#It's fine if it does but this is like a genuine source of sorrow for me 😭

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

Me ranting about a book below the cut but I just need to get this off my chest

Honestly, I hated that ending so fucking much. It's honestly so fucking impressive how the author was able to ruin two books worth of stuff in one single sentence at the end. I can't believe that she'd allow the two of them to take on other lovers. The MC went a full century without touching anyone else. She waited for her lover to awaken and yet??? I feel like the two of them just should not have gotten together if they were just gonna??? Break up, fuck other people for a hundred years, and then get back together? How on earth is that love? How on earth is that "fated"?

"Hey, I'm totally cool with you being miles away from me even though you genuinely do not have to be. Not only that, but I'm totally cool with both of us fucking a multitude of other people for literally a hundred years. After we're done with our hundred year escapade of not being loyal to each other, why don't we get back together?"

Fucking insane. That's your retelling? That's your happy ending?? What self respecting person would allow someone to put them on the back burner for 100 years? It's not like their love wasn't confessed. They admitted to loving each other. Or loving each other once, at least. So? Either end it or be faithful? Who the fuck allows themselves to be a "hmm... I'm gonna sample everyone else first and come back to you when I feel like it" for fucking 100 years? Is that really love prevailing? Is that really true love? And what on earth was with all that ambiguous sexuality bullshit? I'm going to kill someone.

Y'all, I am being so fucking serious when I say the ending of this book influenced by writing and my drive to be a writer in a way that literally nothing else has. This book had me in shambles. I can't think about it too long. I cried for days after. Just the thought of the line "Alyce, come home" can send me into turmoil fr. God, I fucking hate lesbian books. I'm never reading one again.

[charliedawn]

How would they react if you'd ask why they like you ?

Jason :

"Why do you like me ?"

The question took Jason by surprise and he stilled for a moment before raising his hands to answer you in sign language.

Like ?

He seemed genuinely confused and you wiped your tears away before explaining.

"Yes. Like. Everyone seems to hate me those days...How come you don't ?"

Jason didn't like to think too much about those kinds of things. He didn't care who liked him or not...Well, he did care if it was you.

But, he never really had to ask himself about it.

He shrugged.

Does it matter to...Y/N?

You nodded and Jason sighed before sitting down next to you. He didn't know what to answer, so he simply wrapped an arm around you and kept you against him.

He then removed his mask and smiled down at you—showing you that he trusted you before signing back.

I like you. No reason. Nothing. Just. Jason.

Somehow, it made sense to you and you smiled back.

"I see...Okay. Thanks, Jason."

Freddy :

"...What kind of bullsh*t is that ? Did ya really just ask why I like you ?"

You didn't answer. He perfectly knew what you meant. He didn't need to be asked again.

He seemed to hesitate for a second before finally sighing in defeat.

"Fine. Ya really wanna know ?"

You nodded affirmatively and Freddy let out a small sigh before grinning and ruffling your hair playfully.

"That's because you see me as Freddy. No one else. You see me. And that's why I like ya. Now, stop asking stupid questions."

...He hadn't really answered though ? But, it didn't matter.

You knew what he meant and leaned back to look at him in the eyes with a large happy grin.

"Yeah...I like you too, Freddy."

He seemed taken aback for a second, but finally tipped his hat at you and hid his happy grin from you.

"Yeah yeah...Keep talking bullshit and I'll actually start to believe it."

Bo :

Bo led your chin forward so you may look him in the eyes before he smiled.

"I may be a stupid country boy, but lord...would I go far and wide to make you smile. That's how much I like ya'."

His eyes screamed honesty, but you knew better by now and he must have seen the hesitation in your eyes as he scooted closer and framed your face with his hands.

"...Look at me, darls'. Come on. Won't you believe your Bo ?"

You didn't know what to answer to that. Bo was the liar. The lying expert of the Sinclair family.

His own brothers knew better than to trust him fully. But somehow, he always managed to play you like a fiddle and agree to whatever demand he had.

So, you blinked your tears away before nodding.

"Fine. Okay. I believe you."

Bo's grin widened and he kissed your forehead.

"Atta girl/boy."

You didn't notice the way his smile faltered slightly, or the way his hand tightened just a little around your forearm.

Truth was ? Bo liked to play, and you were currently his favorite source of entertainment. But, once that was over ?

He didn't know what would happen to you...But, as long as you kept believing—he guessed he wouldn't have to worry about it too much.

Brahms :

Brahms didn't understand. Had he done something wrong ? Why would you think that ? Why would you even need to ask ?

"Y/N...Hurt ?", he asked worriedly before giving you a long and sorrowful once-over.

Once he was sure you weren't physically hurt, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into a tight hug.

He didn't answer at first, because he didn't know the answer himself. He didn't have a reason for liking you. He just did.

"Y/N...Nice...to Brahms...Never judge. First...First friend.", he finally said.

You blinked twice in shock before smiling and hugging him back.

"And I like you too. Thank you, Brahms."

He smiled happily. At least, he had succeeded in making you smile.

That was all he wanted. To make you happy.

Ghostface :

Ghostface gently ran a knuckle down your wet cheek and shook his head.

"Now now, come on...Don't you cry."

He then sighed before sitting down next to you and patted your head comfortingly.

"...See. You were the first to answer the question.", he finally confessed.

"...The question ?", you repeated with confusion and Ghostface nodded.

"Yes. Do you remember ? I asked you what your favorite horror movie was. And then, you told me..."

"I told you that I was already living in one. And that my favorite horror movie would be mine...", you finished for him.

You both chuckled at the memory. Ghostface had never heard that answer before and had then decided to keep talking to you.

And as it turned out, you were actually not that bad. So, instead of killing you—he had befriended you.

It kept him from sleeping outside, and it gave him someone to talk to.

"Say Ghostface...You never answered. What is your favorite scary movie ?"

Ghostface seemed to think about it for a while before turning his masked face towards you and you could feel that he was smiling underneath it when he answered.

"That would definitely be ours, Y/N."

Michael Myers :

Come here.

It isn't a request. You need a hug.

Michael doesn't have the time for terrible questions, and that is one very terrible one.

Why did he like you ? Wasn't it obvious ?

He liked you because you were true.

You had never been afraid of Myers and it made him feel as if there was redemption for him somewhere.

He kept you in his arms for a moment before grabbing his notebook and writing one important question on it.

Who hurt you ?

He knew that the question must have come from somewhere. He wasn't going to just stand aside and let this one go.

Myers was already eager to get his hand on a knife and make the impertinent pay for his poor judgment.

No one was allowed to hurt his family.

And as far as he was concerned ? You were family.

J :

"...You won't like the answer.", he warned you. But, you wanted your answer and insisted until he finally indulged.

"Fine. You're like me. You may not see it. But, you're like me."

"Like you...How ?", you asked—genuinely confused.

He chuckled to himself and knocked on your forehead a few times before answering.

"You got things in there. You see...I'm not heartless. It's because monsters like me got a heart and care that we become what we are. You care. Too much. And that's it. That's your mistake."

Care...too much ? You thought about it and realized that he was right. You cared too much.

"J...How do I stop caring ?", you finally asked him.

The question took him aback, but he was all too happy to show you as he put a gun in your hand and smiled from ear to ear while raising it to his forehead.

"The day you'll be able to pull that trigger ? Congratulations. You'll be one of the most dangerous people in all of Gotham."

You looked at the gun in your hand and tried to do what he asked, but couldn't. You then realized what he meant.

You couldn't kill J, because you cared too much about him.

When you lowered the gun, his smile felt almost sad as he clicked his tongue.

"~Ah. Too bad. But, predictable. And if you just could let go, you'd make the most ruthless of criminals...But, you got heart. And that makes your vulnerable. Easy to manipulate. The perfect little tool to be used by manipulative bastards like me. And that's why I like you."

He was right. You didn't like the answer, but you did expect it.

"Thank you for your...honesty."

Penny :

"...Like ? You're my friend ! Why wouldn't I like you, silly ?!"

The answer was direct. No hesitation. No thinking. It was just Penny in a sentence.

He looked at you as if the question itself didn't make sense to him, but it did. Of course it did, since he knew your every fear.

He knew about your abandonment issues, and your fear of being forgotten—that's what made him approach you in the first place.

You would both make your memories perdure far after you will be gone, or that was the deal.

You would write his story, and he would keep telling yours—or that was the deal you had struck for your life.

"Are we really...friends ?", you asked and Penny's smile widened unnaturally.

"What do you think ?"

Your eyes widened at his expression and you sighed before turning your eyes away.

"...I don't know. I really wish we could be though..."

Penny's smile faltered and he cackled before reaching forward to whisper in your ear.

"If a friend you seek, a friend you will find...But, be careful. Friends often do not last. Are you ready to risk it ?"

He offered his hand to you and giggled while you hesitated, but you finally took it and failed to notice the way Penny's eyes glowed yellow.

There was no turning back now.

Pennywise :

"I don't."

Your eyes widened at Pennywise's merciless answer and you stammered.

"W...What ?"

You hoped you had misunderstood, but you went cold the moment he repeated.

"You heard me. I don't like you."

"I...Didn't expect...", you tried to reply—but Pennywise cut you off.

"I don't like because 'like' hurts. Wake up. Getting attached is the very thing that will get you killed. It isn't worth it."

You were now starting to understand why Pennywise didn't like to say that he liked people, because he was afraid...He was afraid of getting hurt.

You smiled sadly at him before nodding.

"...I see. Thanks, Pennywise."

He didn't answer. You didn't wait for one.

The moment you were out of sight however, Penny crawled out from the ground and tutted.

"Now, it's not very nice to lie..."

Pennywise glared at him. He could pretend he didn't have a clue as to what Penny was referring to, but he was too tired to even try.

He sighed in defeat.

"They have to learn. That's the only thing that matters..."

"Huh-huh...And what about you ? When will you learn ?", Penny shot back.

Pennywise didn't answer, and he ignored the will to comfort you blooming in his chest.

Norman :

"Who made you doubt ?"

It wasn't a question. It was a death sentence.

Whoever's name you were going to say next would have a very bad ending.

You knew what he wanted to do, but you needed him to comfort you more than revenge.

He quickly felt it and didn't even need you to ask.

He leaned forward and grabbed your arm to pull you in his arms.

"Ssh...It's okay, my little monster. If it matters so much to you ? Then, I'll be sure to make them like you. They'll all love you. I promise."

He gently rocked you back and forth and kissed your forehead before closing his eyes and humming to you.

His voice was soothing and he helped you to relax against him.

"...Don't be afraid, my dear. I will always love you..."

Days later, the slashers would learn that the reason you asked was because your boyfriend had broken up with you and they made it their duty to right the wrongs...

By bringing you their head.

[thatgirlfluxwoman]

your bio says you like Wednesday

wednesday is not only the greatest betrayal in television history but the most maddeningly trite, disturbingly vapid, and internally confused ideological train wreck I've ever had the deeply sorrowful displeasure of allowing to pass through my corneas may god have mercy on burton or whoever else was responsible while someone slapped his brand name on it, and on all of us who are fated to live in a world where something so culturally, socially, politically, and artistically noxious as this Mary-sue-lead, transparently TikTok-targeted, phone-worshipping, vaguely bigoted, backfired virtue-signaling, fake leftist capitalist "my immortal"-esque fanfic earns a second season through what I can only be explained as manufactured consent. something must be done about Netflix's Wednesday. This thing is a condescending insult, especially to young people, the socially conscious, and members of marginalized and "'"outcast"'" groups (LiKe GoThS & ppL who CAN cONTroL BEEEEES) who genuinely suffer from what this thing hollowly masturbates to while looking us dead in the eyes and saying "yeah, you like that, don't you?" It is a Gatling gun of random buzzwords and empty references to social issues, grotesquely and impotently disguised and screaming "I'm commentary!" before pissing its pants, squealing like a pig, and at its most coherent offering nothing more than to demonize mental illness and make any marginalized identity out to be a mavonnaise-stained Hot Topic hoodie through Wiseau-ian dialogue, inappropriate "grittiness" for its source material and Harry Potter setting, and incessant hackery. I am shitting. I am pissing. I am standing over a warm bubble bath cradling a toaster and sobbing, chanting g-d's secret name and praying that there is indeed a hell so I can be eternally punished for having given this moral abomination one fraction of a fraction of a cent also it's not a good Addams family adaptation anyway let me know your thoughts in the poll below

/ref

What. My guys I just liked the show- Uhhh...good for you ya don't like it? Not sure why you complaining to me... Uh...Ok. It's not a show everyones gonna like. I just liked it... It was too long to read. I'm not trying to be rude. Sorry. It's just uh....Why? I get it. Wednesday wasn' ass good as all the other addams family. But I personally enjoyed it. I don't realy into like...movie critic things. I just watch a show and see if I like it. Are you this to every Wednesday enjoyer? Well uh... they got something interesting in their inbox

Crazy part is: I'm not even in the fandom anymore. I just...I liked it. I actually. If ya look through my posts I'm uh...I'm a roleplayer. I roleplay in the TADC (amazing digital circus) Fandom. Most of my posts are...unrelated to Wednesday. So nothing to worry aboout? Good you got your own opinions. People can have opinions. I respect that. And I respect people don't like the show. That's totally fine. The only question is: What does a underaged teenager have to do with this? I'm like...13 my guy. WHAT?? I just hyperfixate on things...It's normal for me...I'm getting diognosed for ADHD soon... I just had a hyperfixation on it a while back...

[arklayraven]

can I say smth about this?

https://www.tumblr.com/arklayraven/761108528669835264/when-you-get-so-happy-from-a-very-exhausting-time?source=share

(most?) Brain tends to default to crying when it's dealing with something it doesn't know how to cope with. many people don't know how to cope with positive emotions because it's seen a positive so why would someone want to cope with it

which is kinda stupid and does harm

I hope you're doing ok right now💚

Yeah, that makes sense to me...I want to say I just am super emotional but default. But there are times where I literally can't help but just...cry...when I am shown genuine love and care by anyone now...I guess because I'm not used to it from irl...

I know its just the way of my mind coping and such...but also hate it too? Like whether it be out of joy, anger or sorrow...Crying really drains me and wish I did less of it. lol But again, I know its just my mind, and body, trying to cope through everything I've been dealing with and feeling...

I'm doing fine...That's the best I can say rn...

I can only hope tomorrow I am better. I am clinging to the fact I should be getting Z's merch tomorrow, and that should brighten my life again a bit (and get me through the night).

🫂💜

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 23

TW: Brief smut

Words Count: 2.5k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 24

“I can’t believe I’m engaged now. Can you believe it? A whole week before he kept annoying me and all of a sudden he brought me a ring.” Irene rolls her eyes. The two of you met for lunch nearby the company. You haven’t seen her in a while and it feels nice to catch up with everything. Irene is one of the few of the very little friends you have.

Her longtime boyfriend had finally proposed to her. You almost scream finally when Irene broke the news to you. You genuinely feel happy for her.

“So, guess that’s it for today’s catch up session.” She grins at you.

“Um.. actually do you mind if I come up for a moment?”

“Uh duh~ of course not! You miss him already?” She teases.

You try to stifle a smile. “A little bit.” You do miss him a little.

