulders making you flinch on your seat. “It’s cold, wear it,”

“Thanks,” You answered, trying to hide the blood rush hinting crimson red and heat in your cheeks.

“Enjoy the view,” He smiled as he took off, breathing the fresh air of the night. You hurried to get out of the car, the sand was eating up your heels as a quiet sigh escaped from your lips. Hyunjin leaned on the bumper, rolling up his annoying sleeves just right before the elbow. Taking off your heels, they landed on your seat as you dragged yourself towards the cold water, feeling the waves.

“This is great,” You said, as the waves tickled your feet. A small giggle was heard, it was good to feel like a little kid again playing with the waves as if it’s chasing you to the shore. Hyunjin crossed his arms, smiling at the sight of you.

“How do you like it?” He asked from a distance.

“A lot,” You said brightly. “Come, the water is not that cold,”

“Nah, I’m good,” He said. “I’m just here to see it,” He added, taking a pack of cigarettes and a zippo from his pocket. Taking a single stick from the pack, he had it in between his lips trying to light it. Wrapping and hugging his coat, you took out something from your handbag, coming back to where he was. Tossing the bag to where your heels were, you took out the unlighted cigarette off of his lips.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” You said, leaving him dumbfounded after snatching it away, letting it end between your lips instead. “Have this in replacement,”

“A lollipop? Seriously?” He smirked.

“It’s better than a cigarette,” You shrugged, handing him the unwrapped candy. “It’s strawberry flavored,”

Hyunjin looked at you in disbelief before a sigh escaped his lips, “Fine,” He said.

“Good,” You smiled, throwing the cigarette away when suddenly he wrapped an arm on your waist, pulling you closer to him, a free hand held yours with the lollipop before crashing his lips onto yours.

His lips were soft and plump, it was hot and intimate, and tasted like peppermint with his cherry-flavored lip balm. It was supposed to feel strange but it only sent an adrenaline rush and the loud thumping of your heart. He sucked your lower lip, biting it softly making out a soft moan from you. His arm even pulled you closer, dragging you in between his legs as he deepened the kiss. A hand on his broad shoulder, this man will swoon you over in a minute. Kissing him back was the most unexpected thing, but you can’t blame yourself, it feels so good.

You pulled away from the kiss leaving Hyunjin smirking before taking the candy inside his mouth and hands on his trousers’ pockets. It suddenly became hot. You covered your lips, feeling the heat on your cheeks. And there it goes again, two people who were only getting to know each other, shared an intimate kiss under the moonlight. Sounds like it was rushed, with a page that only had a few words to say, and a student rushing their essay before the deadline in a few minutes.

“That was rude,” You said.

“You kissed me back,” He shrugged, licking the strawberry-flavored lollipop. “Shall I do it again but slowly?” He teased making your cheeks burn red.

“No,” You hissed.

“Fine,” He hummed. “Sit with me, Y/n.” Hesitant at the thought, you still ended up taking the space of his bumper.

“Aren’t they looking for you?” You asked, looking at the beach.

“Who?” He asked, holding the stick of the lollipop. “Oh, my manager?”

“Yeah,”

“Nah, Chan hyung is used to it, art exhibit, I stroll through the crowd, they don’t know me—just my name, then I rush out driving away when it’s time to go back to the hotel and talk about business,” He said.

“Must be tough,” You answered.

“You could say,” He shrugged. “I just wanted to be alone sometimes, including the fact that I paint,”

“But you’re not alone now, I’m here,” You chuckled as he smiled.

“I like your company,” He said. “It’s been a while since the last time I was alone with some friends, it’s mostly business, yes? I hate being under the spotlight, I tend to send Chan hyung at every event to speak on behalf of me, I just tell him this and that about certain paintings and do the business for me,”

“Is that why you don’t show yourself to the public?” You asked, looking at him.

“Yeah, it’s good to be away from a crowd of people,” He answered, biting and chewing the candy. “Consider yourself lucky, Y/n, you’re seeing Hyun.e in the flesh,”

“Wow, lucky me,” You laughed as Hyunjin joined you.

“You’re the very first person I dragged into this running away thingy,” He confessed as you took his hand to sympathize, giving him a reassuring smile. The hint of loneliness covers his eyes, it’s not foreign, he wants to enjoy life as you do, but being imprisoned in the business world. He may spend his time working on the things he loves but lack the moments with the people he cares about. Hyunjin bit the stick as you leaned onto his shoulder. “You’re sweet,” He said.

“I’m being affectionate,” You smiled.

“So, tell me something about you Y/n,” He answered, looking down in your direction as you sat up straight, hands on both sides for support. “Tell me interesting things about you,”

“There’s not much to tell,” You said.

“I’m all ears,” He reassured, patting your shoulder.

“Well, I have a half-brother, his father is my father, he remarried a year after my mother died, I live away from them since I don’t like my adopted mother, she’s actually his mistress even before I was born, but my brother is sweet and affectionate,” You started. “I live in an apartment where he always visits me, especially when he’s free, we’re both in college, Jeongin’s in his sophomore year, while I’m in my senior year, I major in English Lit., I love to read, I like lollipops,” You chuckled in between. “I love being alone, I love staying at home, watching Netflix with a tub of ice cream or ramen, but life can be fucked up sometimes, I can’t always do that coziness,”

“Life is already fucked up from the start, Y/n,” He said.

“I know,” You said quietly. “It gets worse every time,”

“That’s fine, at least you have one fine young man beside you right now, not all people can manage to have me!” He said, making you laugh.

“You’re kind of narcissistic aren’t you?” You said that he gave his brightest smile. “But you’re telling the truth anyway,”

“You think I’m handsome?” He asked.

“Yeah, we can’t deny that fact, the first time I saw you back there you were shining and glimmering, you look so expensive,” You answered which made him flatter.

“You’re way too honest,” He chuckled in response. “Say, Y/n, do you like clubbing Y/n?”

“Clubbing?”

Long night, blinding lights, loud music, the smell of strong alcohol and perfume mixed in the air, chattering of strangers to one-night lovers, make-outs, and half-naked bodies, you hate the bar. Everything was ecstasy for the majority, all except you. It makes you smirk when you hear moans and flirting sentences from the ones who stood beside you as they touch and grope each other. Scenes that were expected the moment you reached inside. It was suffocating. Your hands immediately held Hyunjin as he pulled you by the waist, rubbing his thumb on your curves reassuring you he’d be there. He was smiling at the crowd.

With screams of people, high-pitched yelling, and the hype, you didn’t understand how people love parties. It wasn’t your thing anyway, but it’s not bad to go for one. The sight of two people sitting at the right side of your spot kissing vigorously, the girl’s arms wrapped around his neck as his hands massaging her breasts. Another reason for your blood rush, it was getting hot. You turned around to see Hyunjin, a hand in his pocket as he led you to the counter. The atmosphere was high, drunk, smoking cigarettes, and some couples disappeared to the toilets to have sex as the others had to leave.

Hyunjin asked the barista for drinks as you took off his coat, it caught his attention. He loves the sight of you wearing that black dress that shows off your shoulders as it fits. It highlights your curves as it falls right above the knee length. The sleeves were gorgeous enough to cover your arms down to your wrists and your hair just comes naturally. He loves your eyes, the way you smile simply made his heart leap. You were so beautiful in his eyes, one that screams inspiration for his piece. A glass of champagne added to his luxury.

“Why did you take it off?” He asked, taking small sips.

“It’s a little hot in here,” You said with a nervous laugh, taking the wine glass.

“You’re hot yourself,” He winked.

There he is again, making you go wild when he’s just new in your life.

“Not as much as you,” You answered as it made him melt.

He’s used to being called like that over a thousand times but it came to an entirely different vibe from you. Only a laugh of bashfulness came out of his mouth then take another sip from his glass. You bit your lower lip playing with the rim of your glass, rubbing it with your thumb. The champagne was good, but you wanted to drink as minimally as possible, you didn’t want to end up embarrassing yourself in front of him, even when you got drunk. Taking a few sips on it, you caught a guy’s attention. Hyunjin was trying to get another glass when that stranger came to approach you.

“Hey there beautiful,” He said, which made Hyunjin’s eyes darken the moment he heard it. Your eyes went wide, not another stranger again一he was handsome, but not as much as Hyunjin.

“H-hey,” You managed to reply.

“I see you seemed lonely, care to dance with me?” He asked again when Hyunjin smirked and walked in between the two of you. His tall figure made the guy look threatened, being nervous about what was going to happen, Hyunjin’s stern look made him look even hotter. “Back off dude, she’s mine,” The guy said, growling at Hyunjin with his death stare. The latter suddenly uttered a wicked laugh, loosening his tie before he pushed him away.

“Don’t flirt with my girlfriend, you piece of shit!” Hyunjin said as you held his hand.

“Hyunjin, no,” You said as his eyes landed on you.

“Scared?” He asked.

“No, just don’t get in trouble,” You answered, tightening your grip around his wrist. He smiled at the thought before giving you a soft kiss and getting back at the guy who just witnessed it.

“What are you looking at?” He asked, with a smirk on his face. The guy’s face hardened and glared at him before leaving.

“Fuck!” The guy hissed under his breath leaving you and Hyunjin alone.

Another kiss again, it made you frozen on the spot and the champagne was left unattended on the counter. Hyunjin looks proud of it, but not the way you looked uncomfortable. He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your forehead as you snuggled closer. His expensive perfume welcomed your nostrils, it was more intoxicating than the roaming scent of alcohol. It smells so good. Hyunjin suddenly leaned down on your ear, kissing it which sends shivers down your spine making your grip on his polo tighten.

“Hmm,” You hummed.

“Are you okay?” He whispered as you gave him a gentle nod. “You want to get out of here?” He asked again as you looked up to him.

“You want to?” You asked back.

“Only if you want,” He smiled, taking his glass of champagne一having it all in one gulp.

“Not yet,” You said out of nowhere, having your drink in one gulp and then asking the bartender for another one leaving Hyunjin amused.

“I thought you don’t like drinking?” He asked with a small laugh.

“Not every time, dance with me Hwang,” You chuckled, gesturing the bartender to wait for a bit before dragging Hyunjin to the dancefloor.

The night was loud, the time was being ignored, two people who feel like they’ve known each other for years, kissing as if they have labels, dancing on the dancefloor enjoying the party. You never fail to amuse him, the typical reserved girl, so sweet and innocent一who loves Netflix and a tub of ice cream, the one who hates the crowd and parties, it felt like you were different now. Hyunjin didn’t mind, he likes it, he made the right decision to drag you out and have fun. It was just you and him, enjoying the company of each other. Each beat of the music had you both dancing carelessly, the stares you shared, the smiles you’d make, he said he’s not going to catch feelings. The kiss and champagne, the strawberry-flavored lollipop, and unlightened cigarettes, this was something to remember.

His hand suddenly met yours, interlocking your fingers as he dragged you away from the crowd and went to the parking area. Drinking every last bit of champagne from the stolen wine glasses on the counter, running away with shared laughs, Hyunjin drove away to the hotel where he’s at. It was almost one in the morning, and the swimming pool on the 22nd floor was closed. Chan was patiently waiting for him in the lobby but he was too quick enough to hide behind the hotel porter with you. The bags were big enough to remain unseen and went to get his card at the counter, holding your hand leading to the elevator.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“To the swimming pool, we’ll sneak into my room later,” He winked.

“I hope Chan won’t nag at you,” You chuckled crossing arms on your chest.

“Oh, he will he sees me,” He laughed as you heard the elevator’s sound, indicating that you arrived.

“It says closed,” You said seeing the sign and the stanchion posts surrounding the rectangular shape of the indoor pool.

“Live a little, Y/n,” He said, taking them off, jumping to the blue water, splashing everything in your direction.

“Ya!” You exclaimed as he rose, seeing you drenched. He laughed out loudly wiping his face as the water drips down from his black locks down to his eyes. You didn’t know what to feel with his visuals anymore, it made your heart go crazy.

“The water is good Y/n, come on!” He said, motioning his hands to join him.

“Fine,” You said, giving a teasing look before jumping on an empty spot, splashing the water all over him. “Wow, that was good!”

“I told you,” He said as he started swimming around.

You watched him enjoying the moment, following him in the water wasn’t probably the best idea but it was worth having so much fun even if it’s just one night. He was splashing water on you as you did the same, another heartfelt laugh, it was the way he had his hands on your waist lifting you, gently throwing you in the other direction. A delicate squeal was heard as you tried to get back at him. Diving in the pool, you pushed him behind his back, it was hard enough to knock him over but he was too quick to wrap his arms around your waist, tickling you down.

Giggles echoed around the pool area, Hyunjin suddenly stopped as he stared at you, it was such a beautiful sight. Laughing with you felt so comfortable and different. Wiping your face out of it being soaked, you could feel Hyunjin’s hands still being wrapped around your waist. His eyes looking at you, filled with wonder and curiosity with a hint of intimacy and interest. He was smiling, not minding how stupid it is to have you being dragged away. A total stranger that suddenly caught him off guard. You were beautiful in his eyes, a precious gem that he wanted to keep for himself.

“Is there something on my face?” You asked, suddenly feeling awkward with the situation. His fingers traced your cheek, taking the wet strands off your face, leaving them behind your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said quietly, making you blush, but before you could say something, you felt his lips planted on yours.

It felt the same as the first time you tasted his lips, but it is now mixed with champagne and a hint of your strawberry-flavored lollipop. He pulled you closer to his body as your arms were around his neck. A hand was placed gently on your cheek, slowly caressing it as he deepened the kiss. Your lips molded against each other as he could taste the champagne with the hint of your cotton candy lip gloss. You started playing with his wet hair as he smiled between the kiss then biting your upper lip, sucking it before he could devour it again.

It felt so good, nobody made you feel like this or this is how falling in love with a stranger looks like. Stolen glances across the hall, a small conversation that turns into running away, deep talks by the beach, sharing your first kiss—one that can melt you inside—clubbing and stolen glasses of champagne, and a kiss in the swimming pool. You wanted to hold him longer. There are a lot of unexpected things happening and it’s only midnight, you’d likely stay awake all night for the sake of this heavenly feeling. Freedom, rebellion, and dancing with a stranger, it all started because of a gaze of astonishment.

“Hyunjin!” It was his manager’s voice as the door banged open, causing the kiss to be cut off. Hyunjin hissed under his breath as you turned away out of embarrassment, covering your blushing face.

“Chan hyung, what the fuck!? Can’t you knock?” Hyunjin growled as Chan sighed in disbelief.

“Go back to your room now. You have a schedule tomorrow,” He said with a stern look as his eyes landed on you then his face softened. “Hi, I’m sorry to disturb you—you look great by the way,” Chan said sheepishly, turning to Hyunjin again whose hand was on his waist and the other on his nape. “Hyunjin, get out of the pool now.”

“Fine,” He scoffed as he went off first before reaching out his hand to help you. “I’m sorry for this, let’s talk in my room, yes? Wait for me,” He said, kissing your forehead before going to Chan. “Now what?”

“Your next exhibit will be at 8 tomorrow morning, I thought you’d be back by 10 pm. Not 1 fucking a.m.! You’re not even answering my calls,” Chan nagged as Hyunjin sighed.

“I thought I told you about this hyung? I spend the night going wherever I want after the exhibits, I didn’t promise to be back at 10,” Hyunjin explained as you stood there feeling guilty for taking his attention away. “What am I, a child? Oh my God, hyung!”

