#and truly. would i ever be fine to have romance again? the remaining romantic love i have is dying

[gatun-gatunesco]

...

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Any Reason At All

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): a little bit of horniness in no.5 Rating: mature

Summary: Five times there is a very good reason for Jaskier and Geralt to kiss, and one time there is no reason at all.

on ao3

one.

A first kiss is supposed to be something special and Jaskier has had so many of them over the years. But usually, they're with different people. He's not used to having more than one first kiss with the same person and certainly wasn't expecting that person to be Geralt.

The first time, they've been away from town a long time and Jaskier is... wanting. He knows this contract is worth a lot and Geralt has been so focused on tracking that he probably hasn't realized how long it's been since they've been to town. But Jaskier has and he's getting antsy.

"Geralt do you think-" he tugs his boot out of a patch of brambles and sighs, "that we could head back soon? Sleep at an inn tonight?" he doesn't get a response, so he just sighs and plops down right where he is. Up ahead, Geralt shouts back without even pausing,

"Are you just gonna sit there or are you coming with me?"

Jaskier sighs. Geralt's right though, he can't just sit here all night. So he reluctantly gets up and goes after him, muttering under his breath. They continue in this way for the next three hours.

"It's just that... I haven't even kissed someone in weeks. Weeks, Geralt. Do you know what that's like? It's torture, utter-" he walks directly into Geralt's back with a thud and takes a step back as Geralt turns to face him.

"Jaskier," he says abruptly, but not overly angry. Jaskier's eyes flick up to his and he pauses. "If I kiss you, will you shut up and let me get on with it?"

"Uh, y-yes?"

Immediately, Geralt's palm is on his cheek and Jaskier is breathless. He leans in without hesitation and Jaskier is absolutely not prepared for Geralt's mouth on his own. He kisses him gently, leaning in and it's slow and deep and Jaskier isn't sure he's going to survive. Geralt takes a step forward and Jaskier presses into him, letting out a soft moan as Geralt's lips part against his own.

And he drowns in it. Pulled under by the current, he lets himself sink. His whole body burns with it and he can't breathe, but if he pulls back Geralt might stop and he doesn't think he could bear that. And all the while Geralt's hand remains on his face, anchoring him.

And he just... doesn't stop. Geralt's other hand comes to rest on his hip and it goes on for so long that Jaskier is expecting it to lead to something more.

When Geralt does pull away, it's abrupt and Jaskier is left reeling. He's breathless and more than a little turned on and who even knew Witchers were so skilled at kissing in the first place? Where the fuck did that even come from?

"That was..." he starts and when he looks up, Geralt is already a dozen paces ahead of him. "Geralt! Where did you- that was... very good you know. I didn't take you for someone who would be so-"

"What?" Geralt asks.

"I just didn't think you got a lot of practice, is all."

Geralt scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his tracking. Theoretically, Jaskier knows Geralt has had some practice with kissing and sex. He's been to brothels and some of his friends seem just this side of too familiar, but shit he was not expecting that.

Jaskier is quick to catch up to him again, but he spends the rest of the night in a daze.

two.

Jaskier has been invited to a ball. Normally, he would be delighted to attend an event back home, but it's a special celebration, a party to celebrate his sister's engagement and it's for family only. But Jaskier isn't about to drag Geralt all the way to Lettenhove and tell him he's not allowed to come. Which only leaves one option-

"I need you to be my husband," he announces cheerfully. They're already well on their way to the coast and Jaskier has been considering how to break the news before deciding it's best to just get it over with. "They won't let anyone in who's not family, but they could hardly refuse my husband entry now, could they?"

He beams up at Geralt, stumbling a little over a rock. He thinks it's a great plan, but Geralt doesn't show emotion one way or the other. He just stays silent and looks ahead again. Jaskier would give anything to know what's going on in his head right now.

It doesn't come up again until they're on the border of Temeria and about to cross into Kerack. Jaskier reminds him again when they're sharing a room at an inn. Geralt refuses to share the bed so Jaskier offers it to him before climbing up next to him and cuddling up behind him. Geralt grumbles.

"Hush my love. You're my husband, remember? You can hardly deny me the warmth of our bed so soon after our marriage."

Geralt scoffs at him, but Jaskier thinks it sounds more like a laugh than a grunt and he'll take what he can get.

They set out early the next morning, reaching the borders of Lettenhove by late evening. Jaskier is exhausted and Geralt seems to be getting antsy - probably about the party, maybe about the lie. Jaskier isn't worried about it, he knows well enough how to throw his title around when he needs to and most of the time, it works.

They're stopped at the bridge across to the palace and Jaskier dismounts, nodding his head at the guardsmen. One of them gives him a flash of a smile before looking up and scowling at Geralt.

"Your invitation was for one, master Julian."