When you reach your old desk, Irene excuses herself to the restroom. Feeling excited, you head towards Jimin’s room. But that feeling dampens quickly when he’s nowhere to be seen. Pouting, you head back to your old station.

You’re about to text him about his whereabouts when you see him comes with a woman next to him. They stand not far from where you are but you don’t think they notice since you’re slightly hidden behind the wall.

They stand there for a moment as they talk and you wonder who the woman is. You don’t think you’ve encountered her before back when you’re still working here.

They laugh about something and she briefly touches your husband’s arm. If Jimin’s somehow uncomfortable with that, he’d done a perfect job hiding it. You feel your inside boiling, perhaps just a little.

While they’re still talking, you head into Jimin’s office. Storming into the room, you huff, feeling furious.

But then something catches your eye.

Taking a few step towards Jimin’s table, you notice the name plaque with his name written on it, the one you made. Drawn to it, you move closer and reaches for it, heart fluttering a little.

And then you notice the picture frame next to it. It looks strangely familiar so you move around the table and there’s no mistaking that it’s the portrait you made. The portrait looks so out of place in his sleek and modern office that you suddenly feel like laughing.

The picture next to it does a little something to your heart. It’s your wedding picture but it’s just you, smiling brightly.

How are you supposed to be mad at him when he does this?

You pout.

And then suddenly the door opens. Jimin enters and immediately sees you but he only frowns for a moment before gesturing the woman in.

Your eyes narrow slightly.

It would all be fine, really, because you’re a professional, only if she keeps her hands off your husband.

Jimin then gestures her to sit across him. She bows, her neck a tad bit too exposed. You notice Jimin looking away for a split second, working hard to hide his uncomfortable expression.

The way her skirt is too short and the way she crosses her legs, you can see through it all.

Well, Mrs. Park to the rescue.

Biting your lips, you walk over. She finally notices your presence when you come near. You hold a hand out to her.

“You are..?” She asks.

“I’m Mrs. Park.”

For a fleeting second, you see her face registers surprise as she shakes your hand. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Park. I’m Jinah.”

Jimin’s arm snakes around your waist as you take your place beside him.

“And you’re here for..?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m here to discuss about a new publishing project that us as Glory Publishing is currently positively reviewing. You might be aware that Mr. Park is planning to acquire Glory Publishing.”

Oh, you knew about this one. Jimin told you this before. His company had been looking for potential publishing companies to branch out and Glory Publishing is one of them. But they didn't make the cut. Yet here they are trying to convince Jimin that they're looking at the next big project.

Your husband has made it clear that their company didn't make the cut but they're very persistent. You briefly wonder why he still accepts appointments with their party. Perhaps out of goodwill.

You clear your throat. "I thought our representatives had made it clear on this issue. Your company has issues with ethical problems and we’re doing our best to avoid future problems.” Perhaps your confidence is boosted a little with Jimin playing with your hair behind you.

Jinah seems flustered, perhaps not expecting you to address the issue. She tries to have a look at your husband but you immediately covered him.

And he just grins behind you, lips caressing your hair because he swears he loves you so much when you’re protecting him like this.

“If you don’t have anything else,” you look at your watch, “unfortunately the time is up. I have to ask you to leave because my husband is very booked and busy. If there’s any further issue, I hope you can contact our representatives instead.” You hold a hand out to her and she takes it, although her expression is furious. Without another word, she storms out.

As soon as she left, you let out a relieved sigh, suddenly not believing you just did that. Jimin tries to stifle a smile at your reaction. You got up and move towards Jimin’s desk and he follows you from behind.

“I have a very good secretary it seems.” He whispers to your ears, making you gasp. He then stands in front of you.

You gulp. Too close, too close.

He sits on the edge of his desk. “And how should I reward you for that?” He smiles.

Suddenly, he pulls you onto his lap and you let out a squeak.

His eyes fell to your lips and it looks so, so dangerous.

Oh no. “Jimin, it’s the office.”

“So?”

“You can’t do anything to me.” You try to run.

“It’s my company.” He catches your wrist effortlessly.

Your eyes widen. “It’s gross.”

He quirks one eyebrow. And you catch his off guard moment to run away. Pretty sure your husband’s laughing at you now.

A grin appears on your lips when you’re reminded of that evening’s event. Jimin really has a gift of making your heart rate spike up. You have no idea how to handle when your husband’s being flirty. You’re in the kitchen, having just finished washing the dishes. You set to make a cup of coffee for Jimin and then heads to his study. You softly knock before entering to see him talking through a phone call. He glances up upon your entrance and mouths a thank you as you put the cup down in front of him.

You look around his study for several moments, briefly remembering the first time you’re in here and your husband has just come up with the marriage contract with you. You smile fondly at the memory. It feels so long since then. And look at where the two of you are now.

You’re just about to dismiss yourself when something catches your attention.

Something’s weird.

You think as you stop and stare at the vast painting before you. It looks strangely familiar. You think hard for a while but is still unable to remember the source so you resolve to thinking that perhaps it’s been hung there from the start.

“You remember this painting?” Jimin suddenly asks as he comes to stand beside you.

And suddenly it all clicks in your head. It’s the painting you both saw at the art exhibition. The Isle of Sorrow.

You feel like you’re in a sort of treasure hunt today with everything that you found.

“I bought it the day we saw..” he says carefully.

Your heart starts to race. “I didn’t wanna scare you.. so I kept it hidden.. I didn’t know why I bought it back then.” He laughs at himself then smiles sheepishly. “Perhaps I was already in love..”

You don’t think you can control the pace of your heart anymore.

Especially not when his face is inching closer and closer to you, closing the proximity between the two of you.

And then he takes your lips by surprise although you’ve been anticipating it. It’s slow and languid but it’s enough to suck the air out of you. You think you’ll always marvel by how soft his lips are against yours. When he pulls back, you’re all sorts of breathless.

“Y/N.” He says firmly.

You look up at him expectantly.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you straight in the eye.

“I love you.”

It takes a moment for your brain to process and to make sure you didn’t mishear it. And your eyes water immediately.

“I think I’ve fallen for you since back then.. even before.. you said you love me. But I wasn’t sure what it was back then and I tried so hard to deny what I was feeling.. you were constantly on my mind.. I keep on worrying when you’re not in front of me, I feel so angry even at the thought of another guy touching you, I want to destroy anything or everything that hurts you the slightest.. including me.. because I know I’m the one that hurts you the most.. and it almost cost your life.. for me to realize that I burn for you.. my day and my nights.. that I’m actually in love with you.”

And the tears run down your cheeks. It’s all so overwhelming and something that you can’t describe because you’ve been waiting for so long for him to reciprocate your feelings and then he finally says the words but you both had been through so much and it just somehows feels like a very long journey.

A tear escapes Jimin’s eyes too but he’s quick to inhale a breath and recomposes himself. He then wipes your tears and gives you a moment to recompose.

“There’s something I want to do.” he says, eyes staring at you seriously. “I.. I know I’m a lot to put up with.. and I know I’ve done.. worse things. But I want to do this.. I want to be.. with you.”

And suddenly he takes out something from his right pocket and kneels down in front of you. You gasp as you watch him with widening eyes.

“I promise to love you, cherish you, honor you, and to hold your hands always in times of good and bad. I vow to stay faithful, loyal and honest till we both grow old. Will you... start this marriage anew.. with me?”

Your heart beats even faster, tears almost threatening again when you realize he’s reciting the wedding vow six months ago, except that this time it is full of sincerity.

And your heart continues to thunder against your chest when he opens the small velvet box, a ring with a simple crystal centrepiece encased in it.

And it suddenly dawns to you that he’s the only man that you’ll ever love in your life.

So you nod. With your eyes glistening in tears.

Jimin gives you a full smile. And then he takes the ring out and gently put it on your fourth finger. That’s when you realize he already puts his on, one that matches yours on his finger too.

When he raises to his feet, you don’t waste another second to pull him into a hug.

You love him.. with all your heart. Is all you could think.

When you both pull back, he looks at you fondly.

“I just thought that you deserve a proper proposal..” he grabs your hand and guides you to his study desk. You watch in confusion for a second as he bents down to pick up something from behind the desk and your eyes widen when you see a bouquet of red roses. “Hearts..” he says as his finger points to his heart, “and flowers.” He hands you the bouquet.

He smiles as you remain speechless.

“I.. honestly I’ve had this for a long time, ever since you’re still in the hospital.. and I tried to find the right time but I don’t know.. I gave up trying to find the right time because I think there’s no such thing as the right time.. but I want to do this..”

You raise your fingers to cup his chin tenderly. “It’s.. perfect.”

You watch as his eyes lit up from your words. And then his face inches closer. You know he’s about to kiss you again but this time, you’re ready.

Your eyes flutter close as his lips finally meet yours and it’s as if your lips are made for him when they moulded perfectly against his.

He tilts his head slightly and this time he pulls you even closer. His lips presses against yours more deeply, drawing a whimper from your throat, a sound that causes him to grunt.

The kiss escalates quickly, growing more and more intense, making your feet curl against the plush carpet.

His hands move downwards from your neck towards your shoulder. And when one of his hand brushes against your breast, you let out a squeak in surprise.

Jimin pulls away immediately, eyes finding yours. His expression concerned, perhaps wondering if he’s gone too far from your comfort zone.

“I’m sorry.” He says quickly, still a little out of breath.

You bite your bottom lip. You don’t want him to stop. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just.. I’m not used.. I’m.. I’ve never.. I’ve never done this before..”

He looks at you softly. “I know. And I promised you to take it slow. So I’m not gonna do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Okay?”

You nod. He smiles and releases you and suddenly you’re afraid he’ll go away so you grab his shirt quickly.

He raises his brow at you.

“We.. we can.. we can continue.. to kiss..” you say and you feel like you’re going to die from embarassment.

Jimin smiles wickedly, almost wanting to clutch his heart physically because he finds you too adorable. “Wow okay. Kiss me then.” He says playfully.

You look up at him, eyes round in determination and he finds it so adorable it takes everything in him not to initiate the kiss first.

Closing the proximity, you tiptoe slightly and press your lips firmly against his.

You feel him smiling against your lips and you can’t help but smile too. This time, you try to take control.

Your fingers card his hair as you pull him tight against you, deepening the kiss. A moan escapes his mouth and you’ve never heard something sound so sinful before.

It almost kind of sparks something carnal deep inside you.

And then your hands are on his chest, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. His hands are on each side of your waist, palms flat against your skin, not making any move to explore anymore and you want to change that.

You want him to know that you’re ready.

So you press yourself against him and practically grinds against him, making him groan.

“Baby-” he says but you cut him by taking his lips again. Tongue fervently exploring his mouth.

“Jimin-” you call him, breathless. “Take me to bed, please.”

A/N: *fanning myself* im actually blushing aaaaaa yall know what's coming in the next chapter ;)))

on the side note, I am having mixed feeling right now. I can’t wait for this story to end and show it to you guys but at the same time I’m sad that it’s coming to an end because there’s really not much chapter left 🥺

Buy me a cup of coffee here! 💜

Link to Chapter 24

Posted on 210607 9:00PM

[missinghan]

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him. 

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart. 

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty. 

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.” 

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily. 

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out. 

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing. 

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison. 

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.” 

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene. 

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down. 

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds. 

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul. 

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest. 

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address.  The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…” 

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.” 

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently. 

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance. 

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets. 

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint. 

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes. 

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen. 

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest. 

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger. 

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option. 

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood. 

He won’t make it in time. 

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage. 

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner. 

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams. 

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

 “Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors. 

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus. 

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears. 

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move. 

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die. 

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back. 

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.” 

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way! 

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus. 

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious. 

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you. 

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day. 

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp. 

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards. 

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly. 

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward. 

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted. 

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog. 

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed. 

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him. 

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches. 

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie. 

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.” 

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“ 

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path. 

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might. 

And you’ll die. 

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell. 

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal. 

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you. 

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho. 

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer. 

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.” 

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.” 

[confused-as-all-hell]

Aelin Galathynius

She vaguely felt the light shifting on the lake. Vaguely felt the sighing wind, warm as it brushed against her damp cheeks. And heard, so soft it was as if she dreamed it, a woman's voice whispering, Why are you crying, Fireheart?...

"Because I am lost," she whispered onto the earth. "And I do not know the way.”

Aelin Galathynius, fierce and proud and exquisite. Adarlan’s Assassin, Aelin of the Wildfire, the Queen Who Walked Between Worlds. A girl who held death in the circle of her arms, who knew sorrow and misery by their first names, who gave herself for that glowing future ahead.

Aelin, my love, is not perfect. She says some awful things, and her actions are far from worldly and pure. Her mistakes are common as her own laughter. But I don’t know who told you characters have to be perfect, polished as gold. 

She is allowed to be arrogant, dramatic, proud, daring, reckless, without being told off. These are the qualities often recognized in men, and so when a woman embodies them, she is instantly cut down for it. Aelin loves herself without fail, acknowledges her own beauty, is genuinely kind to herself.

I see so many posts encouraging girls to love themselves, and when one is portrayed in literature, everyone just turns on her. If your excuse is “well, she’s just too arrogant” please shut the fuck up. You do not get to decide what is too much. Nobody stupidly granted you that privilege.

It is perfectly fine for Aelin to see her appearance, her hair and eyes and body and smile, and say “I am happy with myself. I am beautiful.”

Don’t you fucking dare encourage feminism and then detest Aelin for admiring who is she.

Yes, she is out of the ordinary in terms of her looks, yes, she is curiously and suspiciously pretty. But if you dislike Aelin for her appearance, you’re shallow as fuck, I pray you do not like those oddly plain characters either. 

The Fae are a race known for their grace and beauty, so do not tell me it’s funny how everyone is tiringly pretty. They’re supposed to be. That’s literally the whole point. 

For those who complain her story is so special, would you rather read about the citizen who couldn’t find their favourite socks? I dare say no. The general idea of a story is to tell it from the most interesting point of view, in this case, Aelin’s. She is in the thick of everything, not by chance, but because she seeks the source of the trouble.

Her mistakes are plentiful, but Aelin has no trouble admitting this. She apologizes when necessary, admits to her wrongdoings, and she tries to be better. It’s not like she walks around with a blindfold. She works to understand others, never retracts her extended hand, loves her family without fail.

Aelin Galathynius is not thousands of years old, with all the wisdom of the centuries. She is a girl of seventeen, trying desperately to do her best, to save her home and her people and herself. 

She woke between her parent’s cold corpses as a little girl, watched men and women die horrifically before she was eight, killed time and time again to save her own life. She found her best friend lying in pieces on her bed, bowed to her mother and father’s murderer, was enslaved and tortured and beaten and scourged. 

Her trauma is not to be forgotten. Aelin is trying to save a world, and she’s still working through the terrors she witnessed so long ago. The inside of her mind was a lightless place, with no lamps to be seen.

It is okay for characters to fuck up. It’s okay for them to make mistakes and lash out. It’s okay for them to make bad choices, so long as they learn from them.

Nobody is made of gold. Nobody is unworthy of love. Nobody deserves your hatred.

Aelin is not the most powerful of her court, despite much bitter discourse.

Rowan is physically stronger, and far more capable with weaponry. 

Lysandra is prized as a shape-shifter, her talent stated to be utterly invaluable.