“I have nothing against it! All I want is you to be mindful of the time,” Chan sighed harshly. “Look, just go into your room. I need to talk to her,” Hyunjin looked at you, flinching at the spot. He reached out his hand as you came forward. Being nervous as you are, Hyunjin gave you a reassuring look before holding your hand, squeezing them before he left for his room. A sigh escaped your lips as you turned to face Chan, his stern look faded in a few seconds.

“Is everything alright? I think I caused him trouble with you, I should just go,” You said but Chan shook his head.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” He smiled. “I’m just glad that he’s with someone right now unlike the previous exhibits where he comes back in the morning,” He laughed half-heartedly.

“I’m still very sorry, we might have lost track of time,” You said, rubbing your arm in disappointment.

“It’s okay, love,” Chan insisted. “Aren’t you Jeongin’s older sister?”

“Yeah, how did you know?” You asked being confused.

“Hyun.e is your father’s favorite painter, I usually visit his office when he wants to negotiate with some of Hyunjin’s paintings. I happened to see your family portrait,” Chan said. “And yeah, Jeongin’s friends with us, I just didn’t know why he didn’t introduce you to us,”

“Oh, it’s just that, I’m always busy, and Jeongin’s has a lot of free time, so…” You said, rubbing your nape. “But uhm, please tell my brother that I’m fine, I can’t tell him where I am since my phone is dead.”

“Okay,” Chan nodded. “But please if you ever plan on staying for the night, please do not let Hyunjin out of your sight, yes?”

“I will,” You smiled.

“He’s in room 1320, 13th floor,”

“Right,”

A small bow was exchanged before you head back to the elevator down to Hyunjin’s room. The night is starting to get exhausting, including the fact that you’re fresh out from the swimming pool with water dripping from your hair and dress. A small sigh of frustration escaped from your lips as you reached the 13th floor, knocking a few times on Hyunjin’s door. He was already wearing the hotel’s robe, his wet hair is slowly getting dry but still wearing that disappointed face of his. You smiled at him before you entered the room.

“Are you okay?” You asked as he handed you an extra robe.

“Yeah,” He sighs. “Go wash up first and wear this, I’ll find some clothes for you to wear okay?” He smiled softly, taking the robe.

“Okay,” You said before making a beeline towards the bathroom.

Hyunjin took his glass half-filled with wine. Champagne wasn’t good enough to satisfy his needs, it was cut off so quickly. He leaned by the doorframe, taking appreciation of the view up from the balcony. Everything was quiet enough to calm him down, a few cars rushing by the highway, the stillness of the stars and the moon slowly setting down, he suddenly thought about making another piece for his upcoming exhibit. A sudden hit of inspiration. He licked his lips, taking it into deep thought with a few sips of wine.

Meanwhile, you just got out of the bathroom wearing the robe. He forgot about the clothes, but seeing you wearing the white cloth that envelopes your body, he thought you don’t need it anymore. Such a pretty face even without make-up. Hyunjin fell for your beauty even more. Clearing his throat, he placed the glass on the nightstand. Everything he needed was right in front of him, a muse, this painting he’s been thinking of would be different from before. You.

“You look great,” He managed to say.

“Thanks,” You answered with a smile as he spread his arms for a hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face on his bare chest.

“I am,” He said softly, playing with your hair. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Probably, I can’t stay,” You chuckled, giving him a soft peck on the lips. “Chan said you have something to attend to tomorrow,”

“Hmm,” He hummed in between.

“Why?” You asked, caressing his cheek.

“Nothing,” He smiled. “We still have a few more hours,”

“Yeah, you should be taking all your time with me instead of thinking about what’s going to happen,” You said, giving him a long kiss. The beating of his heart was nothing like before, strong and jumping as if it was going to explode.

“Y/n, you’re making me so damn crazy,” He hissed under his breath the moment the kiss was off.

“And you are to me,” You said as Hyunjin smirked before taking your lips again, hands on your cheeks as you melt at the sudden action.

Heartbeats going fast, eyes closed to savor the moment, lips colliding in response to the tension, hands holding one another for support, the kiss was getting hot. It was the way Hyunjin slid his hand off your cheeks before taking your chin as he deepened the kiss. Taking your steps backward, your waist felt the width of the table being placed by the wall. He lifted you to sit down as he stood between your legs, still enjoying the taste of your lips, biting and sucking them earning a soft mewl from you. Your hands wrapped around his neck, playing with his black locks as he deepened the kiss. Heads tilted together, eyes were closed, just you sharing a passionate exchange of affection.

It was sweet, you’d agree that falling in love with a stranger would rather be weird or taking the risk unexpectedly. A fool that fell in the hole. Two lonely people staring at the frame of a wonderful painting decided to take flight in the middle of the night. You couldn’t blame yourself either, it felt like Hyunjin was given to you this evening to take a turn in your perspective. It became so different, you didn’t like the bar but you drank and danced with him, you love staying at home watching Netflix while enjoying the food, but here you are, kissing the artist that hovered your attention. A dark hotel room with only the moon and the other city lights contributed brightness, it savored champagne and candies.

Heavy breaths and loud thumping of hearts, you bit his lower lip as Hyunjin placed his thumb in between your lips, feeling his kisses on your neck. You hummed in response to his touch, a hand on his shoulder tightening your grip, you had to look the other way to give him more access. His fangs met your skin, nipping at the delicate scent of vanilla and candies mixed after the bath. Hyunjin suddenly got more intimate and felt the strong urge to touch you. You bit his thumb, sucking it before he stopped to kiss you again. His fingers started to play with the laces of your robe, trying to hold himself to take it off. You pulled him closer to yours as you felt his hand squeezing your ass. Meanwhile, you could sense how he’s stopping himself from doing anything, a kiss, more than a kiss, he wanted it—you wanted it too.

“Y/n?” He called in between.

“Yes, love?” You hummed in response.

“Can I?” He asked when you understood what he meant.

“Yeah,” You said quietly as he placed a soft kiss on your lips, untying the lace of the robe.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” He said seeing your bare skin after slipping the sleeves off your shoulders. Blood rushes to your cheeks feeling the same heat the way Hyunjin impresses you with compliments. His lips met yours again, slowly caressing your body that send shivers down your spine. It was the way he started pinching your nipples making you moan in between his kisses then proceeded on massaging your breasts. He felt your body flinch under his touch that led his lips to form a smirk. “Like it?” He asked.

“Y-yeah, oh my God,” You gasped, holding onto his shoulders when his fingers came in contact with your went cunt, slowly rubbing your wetness.

“I’m not even halfway of touching you but you’re already so wet for me, love,” He said still wearing that smirk on his face.

You bit your lower lip in embarrassment when he started kissing you again, slowly inserting his 2 digits inside, tightening your grip on his broad shoulders and the other free hand at the back of his neck. Sharing a torrid kiss, Hyunjin slowly thrusts his fingers inside you and a hand squeezes your thigh. Hissing underneath your breath, he let out a soft chuckle, enough to blow your mind at the moment. He slipped his tongue inside your mouth as you started to suck on it, licking all over. His fingers’ pace started to go fast, receiving a delicate and sinful sound. You started humping on his fingers as your mouth gap, Hyunjin’s kisses fell back on your neck again, nipping your skin.

“H-Hyunjin, hmm…” You hummed in response.

“Yes, love?” He asked, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I want to feel you,”

Hyunjin’s gaze turned dark, he pulled his fingers gently before tasting your wetness on his lips. A wicked smile surfaced together with a soft chuckle. His wet fingers caress your lips, “Are you sure?” He asked in between as he leaned closer to whisper something in your ear. “‘Cause I won’t be able to stop,”

“I don’t mind,” You said quietly, looking at his eyes, kissing his fingers on your lips.

“Fine,” He smiled, capturing your lips again before lifting you, carrying you towards the bed. Your back felt the warm white sheets against your back as Hyunjin’s lips never left yours. The sound of smacking lips echoed in the room as his kisses suddenly went back on your neck. You felt them traveling down to the valley of your breasts, slowly taking your nipple as the free hand squeezed the other. He loves the idea of playing with them, sucking and biting gently just to hear how you’d react. With a satisfying sound, heavy breathing, and gasping of air, you suddenly wanted him to do more. Then there is Hyunjin enjoying it. His mouth came in contact with the other one and started licking it—the way the tip of his tongue was rubbing on your hard nipple hinted at your strong arousal.

“Fuck,” You gasped as his lips started kissing your stomach, slowly making their way down on your wetness.

“Spread your legs for me, love,” And without hesitation, you just felt the need to let him see everything. “So fucking beautiful, so fucking wet, I love it,” He hissed at the sight of you. His thumb came in contact with your slit, rubbing the wetness that made you mewl. Licking your inner thigh, you felt his tongue replace his thumb, kissing and licking your cunt. It was impossible to think straight at the current situation when he’s eating you out, hands squeezing your thighs as he leaves you a moaning mess.

A simple gaze of astonishment turned into something sinful. Kisses were supposed to be sweet but they can lead to bodies wanting to sin. Your hands met the white sheets, looking for something to hold on to—his tongue was all over your soul, it felt so good and warm. It’s making you go insane, you didn’t want him to stop. He enjoys the sight of you suffering under his touch, the facial expressions you make, the loud moans from your mouths, it’s not only you who’s about to go crazy.

“You taste so good,” He said, as your body arched, tightening your grip on the sheets, feeling his mouth devouring you. Biting your lips, Hyunjin’s hands ended up on your breasts again as you held them tight. Squeezing them while he eats you just added to the heavenly feeling but you know it is not only that. He loves the sight of your dripping cunt with a hint of his saliva, he loves the way you taste and for being so wet for a hot stranger like him. But he was no stranger anymore.

He licked his lips as he crashed them onto yours. The taste of your wetness from his lips had gotten the place even hotter. But it didn’t last long for you to whine when he pulled away. He stood in front of you as he untied the laces of his robe while you lay with your elbows. The robe slipped away from his broad shoulders showing his bare skin, a perfect physique that made your heart pound like crazy and mouth gaped open. He was staring at you while stripping off, his gaze locked with yours, taking a condom from the robe’s pocket, he knew he’d be able to use it, but not without your permission. His teeth met the packaging, harshly ripping it open as he took it out to slip his length in it.

“Lay down,” He said softly, as you obliged, Hyunjin hovered above you, a hand on his length, slowly rubbing the tip of his cock on your wet cunt.

“Shit,” You hissed at the sudden friction. His smirk appeared again as he made his lips come in contact with yours, slowly sliding himself inside you—causing your eyes to roll back. You have your arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him back as he starts to thrust himself, being gentle at first. Hyunjin deepened the kiss, as his hand held your cheek while the other supported his dominant position.

2 a.m.

The time was already forgotten. Fuck the schedule, Hyunjin doesn’t want to be anywhere but here, fucking the shit out of you as he goes faster. A sinful sound escaped your lips as you dug your fingers into his bare back. He hissed under his breath at the sudden reaction but it felt so good. Your voice is like music to his ears, your neck still smells like your perfume that he always wanted to bite, your legs spreading wide for him as his length drives you crazy. Eyes were shut, feeling every movement Hyunjin makes.

“Oh, shit, Hyunjin!” You blurted out, scratching back again, he could feel the pain from your fake nails—he had to take them off from his neck and hold them above your head, interlocking fingers with him. He went faster than before as your grip tightened along the way.

“You’re so tight, fuck!” He hissed, making you moan even louder.

“I’m going to kill you after this,” You said in between your gasps, tears started to form in your eyes in the sweet madness.

“You can’t,” He teased as your walls tightened. Hyunjin is taking his time, he doesn’t care if you’d wake someone from the other room. All he wanted was to ruin you. A girl he just met, being a mess under him, can be considered as a one-night stand if he left in the morning—but he knows he’s going to look for this moment again. Even if you flee later.

“Kiss me, you fucker,” You said as he happily obliged, still messing you up down there. His lips were hotter than before as you kept letting out his favorite sounds in between a torrid kiss. Hyunjin let go of your hands as that gave you the opportunity to play with his hair, as he went rough with you. “Fuck!” You screamed at the feeling.

He started nipping your neck, biting and kissing before licking the mark. But your hands gripped onto his biceps, moaning about how good it feels to be ruined by him. You weren’t like this, you didn’t know why this man is making his way on you. Heavy breaths and sweat slowly dripped down from his forehead to his bangs. He sweats easily but it made him look so fucking attractive. You don’t mind, his siren eyes were staring at you, smirking at the sight of how messy you are. Being riled up as he is, you could feel how close you are.

“You’re so pretty,” He said.

“Baby, I’m close, fuck!” You moaned out of breath.

“Shh, let it out,” He said grunting underneath his breath, trying to get the most of it until he felt it on his own.

“Shit,” You hissed as he pulled away to release. A sigh escaped your lips, it was good.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, taking the condom off from his length, tossing it away to the bin as you lay exhausted on his sheets. Hyunjin sat down beside you as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, caressing your cheek. “Tired?”

“Yeah, we had a long night,” You said quietly as he smiled softly, placing a soft kiss on your lips, making you smile in return. “You’re so sweet,”

“I got scared when you said you’ll kill me,” He chuckled as you laughed along.

“I was just overwhelmed,” You said, holding his hand as he interlocks your fingers again.

“Do you want to wash up?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You answered, giving him a nod. Another soft kiss occurred in between before he decided to carry you towards the bathroom.

Rays of sunshine came in contact with your eyes as they flutter open only to see the curtains being drawn open and Hyunjin’s side of the bed was empty. He had you wearing his white polo, one that gave you sweater paws with it. The sudden hit of disappointment envelopes your body after realizing his things were gone, the room was quiet and you didn’t even budge to jump out of the bed. His strong, intoxicating scent remains on the sheets as you take the duvet in your arms, hugging his evaporated presence. It was a good night, you wanted to do it again but he’s gone. You didn’t know his schedule anyway, Chan didn’t even tell you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you tried to get up after being sore down there. Disheveled sheets and robes on the floor, it was a night to remember, not only the moment where you made love. He was an interesting stranger, one that could sweep you off your feet in a blink of an eye. You wouldn’t deny the fact that he hit you like a train, faster enough to make you fall under his unique charm and beauty. It just felt stupid how distracted you were and forgetting one of the most important things. His contact number.

Facepalming yourself at the thought, a piece of paper caught your eyes. It was laying down on the other side of the bed, curiosity filled the atmosphere, as your hands gently took the thin canvas. You knew it belonged to Hyunjin but you were surprised by his subject, it was a portrait of you. The one that he saw from the art exhibit last night. Every detail was there, the black dress, your handbag, your hair, even if it was only being sketched with a pencil and a white pen, it highlighted your beautiful face, altogether from his perspective. It was candid. That one talented young man. Even his signature was present at the bottom and a short notice at the back.

“My beautiful Y/n, when you wake up, I already left. Didn’t want to wake you up since you were exhausted, don’t worry we’ll see each other again. I just don’t know when I’ll be back, but when I do, I’ll find you, Love, Hyunjin,” You read. “P.S. We already have our A Gaze of Astonishment and it made me realize how I want to plan out my entire life with a beautiful stranger from across the hall,”

Tears started to form in your eyes, it made you fall for him even harder. Hyunjin woke up a few hours before you did. He spent his time taking glances at your beautiful figure sleeping on his sheets after an amazing night. Train of thoughts and inspiration suddenly devoured his soul, he couldn’t help but sit down and take his sketchpad and pencil to draw you. You were so peaceful and still, each glance was worth it for his art. He studied your face, he imagined the look you have from last night. It was the very first few seconds of your meeting. One that he’ll remember and cherish in his life.