"You'd hardly deny my husband entry," Jaskier says simply. The guard lifts an eyebrow and gives Jaskier a questioning look.

"The viscount isn't married," he says simply.

"I understand where your position, truly," Jaskier starts, "but I've been away for some time and in that time, I've found myself not only betrothed but married to a man whom I love very much and whom I wish to bring home to introduce to my family."

The guard looks unconvinced and Jaskier is both angry at his defiance and the fact that he simply refuses to believe Jaskier would marry someone like Geralt. Which, as a matter of fact, he would be delighted to do. Anger boils up and he's about to start threatening when Geralt slips from Roach, coming up to wind a comforting arm around his waist.

"It's fine, love," he whispers and it may just be a ruse, but Jaskier will never forget the sound of that word on his lips, the way it shudders through him like the cold.

"It's not-" he starts, but his voice fails him and before he can do anything else, Geralt gets two fingers under his chin, tipping it up so Jaskier is looking at him.

"Go alone, I wouldn't want you to miss your sister's party on my account. You can introduce us another time."

The look in his eyes is so unbearably soft and when he leans in, Jaskier's breath catches in his chest. Cold lips brush against his own and Geralt leans in, deepening the kiss as Jaskier presses into it. It's so unexpected that Jaskier isn't sure what to do with it, but Geralt's arm remains around his waist and he pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together.

Jaskier is stunned by his enthusiasm. Geralt leans into him, fingers twitching against his hip as he deepens the kiss and Jaskier barely withholds a groan as he feels Geralt's tongue against the seam of his lips. He wants to press into the touch, wants to touch and feel and have him, but it's a fine line between pretending to be with him and pushing too far. And right now, Jaskier isn't exactly sure where that line is.

Because Geralt's hands slip under his doublet, moving further until they're on either side of his chest, moving down to settle in the dip of his sides. And Geralt just presses closer, breathing hard through his nose and nipping softly at Jaskier's lower lip.

And Jaskier can't keep from losing himself, can't hold himself together with Geralt like this, so he kisses him hard. He throws his arms around his neck, arching against him as Geralt's teeth press in a little firmer and it's not until the more suspicious guard clears his throat that he's tugged abruptly back to reality.

He pulls out of Geralt's arms, smoothing his clothes down even as the memory of Geralt's hands on him lingers. He opens his mouth to speak, but Geralt's voice is the one he hears.

"Apologies," he pants, "it's been… some time since my lord and I have been together. He keeps so busy I don't see him often and we were hoping to get to the palace and to our room."

The same guard chokes and steps aside, not even daring to look at them as Geralt reaches up and takes Roach's reins, tugging gently to urge her forward.

It's not until they get to their room that Jaskier finally trusts his voice enough to speak and to thank Geralt for getting them out of what could otherwise have been a mess.

three.

Jaskier is struggling. It's been a relatively easy day in an easy week, but tonight he has time to compose and he can't get this one particular verse right. And it's killing him.

It's supposed to be a romantic ballad of a peasant woman in disguise as a knight, recusing the love of her life from where she's been held captive in a tower. The longing of being apart, he's got down, but now he's reached the point where they're reunited and he can't get the words out. And how is he supposed to when he needs to write a kiss and he himself hasn't been kissed in ages (Geralt notwithstanding, but even that was weeks ago now and they're not talking about it).

He's just not feeling very romantic tonight, so he flings himself back onto the grass, staring up at the stars with his notebook and lute on his chest and he sighs. Across the camp, Geralt makes a noise and shifts.

"What's wrong?" he asks, not even looking up from where he's stitching one of his shirts back together.

"How am I supposed to write the most romantic ballads the continent has ever heard when there is so little romance in my life?" Geralt snorts at him, attention still focused on his shirt. "Do you know," Jaskier continues, "that I can't even remember what it's like to be kissed?"

Geralt just lifts a skeptical eyebrow at him but says nothing.

"Perhaps you could help?" Jaskier suggests.

"What could I possibly do to help?"

"I have it on good authority that you're an excellent kisser and… maybe we could do that again. For research purposes, you see."

"What," Geralt smirks, "your memory not good enough for you?"

"Please, Geralt, it'll help."

For a moment there's nothing, then there's a scuffling sound and when Jaskier looks over, Geralt is rising to his feet. He crosses to stand in front of him, nudging Jaskier's knees apart to stand between them and Jaskier holds his breath. Geralt bends low over him, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a soft kiss. He doesn't let himself sink too much into it, keeping only at the surface and Geralt hums against him.

He shoves a leg between his thighs, pushing closer, but just as Jaskier bites back a moan, Geralt pulls back before it can get to be too much.

"Good enough?" he asks and Jaskier wants to say no, to pull him down and kiss him senseless and press against him and- he pulls himself back to the present and looks up at Geralt, nodding solemnly.