Aedion commands his own legion, the fearsome Bane.

Elide is the cleverest, with precious insight and incredible wisdom.

Lorcan is a extraordinarily strong warrior.

Manon is the Witch-Queen, with plenty of influence and power.

Dorian has the strongest magic of them all, in the largest quantity.

Chaol is... 

Anyways, Yrene’s healing gifts are considered their greatest asset in the war.

Though Aelin is certainly important, she does her part and only her part. She does not attempt to take credit for what she has not done. She will take the suffering upon herself, but never the joy.

Aelin is bleeding and bleeding, dashed on the rocks, and all of you can only scoff at her beauty and talent. 

I am capable of writing eloquent pieces, playing several musical instruments, charming several adults, making people laugh, finding lovely angles for photographs, and much more. 

Am I conceited to say so? I can appreciate my better qualities and absolutely hate work on my worse attributes. 

Aelin isn’t the not-like-other-girls cutout. She is like other girls. She loves dogs and candy, can wield her weapons with staggering competence, chooses her favourite gowns cautiously, is proud of herself for her accomplishments, works to lift other women up.

Aelin, at the very least, can appreciate being like other girls is a compliment. Girls (and boys!!) are fucking amazing. 

You can hardly expect a girl of eighteen to be perfectly polished. 

Aelin herself knows this. She listens when Darrow says she’s unfit, and she works to prove why she is capable. She wants to be better, to learn how to properly rule her country.

As well as the whole ordeal with her keeping the allies secret, she was afraid. Aelin had a group of people shout at her, tell her what an awful job she was doing, how she didn’t deserve to be queen. She didn’t want to let them down more. 

Everyone hates “perfect” characters, and then they hate the characters who fuck up. Pick a side. Pick a struggle. Pick a fight, if you like, I’m happy to give one over.

Aelin, the defender, the hero made history. She is so often hated; I would like to show her a little love.

[reginrokkr]

❝ i just wish there was more i could do for you… ❞

■    ■    ■    What wouldn’t I give for the stars to have hands and cradle your lunar form, to provide you with all the warmth and light you need whilst the distressing nocturne dome tries to make you fade with its faux blanket of hoaxes. Lunafreyja and him both are one of a kind, destined to shoulder the sorrows and agonozing aches of this dimming world lest a solution is found. Divine’s wrath and despair to maintain a false order with the pretension of permanence and the star’s blight threaten to make this planet collide, differing forces as they might be— yet in essence, both are born from the same source that spreads like wildfire under unaware noses.

For five hundred years, physical pain never subsided. Sometimes it may hold a semblance of intermittent evanescence only to return with the ire of a thousand tempests. It burns as if someone light a fire within one’s very being and forgot to extinguish it, forsaken to burn forevermore until naught but ashes remains of them. The crawling sensation is the most respiting of all until you learn that those whom wish to tear your skin open and escape the cage of your body are demons engendered by the poisonous void, the root of malice that predates the mourning songs of seelies doomed to never recover their essence or their memories.

What wouldn’t Dáinsleif give to spare Lunafreyja from all the suffering she bears and make it his own, so that at least one of them may have a more peaceful existence in this world for as long as their existence lasts. Such are the thoughts that cross his mind at the sight of her saddened face, pupils quivering within teal blue depths that reflect his pitiful stance as he lays this bed as if it were his deathbed. It isn’t the first time nor it will be the last, neither it would for the maiden of the moon.

Albescent lashes flutter close and open in a slow blinking meant to hold in tears, carriers of untold pains that remain better unspoken. His lament: not his physical pain or the mental wear, just utter grief for her affliction that does not encompass her own pain alone, but his own too. For them both in frustrated wonder as to why they must be punished so. The abandoned luminary reaches out to cup the side of her face, to caress with his thumb smooth skin of cheekbone’s linearity in quiescent worship and hushed sentiments that transcended millennia. His hand soon drifts smoothly to the back of her head so that his forehead may unite with hers.

❝Your presence here is everything I need.❞ Since when did Dáinsleif give himself the privilege to deign express selfishness of this caliber? He has forgotten, but regret as he might at a later date, it feels right to express so to her. ❝Despite all the wrong I may encompass... I am the luckiest man to count with your company and stay with you back.❞ Truer words could not be muttered and interwoven betwixt moonlight rays that make their presence in the room for now. There was a time when the Twilight Sword of old would’ve preferred to spend time in secluded silence and loneliness as he runs the high of this pain, but it has reached the moment when he is genuinely happy to have another by his side— no, to have her by his side.

Icy sapphires open to meet cornflower irises, their softness reflecting the semblance of a smile that roseate lips refuse to cooperate to form at the time being. It’s fine— this is enough. ❝Would you... sing for me?❞ And yet for her he would, even if the slightest twitch of his body is like opening a brand new gateway to hell. Trembling lips struggle to keep its corners upwards as his hand slowly moves from her nape back to her cheek, then to his chest. ❝Someone forgot that it’s her turn to comply, I believe.❞ Even jesting sounds out of character to him, but what else would they have left to soothe the heavy ambiance if not a bit of humor? Dáinsleif hoped with all his heart that Lunafreyja would take in the signals that weak and vulnerable as he currently may be, he hasn’t given up. He’s still fighting— he always will even if that means reaching the far end of the river of time to make this damned world a place where mankind can rest assured. A safe haven for her to cease chasing the plight of this dimming star away so she may find repose, too.

@moonichor ✦

[remsmoonlight]

— title : glitter in the sky

— word count : 2.3 k words

— pairing : loki x reader

— summary : before putting into place his plan for thor’s coronation, he seeks you out one more time for comfort only you can provide

— warnings : maybe a teeeeeny bit of thor bashing but incredibly minor .. love ‘im fr , bit of sadness

         ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested ? nope　/   requests are open  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

an: i got this idea, first from watching the first thor movie because aw, and then moving onto silent hill and that field scene is a whole vibe..... who doesn’t wanna just chill randomly in a field with the sun on your skin with no responsibilities? hell yeah .. anyways this just got away from me in a way ha

Trailing your gaze up to the sky, your eyes marvel at the merging colours as you study them intently, witnessing the blend of hues and tones from a bright blue to a mixture of warm pinks and burnt oranges light up the surrounding area before you knew they would fade into nothing more than a dark blanket who’s only source of light would be the moonlight and the stars that would litter it.

Your shoes crunching the dry grass and the sounds of chirping from the various wildlife encompasses you, it takes all of your strength to not allow a large grin to brighten your features.

Despite being so late in the afternoon, time walking on a fine line towards the early evening, the heat from the sun is still so strong, comfortably toasting your skin as a heavy blanket on a cold winter’s night would.

In the distance you’re able to spot the intimidating stature of the aged tree, though it’s intimidating in name only  ⎯  for now it holds only those memories that lay locked deep within your heart. Your situation is a rather unusual one. Many summer afternoons had been spent shielded from the harsh rays of sunlight that shone over everything it could touch, though they hadn’t been spent alone. Rather, they’d been spent with an exceedingly phenomenal man. Can he even be called that? You wonder to yourself, Loki was far from human. Far, far from it.

“ to think I had been of the belief you would not be appearing. “

The suddenness of the voice slicing through the noises of the concealed fields would have shocked you more had it not been so honeyed. Holding the recognisable smoothness that you only associated with Loki.

“ this is the first time I’ve ever been late, thank you very much. “ you answer with an unwavering nerve as you stare at him while amusement floods your expression.

“ and the last, I’m sure? “ an eyebrow raises as he questions you, a warmth brightening his aura against the coolness he exudes normally.

Believing he’s not of Earth had been hard for you to grip, to believe fully, no matter how many tricks he could conjure before your very eyes. Though disappearing right before you, then feeling the whisper of his breath dance on the back of your neck so gracefully had been the confirmation you required. From there on a friendship blossomed into something more, you both becoming more and more involved with the other. Holding such unbelievable secrets were not a common place for you, to have this continues to make you feel like such a special soul.

“ oh, shut up! “

You stroll towards him, closing the distance with an enthusiastic energy that not even the longest of days could wear you down. Nothing in the world makes you feel so secure and guarded than when you finally feel the weight of his arms snake around you to bring you forward into his embrace. For Loki, you are a home away from home. Never do you gaze upon him with untrustful eyes, nor do you view him as beneath you, many negative connotations are attached to his name and you? You simply see him for who he wishes he could be, only ever in your presence does he try not to disappoint you. Back on Asgard that’s all anyone ever expects, so why not play into their prejudices? It has protected him so far, though the thought that perhaps even that has done more harm than good tresspasses into his mind on a rare occasion.

It’s not something he wishes to think about there though. He wants to dedicate his short visit to you entirely. Pushing away the increasingly regular thought it’s just a heartbeat, he is not one to be naive to pretend. Illusions are second nature to him, to forge them as easily to breathe, but to experience them are something that is in his power to prevent. He could allow this one instance to be selfish.

“ might I inquire of your wellbeing since we parted last? “ he requests as fingers entwine with yours to guide you to the slight hollow space within the tree. You drop yourself without any elegance to the ground, he settles behind you with his legs on either side of yours.

You can’t help but marvel at the differences between the two of you, like night and day. However, your differences fit like a puzzle with no inconvenience.

“ life keeps trying to test my patience, same as ever but ⎯ “ you pause, your eyes shining with remembrance of the gift you had brought, of course you knew it’s nothing more than a silly little trinket but you couldn’t help but fall in love with it. “ here, my friend’s been making these pieces for their business and I couldn’t help but think of you. “

Adoration is the only thing that overwhelms him in this moment, it’s a feeling he wants to lock away to relive over and over, for the only time he has never been treated as an afterthought is by his mother. Now? It’s a feeling that hasn’t been forged by a bond born of blood, but one that has arisen naturally. The item in your hand is a small metal band, with designs etched onto its body.

“ it’s only a little thing I know ⎯ “ you begin to babble, the words tumbling before you could even stop them. Your mind losing all control over your language before Loki put a stop to it.

“ I’ll have you know it’s not the physical item itself, but the sentiment behind it I hold dear. “

You want to respond with equally sweet words, but the heavy tone doesn’t go undiscovered by your ears.

“ Loki, what’s wrong? “

“ nothing, why do you ask? “ the God denies, switching the questioning to you.

Turning to face him, your eyes scout all over his features to spot anything that would give you cause to continue on with your concern. It’s light, the ghost of sorrow concealed behind a curtain of confidence and ego, even the most professional of liars can’t hide the truth of that. The hurt cuts too deep for a flimsy pretense of everything being perfect for it to bury those feelings.

“ you’re an amazing liar, but I’m beginning to get the hang of you. Besides, sadness is something difficult to completely hide. “

A heavy breath is released, your fingers from their position on his shoulders feel as if there’s an invisible weight that has almost decreased. You wonder how long he has carried this with him.

“ tell me. “

Every fibre of Loki’s being is fighting to keep his feelings kept away out of sight, to imagine they never manifested themselves into reality, but locked into place by the profound compassion swirling in your eyes he wants to finally divulge everything in his mind that has been plaguing him. Who knew a mortal could have such an enchanting effect he thought humourfully to himself.

“ the deadline for a successor to my father’s throne is approaching. “

“ and you’re worried? “ your brows lower, confusion marking your features as you struggle to understand why that could be so bad?

“ I've veiled many things from you, a fault of mine I understand completely. “ he admits, a sorrowful smile gracing his lips.

“ it’s never too late to share them. It might help you feel better? “

Loki wonders just what it is he has done in his history to be blessed with such an understanding and caring soul as yours, nothing could ease the lasting effects of each and every of his transgressions over his many years of living. How exactly could such radiance and light find the dark Prince of Asgard so easily? Many who lived in his realm would argue that he’s not deserving, instead countering that his brother should be in such a position of happiness.

He simply gazes upon you before speaking, a slender finger raising to tuck a few stray hairs behind your ear.

“ the successor has already been chosen, they always have been. This is a mere formality. “ switching his sight from you to the environment around you both, turning to look upon the steadily darkening sky.

“ so why do it then? “

“ to ensure that the process is seen as fair, despite the favour repeatedly falling to my brother. “

Nodding in understanding, you finally realise why there is a darkness that swirls over his head now he speaks of the topic. Living in the shadow of the golden child is not easy, your heart hurts as you realise that there must be many people who do not see the same man who you see. They see audacity instead of a daringness, to mistake him for an egotistical know it all instead of someone who has a thirst for knowledge and tricks.

“ never did they wish to stop viewing me as a troublesome child, I suppose I never aided in changing that. “

Nothing falls from your lips, knowing no words could do justice for what you need him to know, to feel. Twisting yourself onto your knees, you lean forward and allow your arms to provide him comfort as they surround his neck. One hand raises to rest in the dense raven locks of hair you constantly marvel over, moving ever so softly to trace patterns.

“ I’m sorry. “ you mumble softly, wanting to say more, but you can’t help but resign yourself to being unable to say anything meaningful. Instead, figuring it would be better, first, for him to speak his emotions without looking for any advice.

“ you’ve nothing to apologise for. The pieces will fall as they should. “ he comforts, whining to himself over the absence of your warmth as you withdraw the embrace.

“ Loki, what do you mean by that? “

“ nothing for you to worry yourself over, my dove. “ he shakes his head, as a chuckle that is short accompanies it, contains little genuine amusement to settle you.

“ I’m being serious, what are you talking about? “ your demand is light in touch, though your gaze holds an unrelenting strength as he looks towards you once more.

“ again, nothing that requires your concern. Midgardians, you worry too much. “

“ over things that can get the people we love into trouble, of course. “

His heart pauses in beating as the words seep into his mind, realising exactly what you spoke. Briefly, does he wonder if he misheard you, thought deep down he knows what you spoke.

“ did you ⎯ ? “ an unrecognisable vulnerability crosses his expression as he begins to ask what you had said, to hear it again as if for the first time.

A reddening of you cheeks can be seen, you look down with a sheepish grin. This had not been the way you had imagined using the love word. Of course, over the years of your life many things had not gone to plan, so this was just another instance in a long, long line of events that just got away from you. While you know there is something mutual, you can’t bring yourself to look upon him just yet.

“ you heard me correctly. “

Elation swells within him, even the thought of perhaps you would prefer Thor had you met him first could not creep more than a few feet before being banished from sight and mind, it’s not something he wants to entertain. Especially for what he has in mind to plan for the future. Instead, he allows himself to be engulfed in your love, to experience the last piece of goodness that has been reserved for him, knowing it won’t last.

All you feel from your dropped gaze is your nose being nudged by his, then the weight of his lips on your own. Moving together as if they are fighting to mould into one, fitting together so well. Both of you are left breathless, momentarily caught in the feeling of the other that oxygen is the last thing on your mind.

“ do not trouble yourself over events that have not come to pass yet. Especially on an evening as fine as this. “

The corner of your lips tilt higher as your turn away from him to peer over the surroundings you had briefly forgotten. The burnt colours had long since faded into darkness, the stars being the only light as they can only be likened to being glitter in the night’s sky. A true beauty.

“ I love nights like these, where you can see all of the stars. “

“ you’d be besotted with Asgard’s constellations. “

You’d settled back into the position you were in previously, with arms encompassing you protectively with your back secured firmly to his chest. Loki explains the beauty of Asgard, and how even in the day the stars can still be seen against the shining vividness of the colours of their sky. Quarrelling against the gold hues from both the sun and the palace he knows only as his home.