His hand dances with the pencil above the thin canvas for a while, he captured that moment like a photograph in his mind. And he will bring it with him wherever he goes until he comes back and takes you out again. A smile of satisfaction formed on his lips as he ripped the page off of his sketchpad. He stood up from the bed, leaving the paper on the other side before walking toward you and leaning for a kiss on your forehead. Hyunjin fell in love, he wouldn’t deny it. It was the best night of his life and he was thankful that he met you.

He started to caress your cheek and whispered, “I love you, Y/n,”

And that was it.

“I love you too,” You said quietly hugging the thin canvas, but careful not to be ripped.

The clock says 10 am, and that’s when you realized you should go home. Your phone is still dead and your clothes were still wet, only Hyunjin’s polo remained decent. I can go home like this right? No, it will be embarrassing, train of thoughts and panics came all over you, hoping that Chan has contacted your brother when you heard a few knocks on the door. It made your heart race, couldn’t be Hyunjin who forgot to take something or the staff? But you heard them calling your name outside. You hurried to open the door and it was your brother gawking at you.

“Y/n, what the fuck?! I’ve been calling you since last night, but you’re not一wait,” He stopped when he realized what you were wearing and how messy your hair was. “Did you and Hyunjin hyung一oh my God,” He said as you came in blushing.

“I was…” You paused. “We had a long night,” You continued with a sheepish smile while rubbing your nape.

“You better tell me on the road, and Father’s furious, fix yourself up, now.” He said which made you startled.

Jeongin knows you too well, you weren’t like this, maybe Hyunjin did make much of a difference for you in just one night. It was so unexpected for him, even for you. But hence he was happy, it’s not every night this kind of moment exists in a person’s life. You had subtle flings before and you thought that was the end of it. Then this stranger came, and it was bold and direct. No drama in between, you just wanted to have it again. Even if it takes time for Hyunjin to come back and find you. But maybe your brother can help you out.

“You never told me that you know him?” You asked, closing the door of the passenger’s seat as Jeongin started to drive.

“I thought you weren’t interested, besides, you’re not into art are you?” He asked.

“I fell in love with his arts last night so I consider myself as one right now,” You said as Jeongin sighed in response.

“Whatever,” He groaned. “I was looking for you the whole evening at the exhibit, I was shocked to know that Chan hyung saw you running away with Hyunjin hyung,”

“He invited me to,” You chuckled.

“You usually decline going out on the weekends Y/n,” Jeongin scoffed as he take glances at you. “Something changed about you,” He said as you smiled at him. A smile that tells happiness and love, with a hint of giddiness and excitement, warmth and delight. “Wow, in just one night, Y/n,”

But you two just laughed it out.

1 month later…

Your father was furious when you got home that day, Jeongin did try to explain everything but he was not getting into it. He decided to ground you for two weeks leaving you and Jeongin staying in your apartment, but that didn’t stop you from roaming around the art museums in the city with the famous artists of this generation’s works being displayed. You did try to argue with Jeongin sometimes to give Hyunjin’s contact but your Father was strict enough to ban you from it. Even Jeongin followed him and you were close to giving up. Yet that portrait of you being plastered on your apartment’s wall tells you to trust Hyunjin. Even if you just met him once and even if he’s going to take more than a month to come back, you believe he is a man of his words. You just need to be patient.

It was another exhausting day at the university, but thank goodness you were done with this week’s tasks. One that would make you spend your whole weekend free and maybe, sleep after consistent nights of staying up. English Literature left my brain cells in you. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you plopped on your couch when Jeongin’s face appeared in front of you. Eyes were tired, glasses not being in the right place, messy hair, and crumpled clothes. You never knew why he stays in your apartment instead of your Father’s house where he lays as his favorite child.

“You scared me to death,” You said, clutching your chest after swearing at him a few seconds ago.

“I was awake the moment you arrived,” He yawned, scratching his back.

“And?” You asked, getting up from the couch to take your bag back from your room.

“Father called, he’s going to have a gathering this Saturday, yeah, that’s tomorrow,” He said checking the calendar on his phone as you emptied your school bag and went back to the couch.

“You know I don’t attend his parties,” You scoffed. “You can go alone, or invite Seungmin or Changbin to go,”

“They will come for sure, they’re already invited,” He sighs. “But that is not the point. What I’m trying to say is: Hyunjin hyung will come back home from Paris,”

“He what!?” You exclaimed enough for his ears to hurt. All this time he was in Paris without telling you, he was meant to leave the country after that day to where Chan said he had a schedule.

“Yeah, shocking right? Father told me about it, he said if you wanted to see the Artist again, you should come.” Jeongin shrugged. “Besides, he knows your affairs and you know how much he loves Hyunjin hyung’s work so—”

“You’re such an angel!” You said tackling your brother down to the floor with hugs and cheek kisses. It was probably the best news after a week of suffering at the university. Jeongin laughed at the sudden affection, he loves it very much especially when it comes from you. Though he’s just your half-brother, you love him dearly.

“You’re still into him after a month, without communication?” He asked, regaining your positions. “What if he found someone else in Paris?”

“That, I will find out tomorrow,” You sigh. “I was thinking about that possible scenario, I couldn’t call him, I couldn't talk to him, nothing, but if he found someone new then, that whole one month of mourning wasn’t worth it, we were just strangers anyway,” You smiled bitterly.

“I hope he hasn’t, I was so happy about the sudden change of your personality overnight because of him,” Jeongin said, encouraging you while patting your shoulder. You smiled at him, holding his hand.

“I just wanted to be with him again,” You sigh.

“Better get a new dress, sis,” Jeongin winked.

Saturday night came, and the gathering was being held on the top floor of your Father’s company building. Everyone was there, but Hyunjin, or maybe he was just running late. There was no sight of Chan either. A sigh escaped from your lips taking that glass filled with champagne as you sat at an empty table while everyone was talking business with each other. Even Jeongin was occupied with Seungmin and Changbin’s presence. You crossed your arms on your chest, playing with a glass of champagne, you were lonely again. The decorations were nice to take your attention and even some of Hyunjin’s paintings were intact on the walls.

Drinking everything from the glass, you walked around not minding a few stares from people from your Father’s business. Others were intrigued that you finally showed up, just for once. You didn’t care about them, you didn’t care about your Father’s opinion. It was only Jeongin and Hyunjin you came here for. A smirk surfaced on your lips when you came to have a close-up of a large portrait, one that possesses the image of a clock tower. It had his signature on it—a sketch that was painted with watercolor. You stood there, catching every detail, studying how he managed to blend everything. There you are again, giving the same look the first time you locked eyes with the very first painting you saw that night, it was beautiful.

“It’s enthralling isn’t it?” A familiar voice said, coming in your direction. Your heart started to beat faster, really knowing who it came from. It was him, Hyun.e, Hwang Hyunjin.

“Y-yeah,” You stutter like before. His eyes were on the portrait as you were looking at him. He was smiling with his hands behind him.

“Beautiful as always, my dear,” He said, finally looking at you. “It gets me every time, how have you—” But before he could finish his sentence, you tackled him down for a hug. Hyunjin immediately let out a soft chuckle embracing you.

“I missed you,” You said, burying your face in his chest.

“I missed you too,” He whispered in your ear, caressing your hair. “I know I have a lot to explain, I’m sorry for leaving without contacting you,” He sighs.

“It’s okay, I’m just happy you’re here,” You said looking at him as he smiled, giving you a soft kiss on your lips.

“Tell me, baby, you want to drive out of the city?” He smirked, taking a few strands of hair out of your face.

“With someone you just met?” You chuckled in response. “Well, I’m not going to hesitate with your concept of running away, I waited for a month anyway—take me wherever you like,”

“Your Father won’t be pleased when I say I’m not taking you back home anytime soon,” He said, giving you a long kiss before holding your hand, interlocking your fingers together.

“Jeongin can handle him, my brother can cover for me,” You said reassuring him.

“Good, now let’s go,” He smiled as you left the hall, excitedly. Your brother saw that as your Father was busy. A smirk was formed on his face as he continued talking to Seungmin and Changbin, you deserve to spend time with Hyunjin with no disruptions. You both head to the parking area, the car he used the last time is still the same, but before you could enter, Hyunjin pulled you again for a kiss. One that you longed for, something that you wanted to last for a while. “Champagne?” He asked, pulling away.

“Yeah, I had a few,” You said, sheepishly.

“It tastes good,” He chuckled. “Come here, baby,” He added, leaving a peck on your lips as he opened the door for you.

“Where are we going?” You asked, sitting on the passenger’s seat, closing the door with a loud bang.

“No specific destination but, we’ll have something later,” He winked again as he sat down beside you and started to drive away.

There you are again, enjoying the rushed car ride when the night is young, the moon is high and the stars illuminate the dark sky. City lights were dancing as the cold air brushed against your bare skin. He loves that black dress you were wearing, it’s prettier than the last time—thin laces on your shoulders and a slit that shows your left thigh as it falls above the knee length. It looks so good on you, and the way he is dressed tonight matches your aesthetic. Black suit and a few buttons opened, his black slicked-back hair and rings adorning his fingers—breathtaking like usual.

He started speeding up, a hand on your tie as the other one kept steering the wheel. You looked at him dearly,

“Yeah?” He asked.

“I loved that sketch you made when you left,” You said.

“It was a rushed piece, but thank you,” He smiled. “Say, I’ve been thinking,”

“About what?” You asked, taking his hand away from your thigh, starting playing with it, interlocking your fingers again.

“I was going to make an exhibit in this city, every piece of art, all inspired by the image of you,” He said proudly. “But, I can’t without your permission of course,” He added, taking your hand as he kissed your knuckles.

“Park the car,” You said, Hyunjin suddenly felt nervous as he did under a lamppost on an empty street.

“Is something wrong? You don’t want it?” He asked immediately the moment the car settled in when you grabbed his collar, crashing your lips onto his. Hyunjin’s heart started to beat faster than ever as he pulled you to sit on his lap, deepening the kiss you shared. Hands around your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck. It was warm and passionate, filled with longingness and desire.

“Are you kidding me, you’re such a genius! I would be honored!” You cried pulling away, but he just looked at you as if you were his most treasured piece of art. He held your cheeks, leaving a soft kiss on your lips.

“Then you’ll have it,” He said.

“You never fail to amaze me,” You said, melting under his touch.

“And you never fail to make me crazy over you,” He answered, earning a soft chuckle from you, kissing you again.

REBLOGGING AND LEAVING A FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED.

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑.

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taylorswiftandx · 17 days

Text

Taylor Swift and Family Members

‘Taylor Swift’

Picture To Burn: My daddy’s gonna show you how sorry you’ll be

Mary’s Song (Oh My My My): And our daddies used to joke about the two of us

Mary’s Song (Oh My My My): And our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes and said “Oh my my my”

Mary’s Song (Oh My My My): Our whole town came and our mamas cried

Mary's Song (Oh My My My): We'll rock our babies on that very front porch

Our Song: When we’re on the phone and you talk real slow ‘cause it’s late and your mama don’t know

'Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’

Fifteen: And your mama’s waiting up and you’re thinking he’s the one

Love Story: And my daddy said, “Stay away from Juliet”

Love Story: I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

The Way I Loved You: He’s close to my mother, talks business with my father

The Best Day: I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger

The Best Day: God smiles on my little brother, inside and out he’s better than I am

The Best Day: And Daddy’s smart and you’re the prettiest lady in the whole wide world

We Were Happy: Talking about your daddy’s farm we were gonna buy someday

We Were Happy: Talking about your daddy’s farm and you were gonna marry me

'Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)’

Mine: You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter

Mine: You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes

Mine: I fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter

Back To December: How’s life? Tell me, how’s your family?

Speak Now: And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel

Dear John: And my mother accused me of losing my mind but I swore I was fine

Never Grow Up: You’re in the car on your way to the movies and you’re mortified your mom’s dropping you off

Never Grow Up: Memorize what it sounded like when your dad gets home

Never Grow Up: Remember the footsteps, remember the words said, and all your little brother’s favorite songs

Last Kiss: Because I love your handshake, meeting my father

Long Live: If you have children some day, when they point to the pictures, please tell them my name

Ours: And any snide remarks from my father about your tattoos will be ignored

Superman: He’s got his mother’s eyes, his father’s ambition

When Emma Falls In Love: When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom

'Red (Taylor’s Version)’

All Too Well: And I left my scarf there at your sister’s house and you’ve still got it in your drawer even now

All Too Well: And your mother’s telling stories about you on the tee ball team

Starlight: Ooh, ooh, we could get married, have ten kids, and teach them how to dream

Begin Again: But you start to talk about the movies that your family watches

All Too Well (10 Minute Version): You who charmed my dad with self-effacing jokes

'1989 (Taylor’s Version)’

Now That We Don’t Talk: I call my mom, she said that it was for the best

Now That We Don’t Talk: I call my mom, she said to get it off my chest

'reputation’

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things: And here’s to my mama, had to listen to all this drama

Call It What You Want: I’m laughing with my lover, making forts under covers, trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right

'Lover’

Paper Rings: Which takes me back to the color that we painted your brother’s wall

'folklore’

the 1: Rosé flowing with your chosen family

cardigan: Leaving like a father, running like water

seven: Your dad is always mad and that must by why

invisible string: Now I send their babies presents

mad woman: Good wives always know

epiphany: Keep your helmet, keep your life, son

epiphany: Something med school did not cover, someone’s daughter, someone’s mother

peace: Give you my wild, give you a child

peace: Family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother

'evermore’

champagne problems: Your mom’s ring in your pocket

champagne problems: You told your family for a reason, you couldn’t keep it in

champagne problems: Your sister splashed out on the bottle

'tis the damn season: I’m staying at my parents’ house and the road not taken looks real good now

no body, no crime: Este’s been losing sleep, her husband’s acting different and it smells like infidelity

no body, no crime: He reports his missing wife

no body, no crime: Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen

no body, no crime: Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me

dorothea: Skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes

ivy: So tell me to run or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become and drink my husband’s wine

right where you left me: I'm sure that you got a wife out there, kids, and Christmas, but I'm unaware

it's time to go: When the words of a sister come back in whispers

it's time to go: 20 years at your job, then the son of the boss gets the job that was yours

it's time to go: Or trying to stay for the kids when keeping it how it is will only break their hearts worse

'Midnights’

Lavender Haze: The only kind of girl they see is a one-night or a wife

Anti-Hero: I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money

Anti-Hero: The family gathers around and reads it and then someone screams out, “She’s laughing up at us from hell”

Midnight Rain: It came like a postcard, picture perfect shiny family

Vigilante Shit: Now she gets the house, gets the kids, gets the pride

Vigilante Shit: Picture me thick as thieves with your ex-wife

Paris: Your ex-friend’s sister met someone at a club and he kissed her

High Infidelity: Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle

'The Tortured Poets Department’

Fortnight: Your wife waters flowers, I wanna kill him

Fortnight: My husband is cheating, I wanna kill him

But Daddy I Love Him: Now I’m running with my dress unbuttoned, screaming, “But, daddy, I love him”

But Daddy I Love Him: I'm having his baby, no I'm not, but you should see your faces

But Daddy I Love Him: Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid

But Daddy I Love Him: All the wine moms are still holding out, but fuck them, it’s over

But Daddy I Love Him: Now I’m dancing in my dress in the sun and even my daddy just loves him

But Daddy I Love Him: Screaming, “But, daddy, I love him, I’m having his baby”

Florida!!!: And my friends all smell like weed or little babies

Florida!!!: And your cheating husband disappeared

imgonnagetyouback: Whether I'm gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus: And you have some kids with an Internet starlet

How Did It End?: Soon they'll go home to their husbands, smug 'cause they know they can trust him, then feverishly calling their cousins

So High School: I feel like laughing in the middle of practice to that impression you did of your dad again

thanK you aIMee: Everyone knows that my mother is a saintly woman but she used to say she wished that you were dead

thanK you aIMee: And one day, your kid comes home singing a song that only us two is gonna know is about you, 'cause

The Bolter: And I can confirm she made a curious child, ever reviled by everyone escept her own father

The Manuscript: Afterwards she only ate kids’ cereal and couldn’t sleep unless it was in her mother’s bed

Other Songs written by Taylor

All Of The Girls You Loved Before: Your mother brought you up loyal and kind

Best Days Of Your Life: I heard you’re gonna get married, have a nice little family

Christmases When You Were Mine: My mama’s in the kitchen, worrying about me

Christmases When You Were Mine: I’ll bet you got your mom another sweater, and were your cousins late again?