He pulls himself back up, taking his quill to paper and scratching out notes of what he wants Geralt to do to him. If he can't write a kiss from memory, he can write about what he wants.

four.

He's not supposed to get involved in Geralt's battles, but what was he supposed to do when Geralt was disarmed and backed into a corner. Jaskier jumps into the fray, bolting for Geralt's sword. If he can just get it to him- but he catches the attention of the devourer and instead of getting Geralt his sword back to him, he only manages to distract the devourer by turning its attention on him.

For a few moments, he manages to keep it away from Geralt and also keep away from it, but it's fast, faster than he is and before long, Jaskier finds himself right in front of it. The thing swings at him and Jaskier ducks, but not quickly enough. The strength of the devourer sends him flying sideways into a tree and Jaskier cries out as his shoulder connects with solid wood.

Immediately, he pulls himself up to his feet, holding his shoulder and seething. He tries to call the beast toward him again, but it's turned his attention back to Geralt. Luckily, the diversion bought him some time and Geralt has had time to retrieve his sword and lunge for the monster.

And he looks furious. Jaskier is dreading whatever comes next for him, but for now, he's just relieved that Geralt is in control again. Geralt dodges and swipes and fakes out, eventually overtaking the beast and piercing his sword up through the underside of its jaw. It shudders on his blade then collapses against the dirt and it's barely stopped moving before Geralt is bolting forward, dropping to his knees right in front of Jaskier.

"Are you hurt?" he asks and Jaskier shakes his head, but only because he doesn't trust his voice not to waver if he speaks. "Let go of your shoulder," Geralt says calmly and slowly, Jaskier does as he's asked. "I think it's dislocated," Geralt hums, looking it over and brushing his hands over his shoulder.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I have to put it back into place for you."

"I.. no, I don't think so. Can't it just go back on its own?"

"It won't," Geralt huffs, "it has to be put back or it's going to continue to hurt and be useless."

"Please-" Jaskier says, but Geralt cuts him off.

"Last week you threw yourself between me and a harpy and just now you tried to fend off a devourer and you don't want me to put your shoulder back into place?"

Jaskier shakes his head and Geralt sighs. He tries again, but Jaskier is adamant and then suddenly there are warm lips against his and he gasps at the suddenness of it before letting himself enjoy it. Geralt kisses him deeply, running one hand through his hair and then his other hand is on his shoulder, shoving and-

Jaskier pulls back with a start as pain shoots through him, but when he tries to move his arm, the pain is significantly less than before. He looks up at Geralt to find him looking rather smug at him and Jaskier splutters.

"You used me-" he accuses, but Geralt just huffs a quiet laugh at him, taking his arm again and wrapping it up so he can't move it around too much and make it worse.

It does feel better and by the time they turn in for bed that night, Jaskier is reluctantly grateful for it. But as he watches Geralt methodically prepare for bed, he's a little disappointed that the kiss didn't last longer this time.

five.

Strictly speaking, Jaskier isn't supposed to be here at all. The contract had specified utmost secrecy and while Geralt is usually willing to do anything asked of him (within reason), he was firm but not leaving Jaskier alone with a bruxa roaming the halls of the castle, regardless of what the king had asked. The working story, if caught, is that Jaskier is acting as bait, but Jaskier likes to pretend that Geralt just doesn't want him out of his sight after the incident with the devourer.

So now at midnight, they're creeping through the halls, looking for any sign of the bruxa but so far there's nothing. Though the bodies the previous night say something is definitely lurking around after hours. Geralt slips around a corner, motioning for Jaskier to hold back and he does, but a second later Geralt is barreling back into him, hissing for him to get back.

They stumble back and Jaskier is suddenly pressed back against the wall firmly. Geralt hesitates for a moment, looking away from him, but then Jaskier hears the voices coming closer and Geralt pushes him back again, pressing a hand over his mouth. And abruptly, Jaskier's body goes limp under him, a side effect of years of being shoved up against walls for very different reasons.

Geralt seems unconcerned and slowly pulls his hand away, whispering for him to be quiet. Jaskier nods his understanding, but Geralt is so close and he smells good and he can't help the way his body reacts to that.

The guards come closer and Geralt presses right against him and Jaskier can't help the little moan that escapes him. It's quiet, barely even a sound, but in the silence of the hall it seems to echo and Jaskier bites down on his lip too late. Geralt's eyes snap onto his and in the very near distance, Jaskier can hear the guards' footsteps speed up.

But then Geralt is kissing him, somehow even closer than a moment before so there's not even an inch of space between them and Jaskier's mind goes blank. He can't think of anything but Geralt's mouth against him, hot and demanding and not letting up, even as the guards turn the corner. A diversion, he realizes, but it doesn't stop him from winding his arms around Geralt's waist and sliding his hands down over his ass.