“ that sounds wonderful. “ you whisper, feeling fatigue sneaking its way to the forefront of your mind.

“ it truly is a beauty to see. “ agreeing with you, resting his head upon yours. Wishing nothing more than to be able to stay there in that moment forever.

“ I wish I could see it. I’m very jealous right now. “

He can feel you becoming increasingly drowsy, flattered that you would even let your guard enough to even allow sleep to touch you. Having you on Asgard would certainly make him a happier person, to have someone who isn’t his mother understand him would be freeing. Though his father would die before he allowed that to happen, a mortal on Asgard.

“ Perhaps one day. “

Loki can’t be sure if you even heard that, but it’s something he wants to entertain. Besides, what is the use of being a master of mischief and tricks if he couldn’t make such a desire come true?

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - When he confesses to you

This work, 当他向你表白, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR] 

You can’t help but sense that Victor is slightly different from his usual self. Although he often finds reasonable excuses to bring you to Souvenir for a meal, it has never felt the way it does right now.

Perhaps due to your occasional suggestions, the chilly white lamps have been replaced by warm lights, exuding a hazy, pleasant comfort.

“Why are you daydreaming? Come over and eat.” 

While you’re steeped in your thoughts, Victor walks over, carrying the meticulously prepared beef steak.

“Victor... why is the beef steak in this shape...” You stare dazedly at the heart-shaped steak on the plate, knowing the answer deep in your heart, yet not daring to confirm it.

“I initially thought you’d understand if I gave you sufficient time. Looks like I’ve overestimated your IQ. Now, I can’t wait any longer.” 

Victor retrieves a rose from the dining cart, and offers it to you the same way he has offered you pudding countless times. 

His actions are smooth, as though he has rehearsed them several times.

The weight in your heart is lifted. 

Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, you quip, “Victor, do I get any special privileges as your girlfriend? For example, submitting...”

You watch as his brows furrow.

“There’s no discussion on whether you can submit proposals at a later date. But I will watch as you amend them, and will raise your chances of getting them approved.” 

Considering how well Victor understands you, he can always make you swallow your words even before you’ve finished speaking.

“...”

Victor, is it too late to return the rose?

[ GAVIN ]

It’s rare to see Gavin in formal attire. When you had troubled him that year to accompany you home to deal with your aunt, he mentioned that he wasn’t used to wearing them. 

So, when he appears in front of you in a suit and tie, you’re left slightly flabbergasted.

“Gavin, does the revolving restaurant have a dress code? Is my skirt too simple...”

You shift your gaze to your own attire - a white, off-shoulder dress which looks plain no matter how you look at it. 

“No, there isn’t such a requirement. Also, you look very pretty like this,” Gavin says with certainty. “Let’s go. It’s almost time.”

“Gavin, hold on.” 

Standing on your tiptoes, you tug at the shell of his tie, straightening it. “All right, it’s fine now.”

“Cough...” 

It’s always an interesting sight to see Officer Gavin’s ears turn red.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Most of the time is spent admiring the night scenery offered by Loveland City from various angles. Right now, the tall buildings are dyed in dazzling light, as though they’re competing with the stars to see which one is brighter.

Seeing that you’re almost done with your meal, Gavin inconspicuously signals to the staff to bring out the thing he prepared.

The lights in the restaurant suddenly grow dim, and your table is illuminated more brightly than the others, casting it in yellow light. 

Gavin takes the white lily handed to him by the staff, then gets down on one knee before you.

“Are you willing to be my girlfriend?” His eyes are sincere and tender. 

As though entranced by a spell, you nod.

Mixed with the cheers and noises from the restaurant, Gavin takes you into his arms gently. 

“That’s good, we didn’t miss out on each other.”

-

A few days later, you recollect the scene.

“Gavin, why did you get down on one knee when you were confessing? It wasn’t... a proposal...”

“Cough, Minor said that doing so would make me appear more genuine.”

Gavin, honest as always, sells out the man operating behind-the-scenes.

“...next time, spend less time playing around with Minor!”

[ LUCIEN ]

When Lucien invited you to a movie, you thought it would be a classic, black-and-white film. However, it was only when you reached the cinema that you discovered he chose a coloured movie you know very well - “Flipped”.

In the movie, it’s only after the male and female protagonists go through various experiences that they finally see their feelings clearly.

“Lucien, why did you choose this movie?” You press him, wanting to confirm that what has been in your heart isn’t merely your own wishful thinking.

“The way they planted the tree together - doesn’t it resemble how we tended to the gardenia back then?” Lucien doesn’t give you a straightforward answer, and simply gives you a slight smile. 

Lucien turns his gaze to the screen, but seems to be looking at something else far beyond it. “The movie says that one day, you’ll meet someone who’s as magnificent as a rainbow. From then on, everyone else would be passing clouds.” His line of sight returns to you.

He offers you his palm slowly, seeming to wait for your response.

“I think I’ve met my rainbow.”

[ KIRO ]

Ever since finding out that the biggest commonality between the two of you is eating, Kiro often looks for you (when Savin doesn’t notice of course) in order to share newly discovered delicacies.

“Miss Chips, I put in a massive amount of effort to pick a place with amazing food to share with you~” 

His trademark smile is contagious. With him, any sorrows and unhappiness can be cured.

“Is that so? I’ll have to give it a try then~” Mimicking his exaggerated tone, you rub your hands together excitedly, then use a toothpick to bring a small meatball into your mouth. 

“Is the meatball delicious?” Kiro looks at you, begging to be complimented.

“Yes.”

“Is the milk tea tasty?”

“Yes.”

“Is the mousse nice?”

“Yes.”

“Be my girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great! I hereby announce that from this day onwards, Miss Chips is Kiro’s official girlfriend!”

“???”

[ SHAW ]

“Why the sudden invite to KFC?” You ask in a garble, chewing on a New Orleans chicken wing. Meanwhile, Shaw is just about to stuff a handful of fries into his mouth. 

“It’s not fun to eat on my own.” 

He wipes grains of salt off his fingers with a tissue. Then, he tears open the plastic covering to take out the small toy that came along with the kid’s meal he ordered for you. 

He complains, “Why is there only one? They’re cheating their customer’s feelings.”

“Agreed.” You nod, snagging the final popcorn chicken laying before him. “The advertisements said the toys come in a pair.”

Shaw stands up. “Sit here and don’t move. I’ll get another kid’s meal for you.”

“...”

Even though he’s the one paying, you kind of feel like you’re being taken advantage of.

There aren’t many people at this time, so Shaw returns fairly quickly, holding the other toy featured in the advertisement.

“Since you’re single, why don’t we get together. You like me anyway.”

“Cough cough cough...” His words nearly send cola down the wrong tube. “Who said I liked you?”

“I can tell for myself.” Shaw shrugs, an innocent expression on his face.

“...”

“Do you lack the guts?” He banters, biting the straw. He’s in an incredible mood while watching you squirm. 

“Who says I lack the guts? Let’s get together then, boyfriend!”

-

More translated and original works: here

-

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[bowieandqueen11]

Lift Your Sorrows / Victor Van Dort Imagine

Request: Hey love! So I loooove the corpse bride and I was wondering if you could do a Victor x reader where it's Halloween night and they tell scary stories and the reader gets scared so he comforts her? Thanks love! And keep up the amazing work!! 

Yess my darling @denisethefangirl​ Corpse Bride is genuinely one of my favourite films of all time!

Comments and requests are really appreciated! 

Also warning, all these stories are based on true Victorian ghost stories!

Halloween seemed to come naturally to this town.

Upon every gnarled, bare branch that led down the town square and to the Everglot house seemed to sit a murder of crows, their cries warbling throughout the empty market. Children peered out from behind draped windows, gazing out through the frost and onto the street with a sigh, others being ushered into bed - those without children sitting down and getting ready for a night of supernatural games and festivities behind locked doors. As you walked by Victor’s side, away from the Church, trying your hardest to ignore the empty layer of inky cloud above you, you followed your sister back into the dim warmth of your home.

Somehow, as the three of you were walking home on this frightening night, Victoria had managed to convince the two of you in differing away from the usual fortune telling games to instead try telling stories of the supernatural - of ghosts. A chill sank into your bones as you heaved the front door closed behind you, running as fast as you could up the staircase to catch up with the lanky man in front of you, saying goodbye to the night of warm blankets and cheery laughter that you had so been looking forward to with him.

Sensing you had fallen a little behind, Victor stops for a moment, allowing your sister time to blow some cobwebs off the top of a candle holder left abandoned on a desk by the landing. She lights the stub of the candle, barely two inches long, and places the matches back on the table to turn to the two of you, being able to see only the orange glow light up the darkness of her eyes.

‘G-give me your hand, Y/n, Wouldn’t want you falling behind, tonight of all nights, of course. It’s dangerous to be alone in the dark.’

Victor smiles at you, petting the back of your hand as you intertwine it with his fingers, hesitantly leaning into his side and letting him lead you into the bedroom Victoria had just opened. Following the flickering light source, you felt the need to chide your sister as she placed the candelabra down on one of the bed side tables.

‘Victor, would you be a dear and start a fire for us?’

‘Of course, it would be my pleasure.’ He hovers slightly, almost unwilling to let go of your touch, until he finds Victoria raising an eye at his hesitancy and soon scurries away to kneel down on the dirty floorboards.

‘Do we really have to do this in one of the guest bedrooms, Victoria’, you complain, ‘or rather, do we really have to do this at all?’

Your sister only ignores you, swiping her pointer finger across the dusty piano lid that lies abandoned in the corner of the room. Blowing it off her finger, the grime clouds into the room almost in a ghostly haze, the specks nearly translucent as they fell through the air.

‘We want to set the atmosphere, do we not?’, she finally starts, settling herself down gently by one of the marble edges of the fireplace. ‘Besides, it’s not like our parents will mind, in fact I have reason to believe they’re not even here.’

Reaching her slender fingers up behind her, she giggles into her free hand as her finger dances over the ivory keys. She holds her fingers up to you once she stops, ‘see, we’re all alone. When was the last time mother and father would allow music in this house?’

‘Ah, all done! This fire should suffice for the rest of the evening.’

Victor leans back on his knees, dusting off some soot from the cuff of his suit jacket, before he takes his place beside the ample fire, its warmth and light falling far out into the darkened corners of the room, flashing red reflections and curious silhouettes onto the wallpaper. Jumping slightly at being the only one standing still near the walls, you sit down next to Victor, not noticing the way his throat moves with an anxious gulp, or the way his hands start fiddling with his collar, having seen the way your dress folded so pleasurably against his suit, your knee pressing against the side of his thigh. Thinking it rude to stare so intensely at a fine woman, he tried to stop himself from blushing by peering forward and staring into the fire.

‘I’ll start then’, Victoria chimes in, biting her bottom lip as she racked her brain for a true fright. ‘Have you heard the tale of the ghastly headless woman.’

You squeak, making Victor startle slightly and nearly knock over the poker rack as you leap and grab onto his arm.

‘The ghost was first seen by a farmer in Buckingham, I believe, during a frosty, pitch black winter night, all alone on an empty cobblestone street. There he was, near the end of his journey home from his fields when his lantern started to swing by his head, the orange glow settling enough only to show flashes of some strange, dark object lying by his turn at the crossroads.’

Your grip on Victor’s arm tightens so much, he’s afraid you’ll leave wilts on his skin if you squeeze any harder, but he’s enjoying the ever limited physical touch with you so much that he just swallows back the pain and smiles down at you.

You always found his eyes were like the colour of Swallowtail butterflies - so rare and soft, they had this look of wings flying through the sky, so quick, yet relaxed, at ease. Realising the two of you had been gazing at each other so affectionately for too long, Victoria coughed slightly, making Victor jump. He instead, as he turns back to listen to the story, shyly leans over and grabs your hand, letting it rest in the empty space between the two of you. 

‘He called out to the shape, to the strange motionless figure in front of him. There was no reply, only the braying of his horse as it flung itself away from the scene, loosening his grip on the reins, looking back at the figure in time only to see the woman slowly drift away from them, seemingly floating through the thick branches of a bordering hedge. It was only as she began to disappear, that he realised the darkness was not only the colour of her clothes, but in fact the night sky behind the space where her head should be.’

‘That’s horrible!’, you cry out, your sister only gazing into the fire in reply, and reaching up to place a stray curl of hair back into her bun.

‘Strange things do happen in this world’, Victor adds as he looks over at you, finding himself unable to break his gaze as your shaken eyes peer back at him. He feels his heart thunder against his chest in the familiar way it does every time you look at him, the only thing making him blink being the sudden strike of lightning that streaks the foggy sky outside the window. Sheets of rain began to hit upon the pavement outside, somehow chilling the air in a fraction of a second, and making you nestle closer into Victor’s side for warmth.The gloom of the autumn evening truly began to creep into your heart like the damp into bare timber, seeping into your morose pores. 

‘Victor, can we stop now?’

He didn’t have a chance to reply, before the shadowed face of your sister began its second tale of the night.

‘Another story I have been told is of a ghost, an apparition which rises from its tomb to warn men of danger. One man in Garstang, a small village far from here, was delivering letters on a deserted path leading away from the village, only to be stopped by a ghost of abnormal stature, pale as the sky above him, towering above the poor man.’

You felt your stomach lurch at her words, too afraid to walk over to the window and block out the lightening in fear of what ghastly reflection may be waiting behind you. 

Before she could continue, you finally mottled up the courage to call out a desperate, ‘Victoria, please stop!’, and to your surprise, your sister actually did. Shocked, she gave yourself a moment to collect herself by telling the two of you she would go down to the kitchen and find everyone a round of something warm to drink.

As soon as she had closed the door, Victor let go of your hand, choosing instead to settle himself fully beside you. His eyes twinkled as they settled on your face, his hand coming up to rest gingerly against your back. For a moment, you don’t move, but his breathing hitches when he hears slow, stifled sobs from your direction. With his free hand, he tries as gently as he can to try and tilt your chin up away from his shoulder so he can properly look at you in the fire light again. It breaks his heart to see your eyes so bloodshot, your cheeks so rosy and red from the crying. It only fills him with an uneasy determination as he rests his chin against the side of your head, his hair falling over your eyes and he chuckles nervously. He nearly gasps out loud as you tug on his blue tie, nearly choking the poor man until he was left gasping for breath as you pull him tighter against you. His lanky frame completely envelopes you as he composes himself, and places his other arm tightly around your shoulder.

‘It's alright, Y/n. I'll never let anything hurt you. I shall be with you, I believe, always.’

[tessiete]

16 (“If you want, we could go together?”) or 46 (“Shut up, I am a delight!”) for Obi-Wan & Padme, but no pressure whatsoever <3 <3 <3

Pressure! Pressure! Pressure! Lots of pressure. You know how my vanity requires that everything I write be capital P Profound.

This was a lot of fun to write - I forgot how much I love Padme. Now I’m contriving how to have her and Satine in the same fic and see how different they are.

In the meantime, here’s 2k of Padme just staring at Obi-Wan. Hope you’re at work @tree-scapes 

AND NEVER DO HARM TO THE WORLD

She asks him before she’s certain of the wisdom in it, herself, and he looks at her as if he’s only certain of its absence.