Official Alternate Releases

But Daddy I Love Him (Clean Version): All the wine moms are still holding out, but it’s over

#taylor swift #lyrics #taylorswiftandx #lyric parallels #family members

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rosalyneslover · 1 year

Text

Now Playing: CRUEL SUMMER - TAYLOR SWIFT

chr: kujou sara

content: fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, modern!au, best friend!kujou sara

wc: 961

and i screamed for whatever it's worth / "i love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Spring got swept away by the hot summer wind that brushed against your skin when you stepped outside your room to the balcony. Your family—part of the Yashiro Commission—rented this summer home for a while just to watch over the Irodori Festival that's taking place in Ritou right now. You don't think too much about it though, opting to stray your mind away from rather exciting and/or stressful thoughts.

"Hey!" You slightly jump when you hear a voice from down below. Your view is occupied by the large pool that catered to the other residents of the estate like your family, their friends, and the maids. You're not gonna lie, it's very beautiful here at night with fairy lights strung from one tree to another and lamplights that illuminated the areas far away from the pool if you really want to take some time to yourself to see the gardens.

You look down only to smile when you see Kujou Sara looking up at you on your 2nd-floor balcony.

"How'd you get in here?" Sara smiles back, gesturing to the single gate behind her.

"I climbed over."

Ah, Kujou Sara. The Kujou Clan rented a place near Ritou to help organize the festival with the Kanjou and Yashiro Commission. You were thankful that Sara's there, otherwise you would have had to talk to the Lord of the Kamisato Clan alone. And he's an intelligent man with an intimidating amount of knowledge.

"You wanna come with me?"

You raise an eyebrow at her offer.

"To where?"

"To the festival."

And just like that you accepted. Maybe you wanted to see the festival or maybe you just wanted to hangout with Sara. Either way, you were going to enjoy your night.

Sara raises both her arms, gesturing for you to jump from the second story balcony. There must be a look of doubt on your face because she smiles in a reassuring way, "I'll catch you, it's okay."

You trusted her.

9:30 PM. Mid-summer.

You lean against the wall next to the vending machine that Sara is using. She hums when she picks up two cans of soda, bouncing hers slightly in her left hand while she offers your own can in her right and you gladly take it. You don't say anything, but there's something in the air. Something you don't want to address and neither does Sara because she immediately drops her skateboard down, hopping onto it and riding off. She may have very well left you if you weren't riding your bike.

"Y'know, the shogunate could arrest us if we don't get home by ten PM," You joke and Sara grins at you playfully. You know she works for the shogunate (You've visited her countless times to eat lunch together) but they don't discriminate against who they arrest. Sara could very well be in a jail cell tomorrow morning and if you're both lucky, you two could be cellmates.

"I could tell them I'm accompanying you back home," She plants her foot down to stop her skateboard, she looks back at you with a playful smirk.

"On your skateboard?"

"Detective Shikanoin wears roller skates to his office," She counters and you tilt your head with skepticism when you look at Sara's clothes.

"Wearing a civilian outfit?"

"Detective Shikanoin wears a sleeveless shirt during office hours."

So, you trusted her.

10:00 PM. Late-summer.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You say as you slam the car door shut. You see Sara visibly flinch at the impact, you're not sure whether she's concerned for her car or for you.

"Where are we going?" Sara glances at you from the rear view mirror before a small smile graced her lips.

"Tenshukaku."

You haven't been to the rooftop of the President's literal house and you don't think you're going to go here again after what Sara did when she practically snuck you inside before heading up the rooftop. She closes the gate behind her as you gaze at the setting sun as it paints colors within the sky. You step closer to the side of the rooftop and Sara follows behind, she wordlessly offers her hand and somehow you know what she means so you nod.

She places her hand around your waist and the other comes to take your hand to help you up on the elevated edge. Inazuma is beautiful during dusk. The wind brushing up against you both as you enjoy the tranquility of the moment.

You still feel Sara's hand on your waist as she sat down with you, feet dangling off the edge.

"You can shout your feelings out from this rooftop," You turn to her with genuine curiosity and hesitation, "What am I gonna say?"

"Whatever you're feeling."

You might as well let the wind carry your desires away. So, you did. You were sure the guards heard you but you didn't really care as you shouted the one thing that was always circling your mind whenever you were alone with your thoughts or with Kujou Sara. That one thought carried so much weight even though there were only 5 words in it. The thought you never wanted to say out loud, until now.

'Kujou Sara, I love you.'

And the way she looks at you when you said it...

It may just be the worst thing she has ever heard, but maybe just for a little while she could enjoy it. Maybe she could indulge you before summer ends. So she returns your grin with the promise of excitement and maybe a bit of pain once the adrenaline all dies down.

But you trusted her.

Summer may just be the worst season and your love for each is proof of that.

— 10/10/22

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact kujou sara #dear...#kujou sara #kujou sara x reader #🦋🌷~

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oh-hush-its-perfect · 1 year

Text

It's Never Too Late to Come Back to my Side

A (very short) Fierrochase fic, inspired (very loosely) by "Dorothea" by Taylor Swift

Pairing: Magnus Chase & Alex Fierro, Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro

Summary: Decades after getting together and years after breaking up, Alex and Magnus take a tiny step towards rekindling their friendship.

Word count: 703 (Hence why I'm publishing on Tumblr rather than Ao3).

Alex’s door was already open, which made this a whole lot easier for Magnus. He peered inside, listening to the music she was playing on the speakers he had gotten her for her nineteenth birthday. It didn’t feel that long ago, even though it was— fifty-three years whisked by as a series of seconds. Time flies when you’re having fun. Maybe that’s why the last five years had dragged so much.

Alex sat at her pottery wheel, shaping some odd lump. A similar odd lump started forming in Magnus’s throat. It had been half a decade since their break-up, but she still looked so pretty. Of course, he had seen her in the interim. They’d met every day for the daily battle. They sat at the same table at dinner. And they avoided eye contact as if their lives depended on it.

Magnus knocked on the doorframe. ��Alex?”

Alex stopped turning the wheel and turned to look at him. Her face hadn’t changed. Of course her face hadn’t changed; she was immortal, forever stuck at sixteen. She quickly glanced away, leaning over and shutting off the power on the speakers.

“Hey.” Her voice was a little surprised, and a little delicate. At least she didn’t sound angry like she had when he tried talking to her in the first year after the break-up. “What?”

Magnus pursed his lips and looked past her, trying to figure out how to phrase his request. On the back wall of her room was a painting that hadn’t been there when they had been dating. It was a gorgeous modern art piece, like something from the Harlem Renaissance, featuring people playing trumpets in bright, vibrant colors.

“Where’d you get the painting?” he asked.

Alex glanced behind her. “Oh. It was a gift from Badr.”

Magnus smiled. “I love Badr. It’s crazy how her kids are our age now.”

“You keep in contact with the Fadlans?” Alex asked.

“Of course I keep in contact with the Fadlans,” Magnus said. “Samirah is old and decrepit now. I like making fun of her.”

“Hey, she ain’t bad for 71.” Alex’s smile eased Magnus’s nerves a little bit.

“Yeah, she really isn’t,” Magnus agreed.

There was a somewhat awkward silence.

“Well?” Alex asked. “Did you just come here to hang out, or…?”

Magnus bit the inside of his cheek. “I have a favor to ask, actually.”

“Shoot.”

“We’re having some trouble at Chase Space.” Magnus leaned against the doorframe.

“What kind of trouble? Monster trouble?”

“No. See, we’re kind of short-staffed since—” since you left, Magnus thought, “— since Hearth retired.”

“Oh.” Alex looked down at her creation on the wheel.

“Yeah,” Magnus said. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you don’t have anything going on… do you think you could come in and help out? You’ve always been great with the kids, and—”

“Yeah, of course,” Alex said.

Magnus blinked. He hadn’t expected her to be so easily convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always loved working with the teenagers. Also, I miss Hearth and Blitz.”

Magnus cracked a smile. “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

Alex thought about it. “Jeez, I haven’t met up with them since my going-away party at Chase Space. I feel bad now. I should have arranged something.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Magnus assured her. “They’re old, anyway. They don’t have a lot of interesting things to talk about.”

This time the joke fell flat. Alex looked at her hands, covered in clay. “Yeah. Well, I’ll see you… when? Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be great, if you don’t mind,” Magnus said.

“I don’t.” Alex gave him a little sarcastic smile and waved her hand. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” Magnus said.

He leaned out of the doorway and walked across the hall to his own room. Unlocking the door, he wondered if Alex still had a copy of his key. What would she have done with it? Turned it back into the hotel staff? Sold it to someone out of spite?

Magnus slipped into his room, still very conscious of Alex’s open door behind him. Just as he closed his door, he heard the music from across the hallway start back up.

#this was asked for so don't blame me #i was all 'what if i posted my short fics' and y'all were all 'do it.'#mcga #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #fierrochase #alex fierro

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kennlov · 1 year

Text

❛ NOW WHEN NIGHT COMES, I CAN SEE GOLD. ❜

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨.

full name: kennedy brooke lovett

age & birthdate: 30 , october 3, 1992.

zodiac: libra sun, capricorn moon, cancer rising another chart disaster muse.

gender & pronouns: cis woman , she / her

orientation: homosexual homoromantic.

residence: downtown

occupation: tattoo artist at ink city

top songs on spotify: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine, portions for foxes by rilo kylie, clementine by halsey, bite marks by the mistys, nights like this by kehlani, all i do by ally hills, needed me by rihanna, all i wanted by paramore, right where you left me by taylor swift.

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.

trigger warnings : mentions of death, infidelity, depression .

oceanside, california: it makes for a pretty portrait to sit on someone's mantle, but not kennedy's. it's not for a lack of trying on the part of her parent's; her mere existence falls upon the ley lines of appearance and complacency. like every sibling before her, she is yet another attempt to try and fix something that was never complete to begin with. kennedy brooke is the result of one last try and this time will be different and maybe this is what we need. she's not, of course. she's barely a month old before her parents are back to living in separate bedrooms, cold to the touch, like abandoned satellites just floating in the gravitational pull of their children that demand they be in the same room. it's an arrangement that doesn't bode well for kennedy, who starves for the family unit that does not exist. she is a sunflower sprouting on a planet that has never known anything but darkness, and it leaves her feeling disproportionately sized for her body from a very young age. she's too loud for her thoughts, too cramped inside four walls, too big for the physical frame she's trapped in. she tries to make her childhood as colorful as she can, but the world around her has felt grey in comparison. her two siblings are her saving grace — they have lived under the lovett roof for years and know what to anticipate, attempt to show her the ropes. kennedy is not the kind for complacency, though, and has to bite her tongue until she tastes blood to hold back. she demands change, something meaningful or just plain different ( because the stifling nature of her family and the way they all seem to tiptoe around the timebomb of their parents' marriage is suffocation ) but there's usually a jaded look accompanied by, "ken, this is just how the world is. you'll see."

she'd see to it that she wouldn't.

kennedy's bright, quick on her feet, easy to bore and hard to satisfy. she moves through her school years like a tornado, a master class in how to be a lovett natural disaster with a charming smile on her face. she's typically ushered in as "one of the boys" with the way she constantly insists on challenging lincoln mattheson on the playground to the eighty-first rematch of their foot race, ribbons in her hair discarded in the dirt and long forgotten as she bikes throughout her neighborhood until it's no longer light out. she fits in well enough with the girls at school, but kennedy's not everyone's cup of tea. boys tend to be more forgiving, because tea's not typically their drink of choice. it works for her. she makes it work, because home is a lost cause. she throws herself into any extracurricular she can think of to keep from sitting around her solitary confinement sentence in bedroom, where the walls talk louder than she does and her siblings are too far out of reach as they mold their own lives, far ahead of her and far away from here. even if she's not good at it — which, she's not good at most of them, but she's having fun and spreading her social butterfly wings — she gives it a chance. surfing, cheerleading, pottery classes, ice skating ( she has short-lived dreams after watching the olympics one year ) painting, lacrosse, dance, even volunteering to read books at the public library on tuesdays for the mommy and me classes. she loves being in the presence of others. she fits in best when she's letting her chameleon's scales reflect those around her. after all, she was born into a world with pleasing others in her blood stream. it's no surprise her entire world revolves around the opinions of others.

she goes through girlfriends in high school like she's wearing the quarterback's number. no one and nothing was ever enough to satisfy her; her attention span was short, her ability to commit a shallow pond. they wanted something real, something serious to take with them to college and kennedy wanted someone so she wouldn't be lonely. she'd say she was in love if it kept someone close. perhaps the only time her need for the approval of others found itself superseded was when it came to the feeling of confinement, a clashing in her chest and a rising panic at the thought of being stuck. her senior year girlfriend, marissa, asks tons of questions about the future and where she's going to school and wouldn't it be wonderful if we roomed together? and the thought of a future so vast with possibility feels cheated somehow when the word 'college' is thrown into the equation. academics aren't for her the same boys aren't for her — no matter how hard she'd try, it wouldn't fit in the box in front of her. something else was meant to go in its place, something else calling like a siren song buried under the waves. kennedy graduates in the middle of the road, breaks up with marissa at a party, and gets in her van the next day to drive up the coast. she winds up in fairford with no plan, but her whole life in her hands and in her control.

being away from her parents is freeing. it's like finally seeing the sun.

life in washington doesn't move at the same pace as it did in california. kennedy juggles things and is driven by the pressure, thriving from the adrenaline rush. there's a certain underlying current of thrill that comes with paying the bills hours before they're due, showing up to work right as her shift starts. it's no surprise that, coupled with a servant's heart, she winds up as an emt shortly after her ninteenth birthday. she's young and doing her coursework while bartending and life is different from one day to the next, which is all she could ask for. what she doesn't ask for is maisy. maisy is one of the few female firefighters in the station kennedy's assigned to once they knight her and send her off into an ambulance, who has a wicked gleam in her eye that puts kennedy on her heels in record time. maisy, who is soft despite every hard exterior and impenetrable wall that makes it impossible for kennedy to not fall in love with her, far from her first girlfriend but by fair the first person that kennedy has ever wanted to shed her skin and be new for. maisy's the person who teaches kennedy about what it means to really be in love. she scares the living shit out of kennedy, and every time that she tries to walk away, maisy reminds her that love is not a prison sentence — love is supposed to be more than a pair of shiny manacles on ring fingers, it's flying instead of falling. maisy is who makes her grow up, makes her the version of herself that she has always hoped she was able to be and makes her happier than anything she's known in her life. they make breakfast together on the mornings they both have off in kennedy's apartment, they adopt a dog and name her bunny, they bitch and fight and worry about each other and go to sleep every night dreaming of the other. kennedy, for the first time in her life, chooses to please herself, doesn't fear being trapped — she goes out, buys a ring for maisy and proposes after two and a half years. they pick a wedding date and taste endless amounts of pie ( because maisy hates cake ) and kennedy even finds a wedding dress that she likes. her life is her own, and it's always daytime.

there's a nasty apartment fire six months into their engagement. kennedy is on the scene for all of two minutes before she is hell on wheels headed for the nearest emergency room. she and her partner make sure the patient gets settled in the emergency room okay before they head back out to the ambulance, ready to return to the scene. dispatch reroutes them to another case, and by the time they finish and are pulling back into the station, the hair on the back of kennedy's neck stands up. no one has returned from the apartment fire, and they haven't been recalled to the scene.

it's not long after that when kennedy gets a call, asking her to come back to the hospital. everything from there is akin to her head being dunked under the water, no real sense of direction or sense itself. all she knows aside from the burning in her own lungs is that the fire was out of control, and maisy went into cardiac arrest. maisy is gone. she is untethered, floating aimlessly in the universe of her grief.

she loses herself in a haze as life forces itself to move forward. it's hard for anyone to coax her out of her grief and it begins to mar her day-to-day, stain the life she's made for herself. without maisy, it's a plunge back into the dark ages, the sunflower wilting. no one comes to pluck her, water her, or put her out of her misery and cut the head off of the stem. she's just left there in the soil, time endlessly stretching on. kennedy nearly gets herself fired a few times, before she has to quit altogether; there's a few weeks lost to her, all blurred together as she tries to tape herself back into a shape that resembles her former self. she begins bartending again, taking advantage of having liquor at her disposal and circling the drain before someone grabs her squarely by the chin and reminds her, ken, this is just how the world is. the world fucking sucks. but it spins on.

pulling herself up by the bootstraps and reminding herself what it's like to run a brush through her hair, kennedy is uneasy in hitting the resume button on her life. she has to, at some point, with the way everyone is tiptoeing around her and offering up horribly shitty sentiments like maisy would want for you to be happy. it's almost her way of lashing out when she attaches herself to katrina: see? she wants to yell out, middle finger her banner proudly hoisted high. i can move on. i can pretend to be happy. the two of them are only together for six months before they're engaged, married before it's been a year. kennedy paints her plastic smile on and dips her toes back into the world of being a fully functional human being, despite feeling like she's dead and rotting from the inside out. she gets a job as a personal assistant to a local lawyer, something mundane to drag her through the days.

and then, there's a spark.

at first, it's nothing, it's just a salve to another fight with katrina and a way to offload the tension that follows them into the office and borders on the edge of unprofessional. as time goes on, kennedy realizes just how long it's been since she's breathed a lungful of air. it's as though the world slowly retuns to focus, kennedy beyond uncomfortable at this halfway point she's found herself building a little life on. she loathes it, and she loathes who she's woken up and found herself becoming, but her hands are bound. true discontent becomes fully realized, and kennedy begins to kick in order to give herself a leg room. she and katrina have never been good, truly, but they deteriorate as time goes on. kennedy puts in her two weeks notice and picks up the tattoo gun she'd fooled around with for ages Before Maisy just for shits and giggles and a means to turn her doodles into something a little more permanent, hoping the owner down at ink city is willing to take a chance on her. it's the first time in years that kennedy's been willing to take a chance on herself; a little part of her hesitates still, but she's ready to jump the gun. in her rebirth, she has grown restless. she'll engineer her own goddamn light to grow in if she has to.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

estella de luna. boss and co worker at ink city.

tbd.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝.

roommates. i'll be putting this in as a wanted connection, but i would adore some roommates for kennedy. she's currently separated from her wife and is living on her own yet again downtown, and rent do be expensive! would love at least three more roommates of any gender, and i'm envisioning sort of a bold type / friends dynamic. they're chaotic as fuck, probably a lil' problematic in their own ways whether it's kennedy level or something as simple as forgetting to unload the dishwasher, but they're there for each other through all of the shit.

the middle lovett sibling.

situationship.

friends. i envision kennedy's got friends in high and low places — drinking buddies, bad influences, good influences, new friends, former roommates from her teenage years, best friends, friends she met when she was forced into group therapy / counseling, people that encourage her to take care of herself, the friends who were there for her during all of the maisy shit, someone that kennedy thinks hates her or vice versa but their random acts of kindness towards her are off-putting, kennedy's go - to to call at midnight when she's lonely, anything goes here!

and as always, shit with the potential for angst. people who knew maisy (family, friends, old coworkers of hers, anything), kennedy's old co-workers at either the law office or from her emt days (potential ex partner? please?), failed blind dates or one night stands from the weird period in between maisy and katrina, KATRINA'S FRIENDS OR FAMILY, people who simply do not enjoy the acquired taste of kennedy, ex - girlfriends from high school who are in washington for their own reasons, people who are trying to blackmail kennedy over her affair?, unrequited crushes, idk anything i just wanna go Crazy W the Plots so hit me up here or on discord !

#fairfordintro #death tw #depression tw #infidelity tw #chaos lesbian energy has entered the chat

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guessillcallitart · 2 years

Text

Is it romantic that all my elegies eulogize me?

I'm not cut out for all these cynical clones

These hunters with cell phones

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

The lakes, Taylor Swift

I lie down on the soft grass with a pleasant buzzing and soft music blaring in my ears. There are vibrant roses and chrysantemums all around me. The slight summer wind carries a sweet scent of strawberries to my nose. "Yana! Will you go to the plaza for me? We need more coffee grounds and bread." I groan at my mom's words. "Take your sister with you." I sit up and tie my long hair into a ponytail. "Ivy!" I yell. My sister emerges from the rosebush. "There's no need to yell. I'm right here." Ivy looks just like me with long, curly, dark brown hair and warm brown skin. Only her eyes are light blue.

We walk down the bustling cobblestone street. "Whoa!" Ivy exclaims as a fully grown, emerald green dragon swoops above our heads. Its batlike, leathery wings brush the rooftiles of the buildings around us. A girl with flaming, red hair jumps on one of the roofs. "Hi, Angel!" I wave at her. "Hi, guys!" she yells, jumping on a balcony and sliding down to the street. "Going to the plaza?" she guesses. "Yeah." I smile. "Do you want to join us?"

"Sure." Angel nods.

"Could I interest you in a fortune telling?" I flinch as a beautiful woman with black hair adresses me. She's standing in front of a fortune teller's tent. "Yana isn't daft. She isn't going to fall for your tricks. A charlatan like you can't fool her." Angel begins to drag me away but something keeps me grounded. "Do you sell crystals and tarot cards?" The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. The woman looks at me with surprise shining on her face. Then she smiles. "Of course."

Ivy watched her sister disappear in the tent. She had a bad feeling but she didn't know why. "She's a fraud, you know. She can't really see the future." Angel wrinkled her nose in disgust. Ivy felt herself blush like she forgot the other girl was there. But how could she? Angel was gorgeous. Ivy stole a glance at her. Her freckles shone in the afternoon light as if they were painted there. Her fiery hair fell down her back and shoulders in a shaggy mass. "Yeah", Ivy muttered watching her big sister finally emerging from the tent. She raised an eyebrow at the quiet, beautiful girl. "We were going to buy some bread and coffee, weren't we?" Yana smiled but there was something strange about it. There was a wary look in dark brown her eyes.

I walk in after the woman. She thrusts a tarot deck at me. "These aren't the ones I use but another deck... Mine isn't for sale." I look around me in the tent. It's surprisingly big and reminds me of a circus tent because of the colorful stripes and a lantern hanging from the ceiling. The flame inside throws different shapes on the walls. "It's a magical fire", the woman says like reading my thoughts. "Then there's one magical thing in here." I seize some crystals from a dresser and stuff them in my pockets. I take some money from my pouch and thrust a few cold coins at the woman.

I place the tarot cards carefully on the dark, hardwood floor. I examine their golden and silvery details, the artistic pictures and the vibrant colors. I find myself a song out of my breathe. I'm pretty sure I've never heard it before. The melody seems stuck in my ears. I tell myself my fingers land on a card at random but deep in my soul I doubt there was anything random about it for I seem to feel a violent pull towards the card. The moment my fingers touch the smooth surface, the ringing in my ears grows louder. Like glued to it, I bring the card right in front of my eyes and stare into the eyes of a gruesome ram. I blink I'm not in my room anymore. I leap to my feet on a patch of grass. All around me in the foggy scenery, reside ghosts of a past long forgotten in their respective graves. I stare at the mossy tombstones with bated breathe as my feet take me forward. I hear people talking, whispering everywhere. I shiver and goosepumbs rise on my arms. The sweet scent of pine trees wafts in the air. Yana... I freeze in my tracks. "Come here..." I stare around me wildly. Two bright dots like the headlights of a car blink at me. I feel a warm breathe on my face. Then I see the creature. It towers over me with ram's horns poking from its head. Blood trickles down its black face. It's like a mix between a ram and a raven with a long beak, talons and fur and feathers here and there. A loud growls issues from its maw. A warm hand grabs mine and drags me along. I'm wildly animated again and sprint into a run. I hear the creatures wings russtle behind me and spot a patch of light nearby...

A brilliant sky the shade of forget-me-nots greets me. I'm standing on a school yard next to a girl with lovely, caramel coloured hair braided in two fishtail braids and eloquent, blue-green eyes and a slightly tanned skin. Walking closer, I can make out a few dark brown freckles on her nose. "Who are you?" I ask. The girl doesn't turn around at my words. She's clutching a bag to her side. "Ashley!" a fair, blue eyed girl jogs to the girl. "He did it", Ashley blurts out. The other girl pauses. "What?"

"Lucas hurt my sister", Ashley says soberly staring up at the school building.

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

Your braids like a pattern

Love you to the moon and to Saturn

Passed down like folk songs

Our love lasts so long

seven, Taylor Swift

Please picture me

In the weeds

Before I learned civility

I used to scream ferociously

Any time I wanted

seven, Taylor Swift

New OC: Yana, based on @crescentfrog , hope you like this💛

The pictures in the moodboards are from Pinterest and We heart it✨

taglist: @char-writes, @athenswrites, @jezifster and @the-void-writes

#original story #original character #victorianshannon #fantasy #fiction #original characters #ocs #wattpadstories #wattpad #writerblr #aesthetics #moodboards #taylor swift #music #seven #the lakes

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kennedylovett · 1 year

Photo

❛ YOU SHOULD FIND ANOTHER GUIDING LIGHT. ❜

general info.

full name: kennedy brooke lovett age & birthdate: 30 , october 3, 1992 zodiac: libra sun, capricorn moon, cancer rising my lil chart disaster muse gender & pronouns: cis woman , she / her orientation: homosexual homoromantic residence: downtown occupation: tattoo artist at ink city top songs on spotify: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine, portions for foxes by rilo kiley, clementine by halsey, bite marks by the mistys, nights like this by kehlani, all i do by ally hills, needed me by rihanna, all i wanted by paramore, right where you left me by taylor swift. character inspiration: peyton sawyer (one tree hill), leslie shay (chicago fire), leigh shaw (sorry for your loss)

the story so far.

trigger warnings : mentions of death, infidelity, depression .

she'd see to it that she wouldn't.

being away from her parents is freeing. it's like finally seeing the sun.

pulling herself up by the bootstraps and reminding herself what it's like to run a brush through her hair, kennedy is uneasy in hitting the resume button on her life. she has to, at some point, with the way everyone is tiptoeing around her and offering up horribly shitty sentiments like maisy would want for you to be happy. it's almost her way of lashing out when she attaches herself to katrina: see? she wants to yell out, middle finger her banner proudly hoisted high. i can move on. i can pretend to be happy. the two of them are only together for six months before they're engaged, married before it's been a year. kennedy paints her plastic smile on and dips her toes back into the world of being a fully functional human being, despite feeling like she's dead and rotting from the inside out. she gets a job as an artist at ink city, hoping the owner will take a chance on her and look past the fact she’s holding the tattoo gun to see if she can bring some kind of pain onto herself to feel something again.

and then, there's a spark.

at first, it's nothing, it's just a salve to another fight with katrina and a way to offload the tension that follows them into the office and borders on the edge of unprofessional. as time goes on, kennedy realizes just how long it's been since she's breathed a lungful of air. it's as though the world slowly retuns to focus, kennedy beyond uncomfortable at this halfway point she's found herself building a little life on. she loathes it, and she loathes who she's woken up and found herself becoming, but her hands are bound. true discontent becomes fully realized, and kennedy begins to kick in order to give herself a leg room. she and katrina have never been good, truly, but they deteriorate as time goes on until they’re unofficially officially separated, living on different ends of town and kennedy trying to cover up that black hole of her life with a tiny throw rug in her new apartment. it's the first time in years that kennedy's been willing to take a chance on herself; a little part of her hesitates still, but she's ready to jump the gun. in her rebirth, she has grown restless. she'll engineer her own goddamn light to grow in if she has to.

connections.

brendan nichols: perhaps the only person not blood related to brendan nichols that will give him the time of day, kennedy’s something like his wing woman (and he for her) whenever they go out. they get into shit together, bicker like siblings, but at the end of the day, they’d ride or die for each other.

kyla donovan: stoner buddies.

desired.

the middle lovett sibling.

situationship.

#fairfordintro

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neonacity · 2 years

Text

August - N.J. x Reader

“Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose You weren't mine to lose, no”

- August, Taylor Swift

Prologue > Cruel Summer > Haechan x Reader

Theme: Unrequited love, pining, angst

For Jaemin, she is like winter.

She is beautiful in her stillness, the type of perfection that doesn't scream in color but stands out with its muted shades. She is cold and distant, the heroine everyone wants to save but can't even touch. He knows, because every time he tried to reach out, he would always pull back at the last moment, hesitating to break down walls he wasn't even sure she wanted to crumble.

She was like ice. Graceful but sharp, cutting one moment but slipping like water between his fingertips the next. He had seen it that day when he held her in his arms, her form shaking as she finally let the cracks inside of her run their course. It was the only time she let him in, but for him, it was the crucial moment that sealed his fate.

"You'll catch a cold if you sit here. Why don't you come inside?"

Jaemin watched the way her eyes flickered with the light of the moonbeams. Her head was tipped towards the sky, but there was a look in her face that told him she wasn't seeing any of the beauty there.

"Did Haechan and her leave already?"