“If you want,” she says, “We could go together?”

The hitch in his step makes her wince as they reach the top of the Temple steps. She’s trapped him now, she knows, and feels guilty, but there’s no way for her to withdraw without causing further injury to both their dignities.

“I only suggest it since I know it’s a burden to - to me,” she explains. “And my usual escort is indisposed.”

He smiles. It’s a stiff and awkward line, as though drawn across his face by the unpracticed hand of a child, but he bows, and acquiesces with grace.

“Of course, Senator,” he says. She’s senator again, though moments before with Masters Windu and Koon she’d been Padme, so she knows it’s not the company.

“If it’s no inconvenience. I wouldn’t want to impose on your schedule, if you’d only meant to go for a short -”

“It’s no inconvenience at all,” he insists. His smile is kinder now, his awkwardness eased by the desire to alleviate her own obvious discomfort. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Good. Then I will know to expect you,” she says. With one more shallow bow, and the press of his fingers to hers, she hurries away, anxious to escape the louring gaze of the Temple guardians, and Obi-Wan’s curious stare.

She expects that he will show up, as promised.

She expects he will be, in all ways, gracious and prepared.

She expects stilted conversation, and wonders how often her tongue will stray to speak of Anakin, hoping the wine and frizz won’t alleviate one problem only to create another.

She expects she will spend the evening regretting her impulsive invitation, and making him regret it, if he doesn’t already.

What she does not expect is to be met at her door by a man she hardly recognises.

She has known Obi-Wan Kenobi since she was a girl, and he, hardly more than a boy, though in her eyes even then he’d been a man well beyond the reach of her childish ambition. Met again, he’d seemed...not ancient - one could hardly call him that - but aged, perhaps. Somber. Solemn to the point of serenity. He had an authority of a kind she’d only seen in grandmothers and wild prey, a sort of amused resignation to the motions of life, and an understanding gained through loss and sorrow. Whatever it was, it was something very distant from her, as if he’d grown out while she’d been busy growing up.

But the man that stands before her now is young, and sparkling. And nervous. It is a side of him she’s not seen before, and it has her counting the distance of years in her head. Is it ten? Less than? Surely not more. Are they truly peers?

He wears a skirt of muted blue, with three deep pleats pressed the full length on his right side. The creams of his traditional tabards are replaced with a stiff white tunic, and a thigh-length jacket with wide sleeves that drapes soft as the sky over his shoulders and down his back. It is a curious mix of imposed structure and natural elegance.

“Jedi formalwear,” he explains beneath her curious inspection. His fingers twist at the inside of a sleeve where the fabric hangs just long enough to hide his hand. He extends his opposite arm to offer her proper support. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she agrees, and instead of the more sophisticated and out-dated practice of simply laying her hand atop his, she tucks her arm beneath, and steps close until their arms are pressed between them, more like comrades than indifferent chaperones.

They stay that way until they reach the Feano Lyceum, Obi-Wan’s arm against hers. She is presented first, and his name follows. She thinks he may pull away here, in public, but his hold remains neither loose enough to encourage release, nor tight enough to prove her suspicions about his disquiet correct.

A few ambassadors and fellow diplomats nod in greeting at their arrival, but they are not questioned about their connection. This, Padme realises with some relief, and then worries that the Jedi may sense some of that and go looking for its source. She isn’t certain, yet, what lies within the power of the Force to provide. Anakin seems as attuned to her moods as she is at times, and then so oblivious at others that she thinks they must be total strangers. It would be unfortunate if Obi-Wan were to tend towards the former. If he knew about whom she thought of so often and so well...

It’s been six months since she’d wed her knight, and she’d heard lots about Obi-Wan second-hand, but only as a father, or an overly strict mentor. He is neither of these things tonight. And he is neither of these things to her. So what is Obi-Wan Kenobi?

A Jedi, certainly. Wise. Accomplished. Just. Driven. Demanding. These were all revealed to her by Anakin, and proved to her by history. But he’d said more she was less convinced of.

Stern? Perhaps, though she might instead say serious.

Aloof? Not that. Not judging by the way he leans into her at the approach of the senator from Alk’Lellish III who courts him with a lascivious flick of her tongue, and lingering prehensile limbs.

Cold? Not by the way he nudges her to draw her attention to the buffet table where two politicians abandon a vehement argument to fall into an enthusiastic embrace, stifling a smirk.

Pretentious? Not in how he coaxes her to try some sort of elegantly twisted hors d’oeuvres only to break out into genuine laughter as he watches the spice hit her tongue.

“You knew,” she accuses, trying in vain to wipe at her mouth with a synthcloth napkin in an elegant fashion.

“I might have,” he acknowledges, before mercifully passing over a cocktail from the bar. “It’s a White Knight. Made with nerf-milk. It’ll soothe the sting.”

She throws the drink back with the steel of a seasoned professional, and Obi-Wan’s brow rises in surprise.

“I’ve been in politics a long time,” she says, a warning in her tone.

“Ah,” he says, signalling for two more. “So have I.”

His own drink disappears as quickly as her first, and he calls for a flute of frizz while she sips at the Knight.

“I was under the impression you’d be above all this,” she says. “You know - as a Master of the Order.”

“I had similar delusions,” he agrees, taking a long draught of his drink. “However, it turns out there’s rather more politicking in times of war than of peace.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems that now we are required to be paraded about as the face of the Republic at these things as often as possible. To show we are here. To demonstrate our investment. To prove that the Chancellor is doing something about the Separatist threat.”

He finishes that drink, and reaches for another passing by on a tray. Padme’s smile turns to a frown as she watches that one disappear nearly as rapidly.

“You sound as though you don’t approve,” she says.

Obi-Wan tenses beside her, and turns away to set his empty glass aside. She cannot see his face, so must read what she can in the rigid line of his back as he says, “I lost many friends on Geonosis.”

“I’m sorry.”

When he turns back he is smiling softly once more, and she can’t tell if it is the Knight or some otherworldly radiance of his own that makes him blur at the edges, disguising his hurt, and transforming his disgust into dust, swept away by the fine skirts, and elevated company.

“Don’t be,” he says, deliberately applying her apology to a far less serious wound. “That’s why I came tonight with you. I had hoped you might ease my way, and perform all necessary flattery for me.”

“Oh, I hardly think you need my help in that,” she says, rolling her eyes, content to follow him to safer ground. “Maybe only to keep your admirers at bay.”

A short, sharp exhalation of air, and he falls silent, looking away.

“Why, Master Kenobi,” she cries, entranced and in utter delight, “Are you blushing?”

“That would be rather undignified for someone of my rank,” he denies. “It’s only a flush from the heat of the room.”

“You are blushing!”

“I am not,” he says. “It’s the ventilation that’s lacking.”

She waits. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, until she catches his gaze and holds it. His lips twitch. She can see his facade begin to splinter. It only pushes her to a higher mirth, and she laughs outright as it gives way entirely, leaving them both breathless and gasping.

Their joy catches the interest of several nearby dignitaries, one of whom is the Lellish ambassador with the wandering appendages, and before Obi-Wan can revert back to the blandly pleasant stoic he plays at, she takes him by the hand and leads him to the floor.

“Dance with me,” she says.

His smile remains, though his head tilts in confusion.

“This doesn’t seem a particularly effective way to solicit political support,” he suggests.

“No,” she says. “Not at all. But then I don’t find myself particularly interested in politics tonight, do you, Master Kenobi?”

“Obi-Wan,” he corrects, eyes shining.

“I thought not,” she says, and a smirk winds its way across her lips like the arched spine of a smug felinx.

They dance one set, and then the next, twirling away in a flourish of colour and light the moment anyone steps too near, or looks too close, and for a time they cannot be touched, and when they are spent, they fall laughing, out of line, upon each other.

“Anakin won’t believe this!” she says, her voice still rising with the excitement of the music. She doesn’t realise what she’s said until Obi-Wan’s eyes turn cloudy, and a wedge forms between his brows as he looks on her with a strange regard. “Next time I see him,” she amends. “I’ll tell him your secret.”

The Jedi coughs to clear some stray thought from his throat before it can be said aloud, and looks out over the room.

“Yes, I - I’m sure he’ll be amused,” he agrees. “Though we have attended many functions such as this before. Growing up. On a variety of worlds. It can be of little surprise to him - it seems that such civilized negotiations are common everywhere.”

Padme settles her skirts, and treads cautiously. “I suppose that’s true,” she allows.

“Though I imagine he little suspects that I am capable of such delight.”

“He has never said that,” she says, unwilling to slander Anakin even in her denial of him.

“But evidently, he thinks it,” Obi-Wan says, then sighs, gathering himself again. “Forgive me,” he says. “I find myself more and more uncertain what Anakin thinks, and feels. He doesn’t come to me as - Forgive me. You’re much too young, but I suppose one day, when you have your own younglings eaten up by adulthood you’ll feel it, too.”

“You’re not so old as all that, Obi-Wan,” she chides. “Hardly older than me, and not much older than Anakin. Certainly not old enough to be his father.”

“I was his master,” he corrects. “And now that he is knighted, I’m not certain what I am, anymore. He is changing faster than I am.”

She watches him as he watches the room spin, whirling by him in a wild array of colour and form that he cannot possibly follow - or if he can, then he is even more distant, even more removed from her ability to reckon. He is different. He is set apart, even from Anakin, and she suddenly wonders if that is because of the Force, or because of himself. Is it he who feels removed? He who feels shut out? He who feels divested of his place in the world, defined only by the title others call him and lacking the distinction of earnest comprehension? It isn’t enough, she thinks, to see in him what Anakin sees, or what she might expect. She needs to see him for himself, and appreciate him for that.

“His brother then,” she concludes, and she takes his hand. “And my friend, whatever else besides, no matter what he thinks.”

“If you say so,” he says, and she can feel him yield beneath the pressure of her hand, and the firmness of her conviction.

“I absolutely do. Let’s not think of him. Let’s be whatever we are right now. Let’s be delighted and delightful together, and have just one more dance.”

[justjeonday]

Let Me Know | jeon jeongguk

In which you and Jeongguk have broken up, but he can’t bring himself to move on. He keeps it all hidden beneath a forced smile, only crying when he’s alone, ridding himself of thoughts by practicing for hours on end, but a man can only take so much pain until it all becomes too much.

“Love blooms like cherry blossoms but burns and becomes ashes.”

- 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌; let me know - BTS

- 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌; jeon jeongguk x reader

- 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 5,4K

- 𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌; PG-13 

- 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊; angst, break up, idol AU

- 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘; self inflicted torture to numb the feeling of heartbreak?? (gguk intentionally makes himself gasp for air), exhaustion, very brief mention of not eating, mild depression, pining, gguk has a broken heart :( 

- 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘; wow...I had so much fun writing this, and it also made my heart ache. This is inspired by the lyrics of the song, and I definitely have a new appreciation for it after writing this fic - the lyrics are absolutely beautiful, as always when it comes to bts’ music. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! feedback is always appreciated <3

this is a part of the bulletproof bingo event created by @ficswithluv​! I’m very grateful for this opportunity, I think it’ll help me improve my writing a lot! thank you to all admins for your hard work!

and of course, a big thanks to Zoe for helping me finish this and beta-reading it! I don’t know what I’d do without you <333

 Jeongguk awakes, eyes closing tightly at the sun hitting his face as he reaches an arm out to hug your waist and pull your warmth against him - but it falls with a thump on top of the mattress.

You're not there.

He opens his eyes to see your side unoccupied, the bed feeling cold and empty without you next to him. It hits him just as hard as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that day.

You're not his anymore.

Jeongguk's heart breaks a little more as he reaches over to grab the pillow and hug it close against his chest, the smell of your shampoo still lingering, albeit faint, on the soft cotton. It reminds him of the mornings you spent together. The way you'd both lay in bed for an extra hour just holding and breathing each other in before lazily getting up to make breakfast. You love Sundays, and he has come to love them too. However, with you gone, they feel more dull than ever.

Tears sting in his eyes despite the warm feeling the memories with you bring, knowing he'll never experience that again - that you'll be nothing but a memory in his mind.

It still doesn't feel real. He has now spent two months in a cold bed, still sleeping on the left side of it and waking up expecting you to be right there next to him. Two months since the two of you were no more, two months since you broke his heart.

The moment feels blurry, like it had been a dream - a painful scenario created in his head.

Jeongguk presses the combination of numbers on your lock, expecting you to be laying on the couch reading just like you enjoy doing on Thursday nights like these while you wait for him to arrive. However, as he steps in, you're nowhere to be seen, and the TV isn't on like it usually is considering you don't like the silence when you're alone.

His eyes scan the apartment as he closes the door behind him, the clicking of the lock sounding through the space as it returns into its frame. After kicking his boots off and shrugging off his jacket, he walks further to look for you. His first thought is that you've already gone to bed, but it fades as he sees you on the balcony with your back facing him as you look out over the city.

The sight of you, his love, makes his heart flutter. He walks up to the glass door, sliding it open slowly not to startle you - but even that makes you jump slightly, causing you to turn quickly to find the source of unexpected noise.

"Hi," Jeongguk smiles.

You sigh. "Hey."

"You okay?"

"Uh..." you start, not really sure how to continue as you turn back to watch the city lights. "Yeah, I'm fine."

You're not fine.

Instantly he knows something's up, worry blooming in his chest as he walks up to stand next to you.

"What's wrong?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed. "Talk to me."

You breathe out, letting your head fall back as you try to keep it together. You'd been feeling like this all day, constantly finding yourself having to fight back the tears. You knew this moment was bound to happen sooner or later, but still, you dreaded it.

"We..." you stop, swallowing to keep your voice from breaking as you continue on. "We should take some time apart from each other." You say, eyes still not meeting his.

Jeongguk feels as if his heart stops, his breath getting caught in his throat. "Wh-What?" He stutters, searching for your gaze as you look down at your hands hanging over the railing.

The whole situation feels unexpected to him. He thought everything between you two was fine. Did he do something wrong? 

He feels panic arising, quickly replacing the worry that found home inside his ribcage.

"I need to find myself," you speak, now gaining the courage to look into his eyes. "And you need to find you, and figure out who you are."

His beautiful eyes. Big brown eyes with countless amounts of stars sparkling in them, those eyes you've gotten lost in over and over ever since the two of you met years ago. Those soft eyes, and the wrinkles that form around them when he smiles - nose scrunching in happiness.

Your heart aches as you look into them, feeling tears sting in your eyes. You didn't want to do this. The last thing you'd ever want to do is hurt Jeongguk. Your sweet Jeongguk, your bunny, your happiness and your warmth. Your everything.

This has been the hardest decision you've ever had to make, but you know it'll be better this way.

You can’t help but feel like the two of you rely on each other too much for happiness and well-being, whenever there's a problem or when something is weighing you down - you always search for a solution in the other. You're grateful to have him, someone you can go to and feel better - you really are. But you found yourself wandering off inside your mind one day while waiting for him to return from work, wondering what life would be like without Jeongguk. He's been your light ever since the two of you met, the morning that dawned after a night that seemed to be endless.

You realised right then and there that, without him, you'd be nothing - everything would be dull. And as your mind wandered even further, questions started popping up in your head.

Do you love yourself? Yes, because Jeongguk has taught you to. Are you happy? Yes you are, because you have Jeongguk.