He didn't like the way silence clung in the air as he hesitated over the question. He would have answered immediately if it means sparing her from pain, but he couldn’t do it, despite his good intentions. Maybe because deep inside, he knew that regardless of his answer, he would still end up wounding her.

"Does it really bother you? What he does?" He answered her question with his own as he finally settled on the seat next to her. She was silent, but she might as well have shouted the thousand things she'd been trying to hold back instead.

"It shouldn't."

"But it does. Because you're in love with him."

He saw the exact moment her emotional barricades started breaking down. For the untrained eye, she looked serene like a frozen lake, but he could clearly see the storm slowly picking up within her from the way the light in her eyes died.

"And he only wants her," she whispered to the wind in a voice frail like the thinnest of frost. Jaemin never took his eyes off her, not even when tears started painting her moonwashed cheeks. She didn't flinch from his gaze and he took her in—her beauty, her pain—the way her sun refused to see her.

"What am I going to do, Jaemin?"

Her question made his gut clench. It felt like the sting of harsh sleet against raw skin, painful and unrelenting. He wanted to do so many things at once; pull her in and hide her away somewhere where pain couldn't reach her anymore. At the same time, there was a part of him that wanted for the world to see her as she is now—Haechan most especially—so that they get a glimpse of how unadulterated love looks despite not deserving it. Jaemin reached out to her, fingers wrapping around her wrists, and gently pulled her towards his chest as if she would dissolve under his fingers at the slightest touch. She melted against him immediately and he held her as if he was the only thread keeping all her broken pieces together.

"Here's what you are going to do. You're going to feel the pain. You're going to feel it until it gets too much. There will be moments when you will go numb, and times when everything will crash. Don't hide from them. Feel them until you can tell yourself that you don't want to feel anymore."

Warmth spread in his shirt like a winter river melting the snow away. He didn't flinch but took everything fully instead. He wanted to shield her from everything, but he also knew this is what she needed at the moment.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let myself get in too deep.” He felt her words more than he heard them. His hold on her tightened until he could almost feel her heart beat directly over his. In that moment, he could swear they were finally in the same page.They may not be looking at the same north star, but they were standing on the same axis.

Jaemin looked at the sky, up at the moon watching over them.

“Sometimes, we don’t really have a choice of who we get to love.”

For Jaemin, she is like winter, unrelenting, and distant. But she is also beautiful, the season someone needs to give way to the hope of spring. Until the sun finally shines down on her and melts the frost, he will always be there embracing the cold.

*******

Taglist: @negincho, @jhornytrash, @aaasteroidsky, @huangberryyy, @marijmin

#jaemin nct fic #nct jaemin fic #jaemin x reader #haechan x reader #jaemin angst #nct angst #nct angst fic #nct-writers

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outofsstyles · 4 years

Text

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other) who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter, “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped. “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he learned how to desensitize himself.

That doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship. “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown. He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit, until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice. “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks. “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee. “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn��t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat. “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually. Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it. Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist, “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief. “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response, “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago. “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts, “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug. “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing

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princess-of-riviaa · 3 years

Text

You Are In Love

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Skye of Skellige (OFC)

Summary: Geralt and Skye have had feelings for each other for ten years. Geralt finally addresses the elephant in the room.

Author's Note: The title for this oneshot comes from one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs of the same name on her 1989 album.

Warning(s): sex toy (vibrator), mentions of periods, dirty talk, emotional Geralt, masturbating (female), voyeurism, fingering, oral (female receiving), sweet smut

Word Count: 3,024

Little got under Geralt of Rivia’s skin. That’s what centuries of fighting for survival had done to him: turned him into a shell of a person that watched the world around him behind a glass wall, always shielding his heart and mind away, lest it see the light of day, or worse—lest it get reeled in by a mortal human, who would only cause him longing and heartache after a few quick decades spent together. No, it was better to hide himself away from that kind of hurt, the kind of hurt that even a poisonous scratch from a kikimora couldn’t compare to.

Little got under Geralt’s skin—until Skye of Skellige walked into his life.

She was everything he wasn’t: young and unscarred by life; kind and forgiving when most people wouldn’t be; and, maybe most importantly, loved by everyone. It was all of those things and more that drew him in. But it was the fact of her mortality that kept him fighting against his instincts to claim her as his own for an entire decade. The war to stay away from her had worked well enough--until one night, when his defenses had finally crumbled.

He’d convinced her to move further inland, and though she’d eventually agreed, noting that he had a point about the safety of the land protecting her from the sea gangs, she insisted that he would help her move what little belongings she had into her new cottage. Skye was moving in with her sister and brother-in-law, whom Geralt had only seen a handful of times in the last ten years. Silver, Skye’s sister, was staying on the coast for the night, preparing to bid farewell to her husband as he left for a sea voyage at dawn. Geralt and Skye had the small cottage to themselves.

Skye moved to the kitchen to find something to cook up for Geralt, while he continued to help her unbox her belongings. There was a small, frail box hidden inside a larger one that Geralt picked up and set on her bed. He opened it, merely intending to find a place for the contents before moving onto the next box. An intricate cloth was inside, wrapped around something long and circular. He picked it up and unwrapped the item, curiosity getting the best of him, and froze when he realized what it was. Painted a soft pink, the toy was capped with a smooth silicone head. It was small enough to be held in the hand comfortably, and the button on the side was placed in a convenient spot, allowing a finger to easily click it onto a higher setting when needed.

Geralt was old enough to be familiar with toys like this. In his youth, he’d witnessed enough women pleasuring themselves with them to understand their sole purpose. But the thought of Skye having one--sweet, innocent, naive Skye…

His cock twitched in his pants. Images of her sprawled on her bed, her naked body convulsing under the pleasure this toy gave her… It instantly aroused him. But there was a bitter feeling in his gut, too. It took him a moment to realize… it was jealousy. He was jealous of this pathetic toy, getting her off when he was more than capable of--

“Geralt…?” Skye’s voice came from the hallway.

His mind was still racing by the time she entered her small room. She scanned his face, noted the strange mix of emotions in his eyes, and then looked at the toy in his hands. Her lips parted, though she said nothing as her cheeks burned the brightest crimson.

Geralt realized this was the moment when he was supposed to apologize. He shouldn’t have opened the box, shouldn’t have gone through her things. He’d just been trying to help, but he’d crossed a line by finding this. And yet... he couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. An apology would imply regret, and he didn’t regret the thoughts running through his head right now. He didn’t regret thinking about how Skye would look as she lay naked on the bed sheets, spreading her legs for him as he neared her. Looking at him with desperate anticipation in the moments before he filled her up. Crying out in pleasure as he pushed inside of her, her walls tight and aching around his cock.

No, the only thing he regretted was that he was standing there wordlessly like an idiot and not taking her to bed right this second.

“I meant to unpack that earlier, but I couldn’t remember what box I’d put it in.” Skye mumbled the words as she stepped towards him, her gaze locked on his hands, on the toy, refusing to meet his gaze.

“This is yours,” was all he could think to say. Like an idiot. Way to state the obvious.

Skye stopped in front of him, and he swore her cheeks burned even brighter at his words. She reached out for the toy, but Geralt wasn’t about to let go of it, and her hand stayed locked on his and the toy. “Yes,” she whispered.

He should stop. She was clearly embarrassed. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable--

But he’d hidden the animal in him for years, and the sight of Skye’s toy had woken it up. He couldn’t hold back his desire now, no matter how selfish it was.

“You know how to use it.” It wasn’t a question.

Finally, her eyes lifted to meet his. Those grey eyes were as stormy as the clouds above the sea that she called home. It was one of his favorite things about this woman--the way her eye color seemed to change with every emotion she felt, just as the changing tides of the sea did. She stuck out her chin, forcing herself to look assertive. “Yes.”

“Show me.” The words were spoken before he could stop himself.

Her heartbeat quickened at the suggestion and the wicked thoughts that were undoubtedly running through her head now, if the swirling darkness in her eyes was anything to go by.

“Geralt…” Her voice was soft, shaky.

Four years ago, Skye had tried to seduce Geralt. She’d been nearing her monthly cycle, her hormones raging wildly inside of her, and Geralt was the only man around she trusted enough to be intimate with. And, she had claimed, the only man she had any desire to bed in the first place. She’d been a virgin then, and the thought of taking her first, the thought of claiming her in ways no one else ever could… It had taken all the willpower he had to turn her down. But he had, simply because he was terrified that she’d regret lying with him by the time the sun rose.

She’d told him years later that she hadn’t, in fact, regretted asking him to take her virginity. And when she’d given it to another man, a man who’d promised to marry her and fled as soon as he’d gotten what he’d wanted from her, she swore that it was a mistake. That she should have only given that part of her away to Geralt, because he was the only honorable man that deserved it.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that she’d wanted him for years now, in the same ways he craved her, and she now stood before him, looking at him like he was promising something too good to be true.

Geralt murmured, “I want you to show me how you use your toy. I want to see how you touch yourself. And then, I want to show you how I can make you feel a million times better than that toy ever could.”

She whimpered.

Fuck, that sound--his cock jumped again in his pants. Every instinct in him roared to take what he wanted, what she’d offered up to him years ago, but he forced himself to wait. Forced himself to take in a deep breath and ignore the scent of her growing arousal beginning to drip between her legs. Forced himself to say, “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me that you’ve changed your mind about me, and I’ll pretend I never saw the toy. We’ll walk out of here and eat dinner like nothing ever happened.”

She swallowed, her eyes widening, as if the thought of ignoring the heat between them for even one more day was terrifying. And his knees practically gave out in relief as she said, “Lock the door.”

…

Skye’s heart was pounding as she lifted her hands to her dress. She had no doubt Geralt could hear every racing beat of her heart, even from where he stood leaning against the doorframe. Her back was to him as she untied her dress and it fell to her feet, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments.

The air was electric, heated by the intensity of their unspoken lust. She’d wanted this for years now. Why was he finally giving in now? No, she wouldn’t question it. If this was some sort of dream, too good to be true, then she’d see it out until the end. She’d wanted her Witcher too long to hesitate now.

She undid the wrap around her chest. The small garment joined her dress on the ground. Her panties were next. She could feel Geralt’s eyes on her back, noting every feature on her body as if he was trying to memorize it.

Her hands continued to shake as she crawled onto the small bed and turned onto her back. Geralt took a step towards her, as if the sight of her naked body was too much for his self-control. She could see it in his eyes--the animal he’d leashed up around her, finally clawing free of its restraints. She wanted that wild creature to take her, to make her feel more pleasure than she thought possible. And more than anything, she wanted to make him feel just as good. His golden eyes darkened as he took in the rise of her breasts and the valley between her thighs. A deep, thrilling sound fell from his throat as she spread her legs for him.

She wasn’t just wet. She was soaked. Her fingers slid between her folds, gathering up her slick, teasing herself. Geralt watched every movement she made. From the look on his face, she knew he could smell her arousal. It made her thighs clench to know that he could sense the depths of her lust for him.

A second later the toy was in her hands. She slid it between her folds, lubricating the tip before turning it on. The soft whirring of the toy against her clit was the only sound in the room. She closed her eyes and pretended she was alone as she began to pleasure herself. The toy buzzed and vibrated between her folds, circling her entrance and making her walls clench around nothing. With a flick of her finger, it moved to a higher setting, and she slowly dragged it up her folds until it was pressed tight against her clit.

A moan escaped her as she gripped the bed sheets in her free hand, needing something to cling to as her body began to burn with delicious pleasure. She opened her eyes to look at Geralt--and moaned at the sight of his erection straining tight against his pants.

She wanted him inside of her.

Geralt’s eyes flared as he released a growl, and she realized with a start that she’d said that out loud.

He was at the bed in an instant, taking the toy from her and shutting it off before setting it back in the box he’d found it in. He moved to hover over her, getting as close as he could without touching her. He was teasing her, she realized.

“Geralt,” she whimpered, her mind already clouding with desire.

“What do you want first?” he breathed against her skin, his pupils swallowing up all the color of his eyes. “My fingers?”

She whimpered.

“Or my tongue?”

She moaned, the sound so whorish it made her entire body burn.

But then his head was between her legs and her embarrassment morphed into pleasure. He kissed the inside of her thighs as he moved her legs over his shoulders. And then he got to work on her core. He teased her with quick, short kitten licks at first. But upon watching her buck her hips with wanton desperation, he buried his face against her core and began to suck on her clit, closing his eyes as if he felt every drop of her pleasure.

“G-Geralt!” she moaned brokenly, her hands moving to tug at his hair.

He growled against her. The sound vibrated against her pussy and her back arched as her vision went white--

“I’m c-close, Geralt,” she whined. “Please don’t s-stop.”

He placed a hand at the edge of her lips and she began to suck on his fingers as her hips ground against his face. He opened his eyes and met her gaze and the sight of him looking up at her, his mouth against her core, his fingers in her mouth, made her dizzy. Her mouth fell open in a cry of pleasure and he pulled his hand back--only to shove two fingers inside of her. That was all she needed to fall over the edge. Her body shook against him as she came so hard she squirted around his fingers.

When she was spent, he pulled away from her. She watched through tired eyes as he rose to his feet and began to undress himself. This man was a god of beauty; she’d go to her grave believing it. For years, she’d been convinced there was no hotter sight than Geralt in his black Witcher gear. She finally realized how terribly wrong she was. His body was perfect, sculpted by the gods themselves, and she scanned his body, devouring every curve of muscle and pale white scar on his body.

And his cock--

He was huge. His erection poked out at her and she bit her lip, wondering how the hell she was supposed to fit all of him inside of her. Dark curls swirled around the base of his shaft. The tip was red and throbbing, precum already making it shine.

“You’re perfect,” she breathed, and then he was on top of her, pushing her back until her head was against the pillow.

His arms wrapped around her as his mouth met hers. The way he held her… she’d never felt safer. Or more aroused. Her hands were a wild frenzy on his chest, not knowing where to touch first. They swallowed each other's moans as they moved against each other, losing themselves in burning desire. Skye’s heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst out of her chest, but she didn’t dare stop long enough to calm down. Not as Geralt’s leg pressed against her core. Her hips moved on their own, desperately bucking against the pressure of his muscled thigh. The sound of his breathless moans, the feeling of him clenching the sheets around her--it was all so much, yet none of it was enough.

“Fuck me, Geralt,” she breathed into his mouth.

He growled as he bit her bottom lip. And then his mouth was moving lower, biting sensually at her neck, her chest, her breasts. This fire was going to burn her alive.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against her skin. “You.”

She released a broken moan as he spread her legs and rose to his knees. “I’m yours, Geralt. I’ve always been yours.”

And it was those words--the promise that came with them--that rang throughout the room as he entered her. Skye’s mouth fell open at the pain of him splitting her open. She bit her bottom lip, and before she could clutch onto the bed sheets, trying not to cry out in pain, he laced his hands through hers. She held onto him as he slowly pushed all the way inside of her.

He buried his head in her neck as he filled her to the brim, and for a moment they just laid there, basking in the sensations of their united bodies, of finally getting what they’d both craved for so long. Geralt murmured something against her skin.

“What?” she asked, just as the words registered.

I love you.

She blamed it on the intensity of the night as her eyes filled with tears.

Geralt pulled back to look at her, fear in his eyes as he waited for her to react to the words.