Are you really happy with your life? Do you wanna stay like this forever?

With Jeongguk? Yes, you want to stay with him forever. With life? No, you want to be genuinely happy, and you want to be independent in that - and be able to say that you've found true happiness, because and for you, not anyone or anything else.

You'd asked Jeongguk that same day; are you happy? Do you love yourself?

"Yes, because of you."  He had replied, an unintentional reflection of your own answers.

His response should've made you happy, it should've made your heart flutter - but because of your concerns, you simply couldn't feel that way.

"What do you mean?" Jeongguk asks, voice weak as he hears his heart beat in his ears. "What's wrong?"

It pains you to do this. Like nothing else ever has.

"We're too dependent on each other," you explain. "We need to find happiness on our own, we need to learn how to love ourselves - on our own."

'On our own.'

At that moment, when those words left your mouth - that's when the ground beneath him shattered. That's when his world fell apart. When the stars shining above faded and the sun in his sky disappeared - leaving him lonely with a single grey cloud, and a world that became sombre.

What went wrong? What did he do that made you leave? Could he have done something to prevent it?

As Jeongguk recalls the moment, he feels a weight push down on his chest as he lays on his back, making his breathing heavy. Tears are now welling up in his eyes, running down the sides of his face and making his pillow wet. His hands come up to run over his face as he closes his eyes, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from sobbing too loudly. If he gives into the pain, he knows it'll be too hard to swim back up to the surface again - too difficult to put his mask back on and start the day off like nothing's wrong.

He’s been keeping it inside since it all happened, only crying and letting it get to him when no one's around. He doesn’t want to worry anyone, since he’s well aware they have their own burdens to deal with - not wanting to put any extra weight on anyone’s shoulders.

Jeongguk sucks in an erratic breath before getting out of bed, his body heavy as he walks over to throw yesterday’s clothes on before wiping his tears with the back of his hand and leaving his room as quietly as possible, wanting to avoid conversation with anybody. He manages to leave the dorm unnoticed, thankful the members are deep in sleep because of the late celebration that was held last night after their recent release of the new album. He wishes he could enjoy it, he really does - but without you everything feels meaningless, empty.

Twenty minutes later, he arrives at the bighit building, bowing politely to everyone he passes on his way to the practice room despite the sorrow weighing him down - making it difficult to pick his head back up again.

He’s able to breathe out as he enters the studio, a quiet void surrounding him as he leans back against the door. He feels relaxed here, only thanks to the fact it's his escape - his way of numbing the pain, even if it's just temporary.

He's been coming here every day since the two of you broke up. Tour is slowly but surely approaching, and there are several new choreographies to learn. Jeongguk and the rest of the members had been practicing them for a few months now, and even though Jeongguk knows every single move like the back of his hand - he still comes here everyday to perfect and improve them. He wants everything to be perfect on stage, a single mistake making him doubt himself for the rest of the concert.

You know this very well, how hard he is on himself. You were the one who could make him feel better about himself, reassuring him that everything was fine even though he might've messed that one move up. What would he do now that you were gone?

However, practicing has gotten another purpose now, to simply act as a distraction for him - to get you out of his mind as he moved along with the beat. To get to that point where the oxygen burned in his throat, his chest falling up and down quickly as he tried to catch his breath while laying flat on the floor.

And that's exactly how he finds himself many hours later, shirt damp with sweat and sticking to his chest as he falls down onto the floor, his legs weak. He almost gasps for air as he looks up at the ceiling, loud music still playing through the speakers. Even though the room is completely empty, it almost feels crowded, like the air is pushing in on him, like it's suffocating him.

It feels terrible, but he finds himself relishing in the self-inflicted torture. It almost works as an antidote, ridding his mind of you - and during those few seconds, he feels free, and his body feels weightless.

But then it fades and small pieces of thoughts and memories slowly re-enter his mind as he catches his breath, the weight of sorrow gradually pushing down harder and harder over his ribcage once again.

Usually, after a tough session like this, he'd drive back to your place and spend the rest of the night with you - hours filled with cuddling and sweet kisses as the two of you find comfort in simply being close to each other. He misses it. It feels empty without you, and his days feel excruciatingly long.

Being close to you, admiring you - he won't get to do it anymore.

He wonders if you miss him too, if you're hurting too. Are you thinking of him right now? Are you longing to hold him, just like he’s longing to hold you? He saw the look on your face when you told him you wanted to break up, he saw that you too found it hurtful. But why would you do it if you didn't want to? He can't really grasp the reason why. Couldn't you find happiness together? Wasn't it enough? 

Wasn't he enough?

Jeongguk closes his eyes, trying to paint a picture of your face in front of him but the image in his mind is far from vivid. He can still remember everything, your beautiful eyes, your soft lips and how they felt against his own, your hand gestures you use so often as you speak, every single detail is still there, but the image is faint. He wants to reach out and run his thumb over your cheek bone, he wants to touch you - but he can't as you're slowly fading. It's torture, because even though your face might become more dim as the time without you increases, he's certain he'll always remember you and always compare you with everyone else. Compare the pink of your lips to others, compare how your eyes sparkle as you smile to others dull ones.

You'll always be it for him. You'll always have his heart.

Click.

The sound of the door opening brings Jeongguk back to the practice room despite the loud music already playing, his head turning to see Jimin walk in.

"Oh Jeongguk-ssi, I didn't know you were here!" Jimin says, smiling.

Jeongguk gets up from the floor, not really in the mood to chat or make small talk. He walks over and turns the music off, only now realising it’s dark out.

Jimin furrows his eyebrows in concern, slowly walking up behind Jeongguk. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Jeongguk replies, voice cold - more than he intends for it to be.

Jimin can tell something's up, and he's well aware that the two of you broke up - but for what reason, he has no idea. Jeongguk is usually really happy to see Jimin, always teasing and joking around with him - exclaiming 'Jimin-ssi' every time he enters the room. But ever since you two broke up, there's been this heavy energy around him pushing him down. He hasn't been eating as much as he usually does, and Jimin has never known someone who loves food as much as Jeongguk does -  so seeing it naturally causes him concern. Jimin notices it all, he notices the way Jeongguk tries to hide it, but that's just how he is, he doesn't wanna trouble anyone else with whatever feelings he might have.

It's not the best trait of his. Eventually, it'll all become too much for him to handle on his own. Jimin dreads that moment has come.

"Jeongguk-" Jimin starts, but he's quickly interrupted.

"I'm fine!" Jeongguk says, his voice loud this time as the words echo through the silent room. "I'm fine," he repeats, now quieter as if he's trying to convince himself.

But he can't. He's not fine, and he knows it. He can feel his body getting weaker by the second, wanting nothing but to fall down and lay on the floor again - but at the same time, he feels like dancing more, he wants to move until he feels that burn in his throat again. The burn that numbs the pain of being without you, the heaving of his chest that forces him to focus on breathing instead of the bitterness your absence brings.

"Jeongguk," Jimin tries again, conscientiously deciding to continue when there's no reply. "I know you're struggling, but keeping it all in won't make it any better."

Jeongguk only listens, still standing with his back facing the older.

"You should talk to someone about it, anyone - just get it all out."

"I can't," Jeongguk mumbles, feeling as if someone is squeezing his heart with all their might.

Thinking about it over and over is one thing, but having to talk about it out loud would ruin him - it'd hurt even more. He'd have to accept it. Accept that you're no longer with him, that he won't get to kiss and hold you close again.

"Gguk," Jimin says, placing his hands on Jeongguk's shoulders.

The name sounds foreign as Jimin says it.

Gguk. That's what you always called him, except for when you were annoyed at him - only then voicing his full name. The memory makes Jeongguk want to smile and break down all at the same time.

It's too quiet, he's too still - and he feels the pain slowly seep back into his heart. "I can't," he repeats, but in a whisper.

"Why?"

Jimin makes Jeongguk turn to face him, only now seeing his glossy, tired eyes. How his lips quiver and how his skin seems unusually pale.

There’s so much pain, too much for him to handle.

"It hurts, hyung," Jeongguk sobs as everything he's been keeping inside bursts, his head falling to land on Jimin's shoulder. "It hurts so bad."

Jimin embraces him, a bothersome feeling appearing in his stomach at the sight of Jeongguk this way. His dear Jeongguk, having his heart broken for the first time.

You were his first love. You changed his life, and Jeongguk thought he had reached the peak of fortune even before you came along, but it turned out he hadn't. You quickly became someone he valued, that someone he had dreamt of - that someone he could give all his love to. But you're not next to him anymore. You're not laying next to him in the morning to accept his lazy kisses. There's no one next to him running their fingers over his back, connecting his birthmarks with light touches of a finger - creating constellations over his skin.

He thought he'd have you forever. Trying to imagine his life without you, it just came up as nothingness in his head - blank and pointless.

Jeongguk doesn't want to admit to himself it's over. If he tries hard enough, he's sure he could pretend this was just another day, finishing up at work to go home to you and hold you in his arms. But that wouldn't be fair to you, and not to himself either. Deep down he knows it, he knows it's over - that the two of you are no more. But he feels as if he's stuck at the end of a finished sentence, just before the punctuation mark. He wants to jump over it, but he can't bring himself to take that leap, that leap to move on from you and what the two of you had.

He's heard many times, in books and movies the two of you have watched together, that first love is something you'll always remember. So surely, there's no hope for him. He won't be able to move on from you no matter how hard he may try to.

He's certain he'll never find a love like that again. He's certain he won't find someone like you, who could make him as happy as you did.

Jimin softly runs his hand over Jeongguk's hair, thinking of what words to say next that could make him feel better. But his thoughts are halted when Jeongguk slowly pulls away from him, his breath irregular as he grabs his phone on the desk behind him before he starts walking towards the door.

"Jeongguk, where are you going?" Jimin asks, worry evident in his voice.

"I need to see her."

Jimin instantly starts walking after him. "You shouldn't."

"I have to see her," Jeongguk says, now exiting the practice room.

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Jeongguk," Jimin warns, having to jog after him to keep up.

Jeongguk only keeps walking, hastily passing staff in the corridor - not bothering to bow or greet anyone this time.

"Jeongguk, stop. You're not thinking straight."

He turns as Jimin grabs hold of his bicep tightly, keeping him from getting further.

"Let go."

He doesn't, his hand only tightening as his fingers dig into the skin.

"Let-"

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" Jimin asks, voice stern as he looks into the younger's eyes. "It's over, Jeongguk. You can't just go over there and see her, you don't have the right to anymore. It'll only make everything worse for the both of you. Seeing her will only make things harder than what they already are."

Jimin's words only cut deeper into his wounds and even more tears start falling from his eyes, creating wet paths down his pale skin. He groans out loud as the pain takes over once again, hands coming up to tug at his hair as he shuts his eyes tightly - trying his best to cope with the seemingly endless suffering.

"I just need her to let me know," he chokes, eyes opening to meet Jimin's.

"Let you know what?"

"That it'll all be fine, that I'll be fine," Jeongguk sobs. "I need her to let me know it's over."

"It's already over Jeongguk, don't you know?" Jimin says, concerned as his eyebrows furrow.

"It's all so blurry in my head I can’t remember anything clearly," he says through erratic breaths. "I need her to tell me it's all over, so I can move on. It hurts too much, I can't stay like this - I need to find peace."

"I'm not sure if it's-"

"Hyung," Jeongguk interferes with a desperate look in his now red and puffy eyes, taking a firm hold of Jimin's shoulders. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

Jimin sighs, his head in conflict with his heart. But after a few seconds, his grip on Jeongguk's arm loosens hesitantly.

After a last glance at Jimin, Jeongguk turns to continue towards his car - hurrying off to see you.

For the last time.

You're sitting at your kitchen table with your laptop in front of you, head resting in your palm as you try to come up with the right words for your essay. You've been sitting here since 10 PM, for almost an hour now, yet your document remains empty. It's almost funny how much it resembles your life at the moment.

Empty.

He's gone.

Jeongguk. Jeongguk. Jeongguk.

It’s all you've been able to think about.

You push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind for probably the eleventh time these past thirty minutes. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up straight in your chair as you feel your back ache.

You would've opted for the couch, but that would only bring you more burden. His scent still lingers on the fabric, the memories of him in your arms planting light kisses over your face all too fresh in your mind for you to face.

Two months, and still, you couldn't sit on your own couch. Pathetic.

You're weak. 

You've done this to yourself. Everything about your relationship with Jeongguk was fine, but it felt wrong to rely on each other that much. You were raised to be independent, raised by your parents to be strong and stand up for yourself, to do what's right.

You longed to be with him again, to feel his skin under your fingertips - to feel his lips against yours and his hot breath against your skin as his face finds home in the crook of your neck as you hold each other close. But the timing wasn't right.

You want to be able to say you truly love yourself, that you're content with the person you are and that you're genuinely happy - without the influence of anyone or anything else.

Maybe fate will bring the two of you back together in the future, when all is right. You hope it will. Oh, how you hope it will.

You knew how big of a risk you took while making that decision, that it could ruin everything good you had together. But you felt it was the right thing to do, not only for your own sake, but for his as well. The both of you need to find yourselves, before you search for someone else. Perhaps Jeongguk even more than you, since he didn't have as much time as you for self-searching before you found each other, the reason being how early in his life he started to work.

Ten more minutes gone, and your document remains blank.

You need to stop thinking about it. You need to stop thinking about him.

You run your fingers through your hair before putting your focus on the display in front of you. A sudden inspiration hits you and you exhale in relief as your fingers start pressing the lettered keys.

But a sudden sequence of knocks against your front door interrupts you.

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

The universe really doesn't want it to work out for you, does it?

You get up from your seat nonetheless, walking over and unlocking the door before pulling it open. The person standing in front of you almost makes you choke on air, taking a step back in surprise.

Jeongguk.

You simply stand in front of each other, the rest of the world fading as silence surrounds you. It's only the two of you now, eyes meeting for the first time ever since that night when you last saw each other.

You notice he's been crying, his eyes glossy and swollen. It makes your heart ache.

You caused this. This is all your fault. It’s your fault he’s hurting.

Your vision becomes blurry as tears collect in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. But you don't let them, blinking them away and swallowing the sobs back down.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, your voice weak even though you try your best to sound okay.

Who are you trying to fool? You're not okay.

You haven't been ever since that night on the balcony. It takes all of your willpower not to throw your arms around him, apologize and let him know it’ll all be okay.

Jeongguk's bottom lip starts quivering again at the sight of you. You’re right in front of him, but he can’t touch you - he can’t embrace you even though that’s all he wants in this world.

"I miss you," he utters with a broken voice.

You don't know what to respond with, but your mind wanders to a place where it shouldn't be - making unwanted words linger on the tip of your tongue.

I miss you too. Please come back.

You can't say that. It goes against everything that's happened.

Jeongguk turns as he hears the sound of keys rattling, knowing very well it's the building inspector that comes every eveing close to midnight to make sure it's peacefu. It's the sound you'd faintly hear outside the door when you had movie marathons, or when you just laid on your couch talking until the AM.

Jeongguk, to show respect and reassure that everything's fine, turns to bow to the man as he walks past - but as he does he's ridden of all strength, and it causes him to stumble forward and fall to his knees on the floor.

Out of habit to care and make sure he's okay, you gasp as you rush up to him and get down to sit on your knees in front of him - grabbing a hold of his shoulders to support him as his head hangs with exhaustion.

You’ve seen this before. This is how he gets when he overworks himself, when he neglects sleep or food because of work. It pains you to see him so weak he can’t even stand up.

All you want is for him to be okay, to be healthy and happy.

"Jeongguk," you say, voice laced with concern. "Hey, look at me."

His eyes flutter closed as you cup his face to hold his head up, and you feel him lean into your touch.

"What are you doing?" You ask, shaking lightly to get his attention.

He only lets out a weak groan in response, falling into your embrace and letting his forehead rest against your collarbone. You’re sitting in the middle of the hallway with a weak man in front of you, completely helpless with no one to call out to for help.

You look around to see that the inspector is long gone, probably in the elevator already on his way to inspect the last few floors.

Shit.

"Jeongguk?" you say to gain his heed again, letting him lean on you still.

"Mm?" he mumbles, voice rough.

"Are you not taking care of yourself?" You ask, guilt and sorrow creating a knot in the pit of your stomach.

You hear him as he starts to sob, tears running down and dripping off his nose - falling onto the fabric of your shirt, causing it to become damp. "I miss you so much."

"I know Jeongguk, I know," you hush, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you so much it hurts, all I want is to be with you.” He cries. “Why did you let me go?”

Your heart squeezes tightly at his words, tears once again welling up in your eyes. You can’t help but let them fall this time, but you wipe them away quickly. You need to stay strong for him, and for yourself. If you let yourself fall down that hole, you won’t be able to trust yourself - th hurt could make you do something you regret.

You could take it all back and go back to the way you were before, but you know it's wrong. You can't play with his feelings like that. You need to stay true to your words and find yourself before giving your relationship with him another chance.

No matter how much it hurts to see him like this, and how much it hurts to be away from him - you need to stick with what you've said.

He gathers the strength to pick his head up and look at you, his face dangerously close to yours. Only a few centimeters and you could feel those pink, soft lips against yours again.

"Do you miss me, too?" He whispers, tears still running down the curves of his cheek.

You look away to avoid his gaze, his sad eyes, the stars in them faded - it hurts too much to see them that way. You find yourself caressing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, wiping the wet paths away. "Of course I miss you, Gguk. But we can't let it change anything, not right now."

"When?"

"When you've found yourself, and when I've found me - when we've figured out who we are as people, who we are without each other. Maybe we can try again then, if fate is on our side."

"Really?" He sniffles, breathing now a bit more steady as he sits up straighter.

You look into his eyes again as you let your hands fall from his face.

"Only on one condition," you say.

He looks at you with tired, but hopeful eyes. "Anything."

"I want you to take care of yourself. I want you to eat and rest well, and please don’t overwork yourself. Be focused on yourself, and on your own goals - and I don't want any of it to be influenced by me. And if you find someone who makes your heart flutter-" you pause, noticing how he opens his mouth to oppose you.

He wants to tell you he won't find anyone else, that he'll wait for you until the both of you are ready. But you speak again before he gets the chance to.

Besides, he shouldn't. If that's what you want, then he'll accept it if he finds someone special.

But no one will compare to you.

"- then I want you to explore that and see what it could turn into - maybe they’ll be your soulmate.” You smile at him. “I want you to have fun with your friends and spend time with your family. If you can do that for me, maybe we'll start over and try again in the future when we know who we are."

Jeongguk feels the weight finally lift off his shoulders and how his heart starts beating more easily at your words. Still sitting on the floor outside your apartment, he looks at you - and it doesn't hurt as much.

He feels free.

Everything is going to be okay.

He’ll still miss you, still miss waking up to you, kissing you, hugging you - but he can live with that. You’ll always be in his heart, and he’ll always be in yours.

You have each other.

"Promise me?" He says, holding his pinky out.

You look down, unable to hold back the small smile spreading on your lips.

You hook your pinky with his, looking into his eyes once again - seeing a spark of hope shining in them.

"I promise."

[b1a4seeyou]

Data Research in Progress (Albedo x Genshin!OC)

Summary: Asking for assistant to his incomplete research, something deep inside feels missing to him. Now what could it be.

Rating: None

Side note: A commission piece for @samallama​ !! Thank you so much for commissioning me, I had fun writing for your oc!! ^^

>>Commission is still open !!<<

>>You can read it in AO3 too<<

A fine day continues while the wind carries in the heart of Monstadt. With its people roaming freely, their safety is top priority as the Knights of Favonius keep on the lookout for outside dangers, including those who watch from behind the scenes.

“Hmm… according to these books, violet grasses have strong vitality with a sweet fragrance. Maybe if I could extract them and do a few test experiments, I could possibly create a concoction for stamina!”

Somewhere inside the headquarters, sounds of glass clinking and smokes puffing out between the gaps, the knights knew the alchemist was experimenting yet again. Even though it sounded dangerous, everyone trusts her abilities so they would not question it.

While she had full concentration into extracting the violet flower sample, she could see a red cap bobbing towards her from the corner of her eye. Her tiny hands reached onto the nearby stool and climbed on it, the little visitor observed the alchemist’s work with full excitement as she hopped about.

“Oooooh!! Klee knows this flower. One of the knights gave one to Klee before.”

“Is that so? I’m happy to hear you have knowledge about this flower, Klee,” the alchemist replied. Her eyes and hands steadily work on the extraction. “Aren't you still in confinement, Klee?”

“Klee’s confinement time just ended so Klee is now free to walk around!”

While nodding, the alchemist’s eyes started to sparkle as the flower extraction had come to the completing stage. Perfect! Carefully taking a few drops into a tube, the eyes of both knights observe it with awe. However, the little knight broke the silence with-

“Master Selene, do you think this flower can help Klee’s bombs explode more?”

The alchemist dryly laughed, “I don’t think that’s a possibility, Klee.”

“But Jumpy Dumpty needs more explosions!! The bigger it explodes, the prettier!”

Struggling to explain the dangerous possibilities of bigger explosion outcomes to a child is hard to simplify, especially when you just discovered a new material to test its contents. Right on time, footsteps walked through the door, revealing a familiar figure to the two knights.

“Master Albedo!!” The child happily skipped towards the man and hugged his legs. From Selene’s view, Albedo looked rather exhausted for a while before his lips turned to a smile as he patted the child’s head. 

Selene sighed, “Albedo, I hope you’ve been taking rests these days.”

Albedo’s eyes widened at the mention before quickly averted them from her gaze. Yeah, she’s going to take that as a no.

Before her lecture comes about, Albedo clears his throat to pull her attention to his matters. “Selene, can I have a moment of your time? Unless you’re occupied with something.” 

Even though she’s practically preoccupied with her current experiment, she couldn’t object to her master’s request, right?

“Sure. Is there something you need for?”

“I’m planning to hike back to Dragonspine. I was looking through some of my previous research reports and I realized some of the procedures are missing something.”

Strange. Albedo is the type to be very precise and collective about his research, so hearing an incomplete finding started ringing alert bells in Selene’s head. Plus, Dragonspine is an interesting location to research on more, so of course she would join in!

“Can Klee join in too?” Cute puppy eyes staring at Albedo, begging him to include her in the team. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come along, Klee.” Worried about the child’s safety, Selene refused. 

“Klee will be extra careful in Dragonspine. And Klee will warm you up from the cold with Jumpy Dumpty!” 

The chief alchemist chuckled, “I guess we could use a Pyro vision user during the journey, would it?”

Well, he’s not wrong about that fact. Walking around in sheer cold is a risky walk. Selene sighed in defeat after thinking through Albedo’s reasoning before nodding. Happily hopped around, the three set on their journey to the cold winter. 

From passing through hilichurl attacks to Fatui ambushes, they finally arrived at the destination of Albedo’s curiosity. The intense heat emitting inside the underground cave, scarlet quartz scattered across the ground. Beholding upon them, there lies the source of the scarlet red colors in Dragonspine. 

The Core. 

Said it used to be the heart of Durin, no one knows how it still glows for thousands of years until now. Seems like Albedo’s interest in researching Dragonspine is still pumping up. Even to Selene, her eyes sparkled as she quietly stared to the core with awe. 

“From my findings, the core still radiates high intensity of heat that could support the creatures living here. Somehow, I still wonder how it could affect someone with low resistance to it.”

While the two alchemists started their research, Klee roamed around with piqued interest as she looked at each and every scarlet quartz surrounding the cave. Poking on one of the quartz, she insisted on breaking some in hopes to work on a better version of her bombs. Nonetheless, it only emitted its heat in a short amount of time which disappointed the little knight. Trying to figure out a possible way to take these quartz home, her eyes darted towards the core. With a smile of excitement, Klee skipped over to the core while staring into the pumping object.

Meanwhile, the two alchemists were busy discussing what could possibly be the reason for its everlasting life until Selene noticed Klee getting close to the core. “Klee, don’t go near it!”

Her words fell on deaf ears, Klee has touched the core while admiring the red glow. 

“Klee!!” Running towards the child, Selene’s worry of something fatal might happen to her. Until a scream was heard.

“Too hot, too hot!! Klee’s body is burning. Master Selene! Master Albedo! It’s too hot.” As the child cried over to Selene, the alchemist carried her small body to the cave entrance in hopes for the temperature to cool her down.

As Selene scolded the child, Albedo observed the event with interest, wondering that could be the answer to his hypothesis. Caressing the red glowing core, knowing that he won’t feel the same heat intensity from what Klee experienced, his expression sorrowed in wonder. Something about this research is… missing the most important piece of the puzzle. 

With the unexpected incident falling on them, they decided to head over to their camp hideout to fix up a quick antidote to Klee’s temperature. As Albedo focusly extracted the liquid, his thoughts started to wander. He realized he didn't react to the incident of Klee a while ago. Witnessing Selene’s reaction is a normality to be worried about someone, but why didn’t he feel anything? Why didn’t he feel any sorrow or any swirling of emotions inside him? 

Looking over Selene, who’s warming up the child on her lap with a blanket, he called out to her.

“How’s her condition, Selene?”

“Ah! her temperature has cooled down, but I think the heat drained her energy so she decided to take a nap for now.”

Albedo nodded, “That’s good to hear then.” Even though he walked over to check on Klee, he couldn’t understand this action of worrying someone. How does it feel to care for someone dear? He knew how precious the child is to him, especially to the people who he once was with in the past.

Selene must have noticed how conflicted his expression is, as she placed her hand on Albedo’s shoulder to comfort him. “Don’t worry, she just needed some rest.”

“Oh. Right.” As he sat beside Selene, he thought to himself that maybe asking her input could help with this question throbbing inside his mind. “Is it normal to be worried about someone, Selene?”

“Hmm?” The unexpected question surprised her, but knowing that’s Albedo’s character, she tilted her head in deep thought. “Well, worrying about someone is more of an involuntary instinct, so you could say it’s normal to be.”

“But what if you don’t?” He looked over to the sleeping child, softly stroking her hair. “What if you can’t feel any sorrow for a person? Would others think of you as selfish? Wouldn’t the person we look after be upset about it?”

Selene looked over between Albedo and Klee, somehow found the answers to those questions, “Not being able to worry about someone doesn’t make you a selfish person. Even though you couldn’t feel it, you just… know that you are.”

Albedo’s brows furrowed. Hmm, maybe a more practical explanation would help. 

“Having the emotion of worrying is a normality to everyone, but even the actions you took for them is one too. Just like how you did for Klee! You stopped the research for a while for the sake of saving her and even made the antidote. Even though you couldn’t feel anything, your action is what matters too because that’s what others will see how much you care for them.”

With that, she beamed a genuine smile and even pushed the child’s lips to a smile, making the chief alchemist smirk. So even without possessing those emotions, the reflective actions to that itself shows his worries too. Even though it’s likely just Albedo’s logical thinking into resolving it, he must have not realized the latter too.

Maybe… that’s what the core underneath them had the same intentions. Because of the endless sheer cold surrounding this continent, a heat source is majorly needed for the creatures to survive. Maybe before the dragon’s body decomposed, the purity of the dragon’s heart still pumps with infinite power for those who need it most. 

While his thoughts wander for more possibilities, a yawn is heard beside him. Witnessing her eyes slowly drooping to a slumber, he gently pulled her body to lean on him while her head landed on his shoulder. Mayhaps the heat from before overtaken her as well, he decided to let her rest for now. Ah, this could be another action of worrying then. The edge of Albedo’s lips lift as he watches over the two knights sleeping with the thought that he learned something new.

Either way with the current situation, it’s best to pause the research for a while. He couldn’t bear to wake them up by how peaceful their expressions look. Once there’s time to reflect, he will thoroughly look for the missing information of his research and analytics of the emotion he seeks.

[fogsrollingin]

Title: Flinch Author: fogsrollingin fandom: Supernatural Story details: Sam & Dean, rated PG-13, 1.8k words. Summary: Dean had beaten him to a pulp and almost murdered him with Death's damned scythe. What did that do to Sam? This is my newest entry for @whumptober2020! Prompts filled are No. 6 “Stop, please” and No. 16 “Forced to Beg.” There’s some conceptual overlap there so to be explicit I hit both prompts, the literal phrases were included in this story. Available on AO3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　Flinch　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sam flinched around Dean now.

It took a couple times for Dean to realize it was him. He thought Sam was just being jumpy about the case or their immediate surroundings but then he did it  in the library when it was just Dean walking up to him. A suppressed shudder, and then Sam's familiar eyes, today a murky gray green, gazing at him with forced airiness, hiding something darker, something like fear. Or the memory of it.

That night, Dean paused as he took off his red button-up. It was what he’d been wearing… but it couldn’t be. It probably wasn’t. He was reading too much into things.

After a good night's sleep, Dean decided he wouldn't do anything. Ignoring it until it went away was a tried and true method sometimes and it was worth a shot in this instance. It wasn't like he'd ever hurt Sam like that in his right mind and Sam had to know that. His little brother’s subconscious flinching just needed to hop onboard too. With enough time of Dean just being himself around Sam, it would.

So that was fine. Amara was still roaming the Earth as a rapidly growing child and they had cases to solve, monsters to hunt and people to save. Sam still flinched. Dean stopped wearing his red shirt which helped but Sam still recoiled if Dean quickly walked up to him or hovered over him in any way. He hadn’t realized how often he loomed over Sam while Sam was on the laptop until he couldn’t. Just in general though, the sheer amount of time they spent living and working next to each other, walking up and hovering happened a lot and Sam was only getting worse, not better about it. His flinches turned to startled jumps or pronounced shakes and it was starting to cut a little deep for Dean.

He wasn't angry. Maybe at himself but not Sam, not when Dean could remember back to that fight. He'd punched Sam while he was down so many times and Sam was forced to beg him to stop. Every time he visited that memory he was horrified by his own actions, this sense of corruption and evil singing through him, convincing him that to murder the most important person in his life, his last remaining family, the central source of comfort and stability and love...

The guilt was overwhelming. The dread was there too, knowing Sam had lived through it and still remained by his side. What was that doing to him? How does he stay with someone who beat him to a pulp and almost murdered him with Death's damned scythe?

Dean had his answer though, didn't he?

It was just over a month later that Sam made the move to avoid Dean's touch altogether.