But she merely pulled him in for a kiss. Words escaped her, but that kiss seemed to say enough for him. He kissed her back deeper, his tongue gliding along hers as his hips began to move. She moaned as his cock slid between her walls.

“I love you,” she breathed back as he quickened his pace, desire making her see stars.

They exchanged those three words over and over as he moved inside of her. And when he finally came, it was her name that he cried out, the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

After, they lied together on her small bed. Skye rested her head on his chest, listening to his slow heartbeat. Their legs tangled together as his hands ran through her hair, the touch so soft and relaxing that her eyes grew heavy.

“I love you,” he said into the quiet room, sounding almost hesitant. As if he were afraid that, now that their lovemaking had ended, she wouldn’t want to repeat it.

“Took you long enough,” she said with a smirk.

She could feel his gaze on the top of her head. “What?”

Skye finally looked up at him as she said, “I’ve been in love with you for ten years, you idiot. You’re lucky I’m a patient woman.”

He gave her a playful glare, opening his mouth to rebuttal, but she interrupted him with a kiss, and he seemed more than content to kiss her back.

...

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#geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt of rivia smut #geralt the witcher #the witcher #the witcher smut #henry cavill #henry cavill smut

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preciouspeterbparker · 3 years

Text

the warmest bed i’ve ever known

finally got this bitch finished!

based on “tis the damn season” by taylor swift. i was also listening to the phoebe bridgers cover of “christmas song”, “last christmas” cover by pale waves (recorded @ spotify), and “home alone, too” by the staves

also this is only my 2nd time writing starker so lmk what you think plz?

happy holidays! - bloo

word count: 6.07k. this was intended to basically be a porny blurb...instead there’s so much fucking plot it’s probably overwhelming and minimal porn. i’m sorry

warnings: angst, depression & anxiety, drug use (that good kush ft some hotboxing & shotgunning), smut, character death (not tony or peter), tony’s kind of country lmao. despite all the aforementioned things, there is in fact a happy ending!

summary: peter makes the trip back home for christmas and once again finds himself caught up in deep brown eyes and a charming smile. tis the damn season.

Peter had forgotten how cold New York winters were. He’d grown used to the year-long warmth of Los Angeles. He supposed the cold was appropriate- it was as if the weather was in cahoots with the solid, frigid thing that was sitting in the pit of his stomach. The last time he’d spent Christmas in Aurora, the last time he’d seen him… Tony.

Just thinking the other man’s name made Peter flex his hands anxiously as he slid out of the driver’s seat of his black Mercedes AMG GT into the amber glow of the streetlight, gently shutting the door closed behind him, still in the overly cautious period of owning the new car. He wondered what Tony would think of it. Last time Peter had come home, he was still driving May’s old Subaru. It’d been almost 2 years to the day, now, which felt like both a century and no time at all. He wished it wasn’t so hard. He wished they hadn’t been caught in this song & dance for so long. It seemed like no matter how good Peter’s intentions, it always came down to one thing: he was so damn scared. He always ran away, no matter how badly he wanted to stay.

Scuffing a boot through the slush in the street, the brunette straightened his shoulders and made his way toward the brick building, a quick smile quirking half his mouth up as he read the neon red sign above the closed garage door. Stark’s. Memories came flooding back, the countless nights he spent cooped up in the little shop during high school, sketching elaborate ensembles and daydreaming about having his very first collection while surrounded by the smell of motor oil and the sounds of tinkering. The bell above the door jingled merrily as Peter stepped through and wiped his feet on the mat. The pleasant sound of Frank Sinatra crooning the words of “The Christmas Waltz” met his ears. Another small smile flitted over Peter’s face. That was something that tended to happen when he was around Tony.

“Just a second,” came the slightly muffled voice, a little strained. The man in question was bent over, headfirst in the engine of his old 1979 Chevy C10, the one he’d gotten senior year of highschool. The collar of a heather grey henley peeked out from under a deep red and green plaid flannel stretched over his shoulders as he leaned a little further under the hood, using a wrench to tighten what looked to be a lugnut to Peter from his spot by the door, too nervous to go further inside.

“I can wait,” Peter replied softly, trying not to stare at Tony’s jean-clad ass and anxious of the older boy man’s reaction. (It looked like Tony had done a lot of growing up over the past two years, no longer the boy he remembered. Peter supposed the same could be said about himself in a way, though he wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse.)

And apparently he was right to be cautious.

Tony promptly smacked his head on the underside of the hood as he jerked upright at the sound of Peter’s voice. “Fuck.” Moving more carefully, Tony stood upright and turned around, his dark eyes wide. “Peter,” he said, visibly and audibly surprised. To be honest, it hurt Peter a little bit, how surprised he sounded. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Did they not do this nearly every year over the past seven? Had- Oh god, had something changed? Fuck, did Tony finally get tired of- Had he found-

Peter resolutely cut that train of thought off before he could panic. “Hi, Tony.” He swallowed drily, making eye contact for a moment, before casting his eyes away only for them to make their way back to the open face in front of him. “Think you have time for a quick bite to eat?” He slipped his left hand into the pocket of the new, warm wool coat he bought expressly for this trip. “It’s almost dinner time. And I have a treat,” he intoned, tapping his right pointer and middle fingers against his lips.

Tony beamed and immediately reached for a shop rag to wipe his hands, the black grease and oil smearing on the probably-used-to-be-white-at-some-point fabric. One of those hands came up to scratch at his facial hair, a new addition that made something simmer deep in Peter’s gut. The older man's brown eyes twinkled as he paused to glance at Peter. “You had me at ‘hi, Tony.’” He then proceeded to move about the shop, swiping his phone from atop a chest of metal drawers, Sinatra’s voice coming to an abrupt stop. He pulled on his old lined jean jacket (the one Peter was constantly mending in high school; now it just had small tears in some places, and what appeared to be Tony’s d-i-y patchwork in others). The sign on the front door was flipped to ‘closed’ and Tony pulled a keyring from his belt loop, locking it and flicking off the lights. The streetlights outside the building and the colorful holiday lights strung along the edge of the roof provided just enough light for them to be able to clearly see each other, the sun having set early, around four o’clock. Peter had forgotten about that as well.

He moved to grab his car keys from a pocket but Tony spoke up, patting the dark green paint of his truck’s hood and walking over to the garage door. His hand hovered over the button that would open it. “Actually, I just finished giving Delilah a tuneup, mind if we take ‘er for a spin?”

“Sure,” Peter agreed without hesitation, still feeling relieved (and grateful) that his invitation was accepted.

Tony pushed his palm against the button and paused to do a double-take after the metal door lifted completely. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Peter’s car parked in the small lot beside the shop. “Damn, L.A.. Not worried about your fancy new car?” His tone was slightly teasing, but there was a bit of shock mixed with something else as well, and it caused Peter to go hot, feeling insecure. (What if Tony didn’t like who Peter was, now? Peter didn’t exactly like who he was now.) Tony must’ve noticed his discomfort, because he cracked a grin and bumped his shoulder against Peter’s as he made his way to the driver’s side, yanking the door open. “C’mon, Parker, ‘m just fuckin’ with you. Hop in - how’da some burgers from Delmar’s an’ a trip out to the field sound?”

***

They grabbed food from the hole-in-the-wall diner down the road (the one where sixteen year-old Peter burned the shit out of his hand on his first day and promptly quit) and once they were bundled back in the truck with their burgers, fries and one banana milkshake (“yeah, but these are your favorite,” Tony had said in response to Peter’s exclamation that it was too cold out), Tony drove them out to the field behind the old high school. He parked the car under the lamppost, leaving it running in order to keep the heat on. His thick mechanic’s fingers began to fiddle with the temperature controls. Nat King Cole was playing quietly on the radio.

Peter shifted the paper bag of food in his lap, searching for words but not knowing what to say, and plucked the joint and lighter from his coat. The paper-covered filter found its way between his lips and he inhaled softly as he lit the tip. Satisfied with the light, he french inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. The first hit was always the best. Peter loved the way he could feel it all the way in his bones. He didn’t know how to describe it other than deep. When he opened them, he made eye contact with Tony in the dim light, and immediately cut his gaze away as he felt the heat rush to his face. He could feel when Tony looked away a moment later.

The lull continued and Peter gingerly held the joint between his fingertips as he exhaled, hand outstretched.

Worn fingers plucked it away, and Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to the slightly chapped lips that wrapped themselves around the filter. “You stayin’ at um, at May's...old place?” Tony faltered as he inhaled, as if he wasn't sure what the most sensitive way to talk about it was.

“Yeah," Peter said softly as he looked down at his lap. Spending his first night in the house alone last night had made him feel the loneliest he'd ever been in his life, and that was saying something because he’d been feeling pretty miserable lately. Peter saw May everywhere he looked, waiting to hear her call for him to come taste some new-fangled recipe from the kitchen, or to please, for the hundredth time, rinse the dishes before he put them in the sink. He missed her more than he thought possible, her death earth-shattering after having already lost Ben when he was 17, back when this mess all started. When he left for the first time. When he started running away. “It’s- It’s weird but I’m...adjusting. It’s honestly not that different to when she was alive, though. Y’know- recently.” He cut himself off, not sure if he wanted Tony to know the full reality of his existence, now.

Because it was true. It killed Peter to admit it, but his relationship with Aunt May started going downhill around the time of Ben’s death, too. By the time she had her heart attack a little more than two years ago, he hadn’t seen her in over a year, or talked to her in nearly as long. It was the biggest regret of his life, pushing May away; the second was the way he essentially did the same thing to Tony, however drawn-out it had been.

Peter reached out for the joint and his fingers brushed against Tony’s, sending a jolt up his spine. “How,” Peter started, swallowing as he twiddled the lighter between his fingers not holding the joint. “How’ve you been, Tony?” He was scared to ask what he really wanted to know. Have you finally had enough? Did you stop waiting on me? Am I too late? To distract himself a bit, he cracked the window so he could ash the joint before taking another drag.

"Same ol’, same ol’,” came Tony’s reply, his voice weary. “I mean, you already know this, but nothin’ really changes here." The quiet way he said it was slightly self-deprecating and the younger man hated it, hated that he had something to do with it. (Peter remembered the way he spat the words at Tony in the wee hours of the morning oh so long ago. "I've gotta get out of this fucking town- I can’t stay here, Tony! You might be okay dying here, a nobody with nothing, but I'm not!")

That’s why I had to leave, he thought, chest tightening. I was trapped in this town. It was never you, Tony. You were perfect. You’re perfect.

"..Yeah," is what came out instead. Peter took another hit before he handed the joint back to Tony and began rifling through the grease-splotched bag, passing the older man his burger before unwrapping his own. He took the top bun off in order to lay down a handful of fries from the bag, smooshing the top back on afterwards. A moan left Peter’s mouth at the first bite, and he heard a chuckle bubble up from Tony’s chest. (He would never admit it, especially not to anyone back in L.A., anyone who didn’t know him before, but this was his favorite meal in the world.)

“Funny that you still do that. So, um,” Tony began again, stuffing a few fries in his mouth and chewing as he spoke out the side of his mouth. “I saw your new collection. It looked nice.” He licked a bit of salt off his thumb.

Peter’s ears burned as he swallowed his bite and raised an eyebrow at the man across from him. “You pay attention to fashion, now?” He fought off a smile at the thought of Tony delicately flipping through the pages of a high-fashion magazine.

“Not like- I’ve tried to keep up with your work,” Tony mumbled, swallowing, his own face taking on a bit of a rosy-hue. “Like to know what you're up to all the way out there.” The joint touched his lips for a few seconds before it made its way back to Peter’s fingers. “I do know how Google works.”

Peter shivered as he felt something flutter in the pit of his stomach at the salt grains that touched his tongue when he took his next pull. “Tastes like salt,” he breathed on the exhale, locking eyes with Tony through the smoke that had accumulated in the car.

Something flashed in the older man’s eyes as he stole the weed back and took a large hit, crooking his salt-sprinkled fingers to beckon Peter closer.

Peter’s own reddened eyes widened when he caught on to what Tony wanted, his heart picking up speed. They hadn’t done that in years. Still clutching his burger in his left hand, he used the right to support himself as he leaned over the console to press his mouth against Tony’s. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, fighting the urge to slip his tongue somewhere it didn’t belong. One of Tony’s hands came up to pull his head closer for a moment, his tongue having the same idea as Peter’s, causing him to whine into Tony’s mouth. His pants were getting tight as he licked right back in response, feeling a slight burn from exhaling through his nose. He missed this. Nobody kissed him like Tony did-

“Shit!” Tony pulled away sharply, and Peter’s heart stopped for a second. But when he realized what was happening, he couldn’t contain the surprised cackle that erupted as he saw the joint land in the other man’s lap. “Quit it,” was Tony’s reply, though he was grinning as he said it. He grabbed what was left of the joint off his jeans and stubbed it out the rest of the way on the dashboard. “It burned my fuckin’ finger.”

“Oh poor baby,” Peter shot back, shifting in his seat and taking another bite of his burger. He willed the slight chub to go away, but knew it was a lost cause. He pretty much signed up for it; he was always turned on when he was high around Tony (and most of the time when he was sober, too). Some kind of conditioning or something, he thought deliriously.

“Ya better hush up, Parker,” Tony snarked and dipped some fries into Peter’s banana shake. He rolled his neck a bit, reaching for his burger. “So, kid. Tell me ‘bout L.A..”

***

Peter was basking peacefully in his high, humming along to whatever was playing through the speakers. He and Tony had both finished their food, chatting about this and that, but nothing of real substance, their earlier stilted conversation far from their minds. Shooting the shit, as Tony called it, over some weed and a meal was their normal routine when they were younger, and it came as naturally as breathing. Peter had never met anyone else he could simply coexist with on this level, simply enjoying the other’s presence for what it was. I love you, he thought as he looked at Tony, who was leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed and nodding his head along with the beat. I’m so in love with you and it scares the shit out of me.

The younger man’s eyes roved over Tony’s face as his mind raced. What was he doing? Would something be different this time? He wasn’t that angry seventeen year old anymore- now he was twenty-four, clinically depressed, and living someone else’s life. Would it be so bad to finally leave that all behind, to finally let himself have what he’s denied himself for so long? Didn’t he deserve to be happy, after all this pain? And even if it wasn’t in the cards for them, if Peter was destined to be alone, wouldn’t even the most miniscule amount of time with Tony be worth it?

Tony’s gravelly voice startled him back to the present. “I should probably be gettin’ you home, huh, Peter?” The bearded man opened his eyes and began sitting up, turning to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, and Peter didn’t know if he should agree or protest, so he merely lifted a shoulder in faux indifference, shooting Tony a half-smile.

Please, call me Pete… Just Pete, Peter begged in his head. Tony calling him by his full name made the ugly thing in his chest wriggle uncomfortably. Last time he was home, before he said those awful things, Tony hadn’t called him Peter in years. Yet another beautiful thing that he’d taken for granted and ruined for himself.

“Could also drive around for a bit if you wanted, see some lights.” Damn Tony and his ability to read Peter so well. The suggestion was soft, and he looked down as he said it, almost as if he was feeling shy.

Peter shook his head minutely and shifted a little in his seat, gently biting his lip. “I’m getting a little tired, haven’t smoked in a while,” he lied through his teeth, but the smile on his face was real this time.

Tony grinned right back at him.