They were in a motel room. Dean was on the bed, Sam at the little table in front of the window. Dean had found something in a case file and extended it to Sam. When their hands touched Sam spooked, causing Dean to grip the folder back so it wouldn't fall.

"Just take the damn case file," he snapped, getting up and dropping it on Sam's laptop. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed the last beer from the six-pack he'd picked up a few hours ago after lunch. Sam hadn't had any; Dean was the only one using alcohol for a decent night's sleep. It was only after he'd popped the cap that he remembered he couldn't go out for more because it was a Sunday and they'd just crossed into Massachusetts. Blue laws were the worst.

He sighed and leaned against the wall separating the kitchen area from their beds, holding his beer by the neck. Sam was reading the file.

"When are we gonna talk about this, Sammy?"

Maybe Dean was buzzed. Hadn't he told himself he'd just ignore it?

Sam made a face, shook his head like he had no idea. "What?"

"Really?" Dean scoffed. He stared at Sam expectantly. Sam stared right back, bewildered. "You flinch when I come near sometimes, you're so damn jumpy around me and now you can't..." Dean trailed off. He'd started off so strong, even a little accusatory but now regret and sorrow colored his next words. "Now you can't even touch my hand without doing it, man."

Sam's jaw clenched, his eyes remained fixed on him but they glistened so Dean knew he'd hit a well of emotion somewhere. He just didn't know if Sam was up to facing it. Because facing it should really be on Sam's terms, not his. These were Sam’s problems, to deal with in whatever way Sam chose and for however long he needed. And yet Dean had brought it up and laid it all out and he couldn't take it back, so here they were.

Sam looked at the file folder and coughed. "I, uh, I think you're right about the coroner's report," he offered stiltedly. Dean took a deep breath, disappointed but not surprised, and nodded along with him. "The language is nonstandard and vague. We should pay him a visit tomorrow."

Dean took a long pull from his beer. "Yeah." He burped. Sam made a face. Dean huffed a laugh. They were fine. They were… fine.

---

"Stop!" Sam cried and Dean jerked up in bed.

"Sammy? What... what time is it?"

"Please. No more, s' enough, please," Sam whispered breathlessly. Dean could make out the silhouette of his little brother's chest heaving, his hands were up, shaking, as though pressing against something above. "Please, stop..."

Dean bit his lip, uncertain. His heart wrenched as Sam's voice sounded so young. "Please? Dean?"

Dean shot out of bed, the guilt eating him alive as he came around to Sam.

"Sam? Sammy," Dean breathed heavily, taking in the tear tracks along Sam's face, glinting in the dark.

Dean ignored the sting in his nose, his own eyes welling as he grasped Sam's hands from the air and wiped the sweaty, disarray hair off his face. "Sam, wake up, it's a nightmare, c'mon." He kept his tone low and even despite his desperation for it to end. He'd wondered what it did to Sam, to be beaten by the man who'd witnessed his entire life with love, to kneel for his own execution by that man's hand. He kept getting a better picture of the fallout today and it made everything so much worse.

Dean tugged Sam's hair a little. "Sammy, please. Wake up." They needed to talk. He needed to tell him.

Sam's eyelids fluttered anxiously, his eyes rolled under their lids, his body shuddered under Dean's hands and he finally startled awake with a gasp.

"Dean?!" Sam threw his hands up in defense but Dean caught them, braced him. Sam struggled weakly.

"It's okay, it was a dream," Dean soothed.

Sam went limp then tensed again. He shook his head. "I don't know what-" Sam's voice broke, betraying him. He glanced away. Glossy eyes reflected the blue neon motel sign across the blacktop. Dean realized he was still holding Sam's hands but instead of pulling away, he carefully reached out and pressed a palm to Sam's chest. His heart beat sped up under his hand until finally Sam faced him. His expression was so insecure, defiance battling dependence on his big brother and if Dean didn't do something soon he was going to break.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said, soft and calm and Sam's chin quivered. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong. I hurt you," Dean's voice broke and Sam's face screwed up, started to cry. He was quiet. Dean let him have his hands so he could cover his face. "I hurt you so much and... I didn't..." A single tear dripped down Dean's cheek. He sniffed. "I should've apologized earlier. We should've talked about this earlier. Because you're having nightmare flashbacks and I'm drinking so much I hadn't noticed until now..." Dean trailed off when Sam turned his back to him in bed, buried his face in his pillow, shoulders still shaking with muted sobs.

Dean bit his lip, feeling cold and like he was getting what he deserved, to have Sam turn his back on him. But at the same time Dean was who Sam counted on in times like these, so... what? What was he supposed to do?

He rubbed a hand down his face and murmured "fuck it" as he opened the covers.

"Dean, seriously?" But Sam's voice was wet but there was a hint of amusement underneath the sarcasm.

"Shut up. Stop crying," Dean ordered as he wrapped his arms around Sam and spooned up against him. Sam laughed, a real genuine laugh, the first Dean had heard from him in awhile. Dean arranged the covers and Sam settled in, let his hands rest on Dean's along his stomach. Dean relaxed and took a deep breath, scenting the motel's sandalwood shampoo in Sam’s hair, their cheap laundry's fragrance a stale vanilla. Still, underneath it all was his Sam, his silhouette strong, masculine, messy hair and long legs under the covers and only Dean knew how he broke. Only Dean could break him at all.

After a few minutes in the dark, Sam's breathing had gone back to normal and their combined heat was making them drowsy. "Sammy, d'you think... does this help?"

A few moments’ tense silence. Dean thought maybe he should pull back if it was taking Sammy this long to answer

"Yeah." His voice was a little strangled. He was embarrassed. Dean let out a breath of relief and squeezed him.

"Whenever you're going through it, you can come to me, Sam. Like this. I'll never turn you down, okay?"

"Really?" Sam whispered like he was twelve and Dean had just told him a secret.

"Yeah, Sam. I just... I need you to know that I'm... I'm safe." Dean couldn't believe he was admitting this. It helped that they were hidden by darkness, that Sam wasn't even facing him.

He felt Sam nod his head in front of him. "I get it."

Sam wasn't apologizing for being jumpy around him. It occurred to Dean how there was something so correct, so just about that. Dean needed to earn Sam's trust back and it wasn't by ignoring it and going on hunts together hoping that trust would just inexplicably find its way back. It was by being Sam's brother, by saying and doing things that only Dean, uncorrupted and clear-headed, would say and do. Things like wake him up out of nightmares and lie down with him to help him back to sleep. Also stuff like getting him his favorite salads or yogurt parfaits. Dean suppressed a chuckle, having honestly forgotten Sam liked those until just now.

Sam felt him and stiffened. "What?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean whispered, tone fond. He brushed a hand over the back of Sam's head. Sam snugged in closer. Soon they'd overheat and separate but right now they both wanted the closeness.

He felt it when Sam fell asleep in his arms. His breathing had slowed and his heart was a steady drum. Nothing could've reassured Dean more. He fell asleep soon after with the unerring certainty things would get better from here.

Fin

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please comment, like, reblog, what-have-you if you enjoyed. xoxo ~ Alex

[queencarolinemikaelson]

Rootless Tree II

Hello lovers, here is a short second part to a drabble I wrote for a fandom event I think in April! Hope you like! You can read part one on AO3, FF, or here! 

/

Fifteen Years Later

Klaus was in a bar. It wasn’t a particularly uncommon occurrence for him, but he usually wasn’t completely alone, as he was that day.

He finished work, some meaningless hours before, and joined a couple of colleagues for an after work drink.

When they left for their homes, he stayed; waiting at his home was more of the same melancholy loneliness that had been nipping at his insides for a few months now.

He wasn’t there to drown his sorrows, by any means; he wasn’t particularly sorrowful for anything. Nor had he been having a rough trot of it. But the fact of the matter was he was staring down the barrel of thirty-five, and he wasn’t all together too sure what he had to show for it.

He had a family and group of friends who loved him – he was lucky. A well-paying, rewarding job – better than many around him. A house – check. With a mortgage – double check.

He had nearly all of the things a thirty-five-year-old should have, he supposed.

But Klaus was not a naïve man. He knew for all his bluster over the years about singlehood, he did want someone to share his life with.

His baby sister was to be married in a few months, and then it would be just him and his 21-year-old brother who were unmarried. Even Kol was tied by the ring finger to someone, and he barely stood still long enough to brush his teeth.

And it was fine, of course it was fine, but on that day, in that moment, Klaus knew he wanted something more.

Something real.

As he called for another drink, a smattering of applause broke his concentration on his own plight.

About an hour before, a folk singer and her guitar had become the soundtrack to Klaus’ musings. She really did have a beautiful voice, and the few lyrics he tuned in to hear were quite meaningful. Though he couldn’t see her, closeted away in a dark booth as he was.

She began speaking softly to the audience after the clapping was silent again.

“This will be my last song…” she said, a little nervously. “It was written by a truly incredible songwriter, and I strive daily to craft stories, and weave emotions the way he does.”

Klaus took a sip, and decided to tune in fully for the final song.

“I’ve been really feeling this lately,” she continued. “A lot has been happening in my life, and this song… really grounds me. Maybe because I heard it for the first time when I was still very young. Maybe because it has the kind of energy I want to convey. Maybe just because it expresses how I’m feeling. Anyway… here it is.”

The woman began to pluck her guitar strings in an effortless rhythm, and familiar notes washed into Klaus’ ears, and he could hardly believe it.

What I want from you, is empty your head

He grabbed his beer and left his booth.

But they say, be true, don’t stain your bed

He settled on a stool by the bar, and had a clear line of vision to the source of the voice.

And we do what we need to be free

And it leans on me, like a rootless tree

Klaus watched saw the light crease in the woman’s forehead as she sang through the words, and he could tell she deeply connected with what she was singing.

What I want from us, is empty our minds

He watched her fingers pick furiously, though noted how her eyes remained firmly closed the whole time. He wondered just how many times she played that song, to be so comfortable with it that she didn’t need to ever look at what she was doing.

But we fake, we fuss and fracture the times

Her voice was truly remarkable, Klaus thought, and he wished he paid more attention to her earlier in her set. 

We go blind when we needed to see

And this leans on me like a rootless

She shook her head from side to side as she played, causing her bob-length blonde hair dance around her face in such and enchanting way.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, and all we’ve been through

The harsh words falling from her lips didn’t seem as wrong as he thought they might, for once again, he was struck with the emotion she was weaving into the song.

I said leave it, leave it, leave it, it’s nothing to you

He gazed on her face, still transfixed by the small crease in her brow that he noticed earlier. It signalled to him that she felt the song in the same way he did.

And if you hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me so good

It was almost liberating to know someone understood it. Someone knew what he felt so many times.

That you just let me out, let me out, let me out it’s hell what you’re around

Klaus listened in a trance for the remainder of the song, and couldn’t help but stand to applaud her when she finished.

“Thanks for coming, have a good night now,” she said, almost abashed into the microphone, before leaving the stage.

Klaus sat back down, feeling strangely empty.

He had gone to the bar that day to feel connected to something, and he found that connection. For it to be so fleeting, and for it to be now over…

He turned his back on the now empty stool where she once sat, opting instead of stare into his beer despondently.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting that way when he heard a soft voice order a glass of wine next to him. The voice was familiar enough for Klaus to glace up.

It was her.

He gave her a smile, one which she returned almost slyly.

He was a little taken aback, she had seemed far too demure to slyly smile at him.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” she said, and Klaus was suddenly awash with dread. Was he supposed to know her?

“I don’t know love, I’d say the same about you,” he said, cockily, hoping if he blustered through confidently enough he could give himself time to place her face. It was familiar, now he saw her up close he could see that, but didn’t know why.

She let out a tinkling laugh in response to his comment.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” she giggled, her whole face alight.

“Is it that obviously,” he replied, grinning sheepishly.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I think the last time we spoke I was like eleven, you played me Rootless Tree in your 1970-something Corvette!”

“Caroline?” he asked.

She nodded kindly, and took her place on the stool next to him.

“Has it honestly been fifteen years since I spoke to you?” Klaus said, bemused.

“Pretty much,” she replied.

“Time really does have a way of getting away from us all, doesn’t it?”

He tried to say it without the wistfulness he felt, but didn’t quite manage it.

“It sure does,” she replied, and Klaus was comforted to hear she too sounded wistful.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, taking sips from their drinks, lost in their own thoughts.

“What have you been doing with yourself these past fifteen years, Mr Mikaelson?” she asked, pulling his mind away from more sombre things.

From there, the two of them began chatting away, as though they were old friends. Which really was at odds with what they really were – which was barely more than a much older brother who met his much younger sister’s friend once over a decade ago.

He shared everything from why he chose to go to law school in London, to his favourite breakfast cereal, all the way to the existential dread he had been dealing with over the past few months. She in turn told him about her career, her music, her fears of the future and everything in between.

Klaus had forgotten that, yes, it could just be instantly easy with someone. That someone could actually fully capture his attention.

He wasn’t sure what he would do when she inevitably had to go. No matter how much it felt like there was no world beyond them, the hours had marched on. How could he go back to a world where he wouldn’t see her.

“So will I see you at Bekah’s wedding?” he asked, hopefully.

Maybe she would be there, and they would dance. He could hold her, whisper into her ear, and everything would feel alright, just like it did now.

But, Caroline stiffened, her contentment dissipating, causing his heart to sink.

“I’ve been invited,” she said, simply.

Klaus turned his body so he could study her face. It was truly beautiful, but had well-covered sadness suddenly pinching at the corners of the mouth.

“Will you attend?” he probed.

She looked down into the depths her wine glass, taking a moment to answer.

“Bekah and I aren’t really as close anymore,” she said, carefully, still maintaining eye-contact with her wine glass. “I haven’t spoken to her much in the last few years.”

“Oh, really,” Klaus said. “I wasn’t aware.”

He supposed he had lived away from his family for a very long time, and of course people changed. But it stung somewhat that things couldn’t be easy, just this once.

“The two of you always seemed so close, and she and Stefan still talk about your college days often… I just assumed.”

Klaus caught an infinitesimal flinch on Caroline’s face as he mentioned Stefan, and suddenly wondered whether it was less of a losing touch between two friends, and more of a rift.

“Oh you know, life happens,” she replied, vaguely. “I feel as though I’m a bit of an obligation-invite. So I guess we’ll see how I feel on the date of RSVP.”

Caroline let out a tinkling laugh, and downed the rest of her wine, making a move to stand up.

“I better get going anyway,” she said, and it was Klaus’ turn to flinch, as he wished he never mentioned Rebekah, and that their moments together could continue. “Early morning.”

“Same here, love,” he replied, disappointment niggling at his insides.

She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze.

“It was really nice to see you, Klaus,” she said earnestly. “You gave me such an important gift back then. My music can be linked so strongly back to that car ride with you. And I think my life would look a whole lot different without it. Bye for now.”

He smiled at her, the kind of genuine smile he didn’t know whether he still had.

Their eyes locked, and for the most fleeting of moments, Klaus’ heart filled and his mind flashed through the life he could have with Caroline if things had been different, if she wasn’t his little sister’s friend, if he didn’t feel like his best years were gone, if they could be in the same place at the same time. 

“I hope to see you around, Caroline.” 

/

This is the song Caroline is singing. Listen, and love Damien Rice.