(“What would we even do on a date? There’s nothing to do here, Tony,” Peter said with a laugh. “I dunno,” Tony replied, snuggling the lighter-haired teenager closer into his chest as they snuggled on the couch. “We could go look at the Christmas lights, get some hot chocolate… I could tie some mistletoe to the mirror in the truck. There’d be sum kissin’ involved….” He trailed off as Peter’s lips found his own. “Or we could do the kissin’ right here,” he murmured, sinking into the kiss.)

***

The drive back to May’s house was spent with Tony catching Peter up on everyone in town as they passed various houses. (“Remember Happy Hogan, the butcher?? Him an’ that pretty florist, Ms. Potts, got married last year. Think they’re havin’ a baby,last I heard.” “Rhodey’s mama died this spring, she got cancer, but he an’ Mr. Rhodes still live out here now that Rhodey’s moved home. Honorable discharge last fall. Done got himself a new girlfriend now too, Carol; he met ‘er in the Air Force. She’s a sweet one, I think you’d like ‘er.”)

When they pulled into the driveway, Tony cut the engine and hopped out. Peter did the same, grabbing the bag with their trash and patting his pocket, double-checking for his keys and lighter. He stepped around Tony, who had stopped at the bottom of the front steps, and walked up to the door, fumbling for a minute with his keys under the porch light to find the right one (it had robin’s egg blue polka-dots of May’s favorite nail polish). Tony’s footsteps followed him up the stairs.

Peter stuck the key in the lock and opened the door a crack before turning to face the taller man. “So.”

Tony’s eyes searched his own as they gazed at one another. “So,” he parroted back. His index finger went up to rub at his nose as he took a hard sniff in. There was a beat of silence. “Thanks for the joint, and uh, the company. It was good seein’ you,” he said at last, a hint of his signature lopsided grin curving his lips.

Peter felt the goodbye that was coming before it even left Tony’s mouth, and something in him broke. “Don’t leave me here alone.” The words came out of Peter’s mouth in a mumble, and suddenly he couldn’t make eye contact with Tony, losing focus and staring at his own feet instead. He felt the harsh burning of tears as it hit him again just how alone he was about to be when he walked inside, how alone he already was. He was always so fucking alone.

Even in L.A., so much bigger than fucking Aurora, New York, surrounded by thousands of people, Peter still felt invisible, insignificant. He had no friends. Sure, he had a publicist, and connections, and celebrity acquaintances & clientele. But without his money and his clothes, what would he have? What did he have when he was just Peter Parker, rather than Peter Benjamin, semi-famous designer? Nothing. (When he got the call about May, and he’d broken down in the bathroom during a business meeting with representatives for Tom Ford, he realized he had no one to call. No one to comfort him or tell him it would be okay. He’d sobbed into his pillow that night, screaming his throat raw with Tony’s number punched into his phone, ready to be dialed. He never called.) He had nothing and no one, and it was all his fault because he was so stupid, and maybe this is just what he deserved. If he hadn’t pushed everyone-

“Hey- Hey, Peter, no. Never,” Tony was saying gently, cautiously pulling Peter into his strong arms and out of his anxiety attack. “‘m not goin’ anywhere if y’don’t want me to, baby.” He tucked Peter’s head under his chin, a chill running down his spine due to the chilly evening air. “S’okay, everythin’s okay.”

Peter sucked in a deep breath through his mouth, trying to calm himself. His forehead dug into Tony’s shoulder painfully but it helped to ground him. The soothing sensation of Tony’s fingers tracing circles on his back helped, too. Peter’s breath was still hitching every so often, so he shut his eyes and tried to synch his breathing with Tony’s. It felt so nice to just be this close to someone- Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held. Tony had probably been the last one to do it, though. (He’d had sex in L.A. of course, but it was all superficial. Nothing real. Nothing like what he had with Tony- not even close.) Shifting slightly, he buried his nose in the crook of Tony’s neck, searching unconsciously for the smell he loved so much; a mix of gasoline, teakwood, and something smoky. The scent sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, and that hot feeling simmered in his stomach again. He’d always joked that he would bottle Tony’s smell if he could. Tony would just laugh and jokingly tease Peter for always having his nose in his neck or armpit.

Now Tony just hummed lightly in response, tightening his hold for a moment before relaxing. “‘Yer’okay,” he whispered, once he could feel that Peter’s breathing had evened out for the most part.

Peter pulled back a bit and stared at a spot in the middle of Tony’s chest, thinking. He decided to go for it. Worst that could happen was Tony saying no, and leaving Peter here alone, but he knew he’d end up alone eventually. But he’d delay the inevitable as long as he could. “Kiss me, T,” he said quietly, leaning in before he could change his mind. His lips brushed Tony’s and he pulled back, trying not to go cross eyed looking into the other’s eyes. “I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

Tony stared at him for a moment before their mouths met again, and Peter nipped gently at his lip before clumsily walking backwards through the cracked front door, pulling Tony with him with their mouths still connected. Tony’s foot kicked it closed behind them, bathing them in darkness, and he tripped a bit when Peter clutched at the lapels of his jacket a little too hard. Cursing under his breath, he leaned back against the door and tugged Peter along, using the support behind him to balance as he toed his boots off. They disconnected momentarily as the shorter man did the same, hands still gripping the denim.

Peter licked his lip as they stood in the dark entryway. Looking up at Tony, he shrugged his coat off, letting it fall to the hardwood floor beneath them. He reached out and gently pushed the denim jacket off the taller man’s shoulders too before leaning in, stopping just before their lips made contact. “Come upstairs with me,” he whispered.

Tony’s mocha eyes flitted around for a minute, searching his face for something. Peter couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw, but Tony kissed him again before taking his hand. “Your room,” he questioned, taking hold of the banister and leading Peter up the stairs.

***

“Fuck, Tony. Right there, right there, ohhhhh.” Peter was on his back with one leg thrown over Tony’s shoulder and the other bent off to the side, the ball of his foot pushing into the mattress. The mechanic’s uncut cock was stretching his lubed hole. Tony was leaning over him and one of his hands was clutching at Peter’s hip, the other at the leg up by his face. His facial hair scratched deliciously against the pale skin on the inside of Peter’s knee as he pressed a kiss there.

(Tony had kissed and licked and sucked praises into the skin of his neck, chest, stomach and thighs as he’d fingered him open at a torturously slow pace. “So good fer me, Pete. Look at you. You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Peter had whimpered and whined the whole time as he tried to fuck himself on the thick digits whose pads were caressing his prostate.)

A moan left the older man’s lips as he looked into Peter’s eyes. “You feel so good, baby. Always feel so- fuckin’- good,” he grunted, thrusting further in the tight, wet heat. “Love fuckin’ your ass.” He dug his fingers tighter into Peter’s skin, sure to leave bruises.

Gasping, Peter arched his hips up, toes curling, cock bobbing against his stomach with every thrust. He could feel Tony deep inside him, in that place that only he had ever been able to reach. Fuck, why had he ever let this go? Never letting you go again, Tony. You can’t leave me alone. I need you. I love you. He whined, baring his neck in a silent plea and bringing his leg down so that both were wrapped around the man’s thick waist. Tony reacted accordingly; his hands moved up to clutch at Peter’s near the headboard and his mouth latched onto the column of Peter’s neck, sucking. A wounded noise escaped Peter, his hole clenching, and Tony bit down harshly at the sensation. Peter keened again, going limp on the mattress as his legs fell open to the side. “Shit, Tony, god!”

Hot, wet breath tickled Peter’s neck with every ragged exhale that left Tony’s mouth, causing the smaller to whine lewdly, squirming. “Yeah? Are you- mine? Y’gon be mine- huh, Pete?” Peter heard the unspoken question, the twinge of desperation in Tony’s voice. Will you finally be mine? He sounded tired, that deep-in-your-bones type weariness, Peter noticed as he felt his own chest start to get tight. He’d really done a number on the person who deserved it the least. And for what? To come crawling back years later, expecting to be forgiven?

Yes, he thought in response to Tony’s question, hating himself for it. One of his hands tangled itself in the crown of Tony’s head, fingers pulling the strands at the root possessively as teeth sunk into his neck again. Yours. Always yours. He let out another moan, rolling his hips in an attempt to get some friction on his neglected cock that was weeping precum as Tony continued to thrust in and out of him. “Please, please- Tony, please.” If Peter had any shame left, he’d probably be blushing at how needy and wrecked he sounded. Instead it just turned him on, knowing just how gone he was for the other man.

With a grunt, Tony redistributed his weight and brought two fingers to Peter’s lips. “Open up fer a minute, baby,” he requested softly, slipping the digits inside. Peter laved them with his tongue, coating them with thick saliva and Tony groaned at the feeling, dick twitching in Peter’s ass. Once they were sufficiently wet, he pulled his fingers away, a thin string of drool stretching to connect them to Peter’s slick lips. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, Pete, Christ.” His calloused hand wrapped loosely around the hot, rosy cock between them. “Fuck my hand, baby.”

Peter complied without hesitation, rocking his hips and pressing his shaft in and out of the slick tunnel that was Tony’s hand. He cried out when Tony’s thumb caressed the underside of the head as the cock inside of him nailed directly into his prostate. The pressure had already been a lot, but the pleasure was suddenly overwhelming in a new way. He was so close and Tony hadn’t even been touching him for thirty seconds. “F-fuck, Tony, I’m gonna- Ahhhhh-”

“Yeah, cum for me, Pete,” Tony’s warm breath heaved into his ear, tongue sneaking out to lick the outer shell and dip inside briefly at the same time he tightened his grip on Peter’s sensitive member. “Fuck, cum for me, baby, cum on my- Cum on my cock- God-.”

And with a cry, Peter did just that, biting into Tony’s shoulder as the tension in his gut snapped, hole twitch relentlessly around the hard cock inside him as his own shot spurt after spurt of hot cum on his chest; some reached the hollow of his throat and his chin. “God, Tony, shit, shit, shit.”

“Yesssss, Pete, holy fuck.” Tony buried himself inside one last time, his mouth latching onto the column of Peter’s neck as he reached his orgasm, shoving himself inside as deep as possible. His dick twitched, painting Peter’s insides with his spend and making him groan.

They stayed that way for a moment before Tony pulled back to look into Peter’s eyes. “Lemme clean’ya up,” he offered gently as he carefully pulled his softening cock out of the heat of the younger man’s ass. There was a slight burbling sound, and he brushed his lips against Peter’s when he saw the embarrassment flash across his face. “Hol’ on.” Climbing out of the bed, he made his way to the bathroom that was adjoined to Peter’s room.

Peter’s heart was beating uncomfortably in his chest as he lay among the sheets, bringing his hands up to his chest to fiddle with each other anxiously. It couldn’t be over. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He wasn’t ready to be alone again.

When Tony walked back in, he got back on the bed, gently wiping the cum off Peter’s chest with a warm rag, smirking at the full-body shivers that ran through the young man in response to the cloth being swiped lightly over his nipples. Once his chest was clean, Tony moved down to run the fabric between Peter’s ass cheeks, collecting the milky-white substance that was leaking out of the hole.

“Stay,” Peter whispered, once Tony had thrown the washcloth in the hamper and climbed back into bed at Peter’s invitation of patting the spot beside himself in bed. He wiggled so that his back was pressed up against Tony’s front. His fingers tangled themselves with those on a slightly larger hand and as he let his eyes slip shut, he felt Tony’s lips press a kiss into the sweaty curls at the back of his head.

***

When Peter woke up, it was well past noon. The bed was so warm that the heat from his and Tony’s bodies trapped up under the fluffy comforter would be sweltering if he didn’t crave it so much.

Peter swallowed drily as he looked at Tony’s face in the afternoon light, peaceful in sleep. At some point during their sleep, they had shifted to where they were facing each other. He wanted to trace his fingers along the strong facial features in front of him, but he refrained, not wanting to wake the older man. He knew he needed to talk to Tony. He knew that Tony deserved better. But maybe Peter could be selfish just this once... It was Christmas after all. Tis the damn season and all that.

Leaning forward, with a hand pressed gently against Tony’s chest, Peter pecked his lips against the sleeping man’s in a kiss. He got no response, so he did it again, adding a little more pressure. Tony began to stir; his arm wrapped lazily around Peter’s naked waist, pulling their bottom halves together.

“G’mornin’,” Tony mumbled sleepily as he blinked a few times before his gaze focused on Peter. His voice was scratchy and rough, and Peter’s hips jerked slightly in response as he whispered back his own greeting, partially because Tony had begun to get hard. The mechanic brought up a hand and took hold of Peter’s chin, pulling their mouths together as he ground their burgeoning erections together.

Peter wrapped a leg around Tony’s waist as they lay there on their sides and began to gently rock his hips. “Tony,” he mewled, eyes screwed shut. The words were bubbling up inside him, just like the arousal was blooming in his gut. One of his arms wrapped around Tony’s neck, pulling their bodies together as close as they could get.

“Yeah,” came Tony’s breathy reply. His eyes were roving over Peter’s flushed face as he undulated his own hips, thumb coming up to press against the younger’s spit-slick bottom lip. “Whadisit?”

Peter took the digit into his mouth for a moment and they made eye contact as he swirled his tongue around the tip, fellating it. He released it from his mouth with a pop, biting his own lip. “Am I too late,” he asked quietly, burying his face in the muscled chest before him, pecking tender kisses on the heated flesh. “Do you still love me?” His voice shook as he continued, breath faltering as well as the sensations built up. He squeezed his eyes shut even though Tony couldn’t see the tears building in his eyes as he chased his pleasure, preparing for the inevitable pain that was sure to follow.

“Pete.” The way Tony said his name was reverent, like he didn’t see Peter for the walking mistake that he was. He was breathing heavier now, too, with the exertion of frotting their hard cocks together. “How could I ever stop, baby?” He craned his neck in order to meet Peter’s eyes. “Was just waitin’ on ya t’come home.” He pressed their lips together as Peter’s leg tightened around his waist. “Was always just waitin’ on ya t’come home,” he repeated. A particularly hard thrust had them both groaning, clutching desperately at each other as they chased that euphoric feeling. “’Course I love you, Peter. Now cum for me.”

Peter couldn’t help but obey as a sob burst from his lips, Tony following him over the edge. “I love you,” he cried, as their bodies shook together. “I’m s-sorry Tony, I love you- Don’t go, don’t ever leave me. I won’t- I promise I won’t go again. I can’t go again, I can’t leave you again. I won’t.” Tony’s thumbs came up to wipe the tears from under his eyes, and a kiss was pressed to his temple as he felt himself be pulled into those strong arms.

“I’d never leave you, Pete.”

***

The bed was cold when Peter woke again. He lay there, watching the sunset through his bedroom window. Gentle creaks could be heard as the house groaned under pressure from the falling snow. He rolled over, grimacing at the pain in his lower half and pulling a pillow to his chest. It still smelled of teakwood, smoke, and gasoline. He smiled, burying his face further into the intoxicating scent. “I love you,” he whispered to the empty house, feeling lighter than he had in years.

(Yes, the bed was cold, now. But Tony would be back to warm it up. And he’d have burgers, fries, and a banana milkshake when he returned. Maybe even a joint. Peter was glad he didn’t have to wait long. They’d had just about enough of that over the past seven years.)

#starker #hey it might be a week later than i intended to finish but at least it's out by christmas #bloo writes bad things (tm)#enjoy!

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