Barely a few paces away now, the guards continue their approach, but Geralt pushes a knee between Jaskier's and he'd be happy enough to be tossed in the dungeon so long as they can continue uninterrupted. His hips give a little twitch and Geralt growls into his mouth and that… seems too real to be a diversion. Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him and he stutters when he pulls Geralt closer because Geralt's hard, the line of his cock pressing against Jaskier's thigh. Which is something. Jaskier doesn't have the wherewithal to process that right now, but then Geralt is tipping his head up roughly, ducking to kiss his neck just as the guards come upon them.

There's a thud as one walks straight into the other and then scattered mumbling as they trip over themselves to apologize and when Geralt looks up at them, they both mumble additional apologies and turn back in the opposite direction. Geralt doesn't kiss him again, but he doesn't pull away from him and Jaskier is aching with the effort it takes not to rut up against him.

Eventually, long after Jaskier can't hear the footsteps anymore, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier nearly cries though he's unsure if it's from relief or disappointment. He either wants Geralt back against him immediately or he needs to go back to their room on his own for a while and he doesn't see either being a likely option.

"Come on," Geralt whispers and Jaskier just shuts his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm just gonna… need a minute." To his surprise, Geralt nods and turns away.

By the time they get back to their room that night, Geralt seems to have forgotten the entire situation, but Jaskier will be thinking about it for the rest of their trip, if not the rest of his life.

plus one.

It's been a while since they've just been able to relax, but when they stroll into Oxenfurt, they arrive in the middle of a festival. There's a market in the center of town and various stages with performers scattered within the city so that everywhere they go, there's music on the air. Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens as they make their way to the inn. Once they've rented a room and organized their things, Jaskier asks if they might head down toward the festivities and Geralt, to his surprise, agrees.

They stroll through town looking at all the booths and stopping to watch the performers. Jaskier takes a turn on one of the stages, delighted when Geralt stays to watch, a soft smile on his face, and he's the only one Jaskier sees in the crowd. Afterward, they split sweet buns and pastries and fruit ciders of every variety imaginable. It's been a long time since Jaskier has enjoyed himself so thoroughly, and as the sun begins to set, he takes Geralt's hand and leads him, tipsy and warm with intoxication outside the city.

Others are already gathering for the firework celebration and Jaskier finds them a spot on the ridge of a hill, somehow unclaimed despite its views over the river. He plops himself down, only letting go of Geralt's hand when the angle becomes too awkward, but Geralt sits behind him, and Jaskier shuffles back, sitting between his thighs and leaning back against his chest.

It earns him a huff of amusement, but Geralt doesn't complain and doesn't tell him to move. They're both a little drunk, but the sunset is beautiful and Jaskier can't think of a better way to end his night, nor a better person to share it with. By the time they set off the fireworks, he's so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, instead resting his head against Geralt's chest and listening to the crack of their explosions, quickly followed by cheers and sounds of awe from the younger spectators.

Geralt's hand rests on his thigh and Jaskier twines their fingers together, humming softly as Geralt wraps his hand around his.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until Geralt is shifting under him and for a moment, he's disappointed to have woken up because he's sure Geralt would have carried him back to the inn otherwise. But he looks up and Geralt smiles softly down at him, brushing a stray hair out of his face and Jaskier wouldn't trade this night for anything.

They make their way back to the inn, bumping against each other in their drowsiness and it's not until they get up to their room that Jaskieer realizes the room they booked only has one bed. They've both been looking forward to crawling into bed and sleeping well for once because it's been some time since they've had a bed. Jaskier makes a quick decision to let Geralt take the bed because it's hardly big enough for the both of them to share, even if they've done it a hundred times before when coin was low.

But Geralt strips down to his shorts and when he climbs into bed, he shuffles to one side, holding the blankets back in invitation. And Jaskier isn't one to turn down such an invitation, so he quickly undresses and climbs in next to him. He lies facing out into the room with Geralt's chest against his back, warm and rising softly with his breath.

"I had a good night tonight," he hums, "it's a shame we can't do this more often."

"Mm," comes the reply from behind, much closer than Jaskier had anticipated. He can feel Geralt's breath against the back of his neck and he shuts his eyes with a soft sigh.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did."

Jaskier turns over to face him, and Geralt smiles at him without opening his eyes. Jaskier shifts closer, tangling their legs together and Geralt's arm comes to drape over his hip, bringing him closer. The smile remains firmly in place and Jaskier's heart feels like it could burst from his chest.

"Geralt?" he asks quietly.

"Hm?"

Jaskier looks up at him, unable to find the words to properly thank him for the night, and he reaches up, brushing one hand through his hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, though the words feel flat on his tongue, not enough to express how much he truly appreciates tonight. Geralt hums again, tipping his head down so their noses bump together.

"Jaskier," he breathes.

There's nothing else, but then Geralt's lips brush against his own, soft and tentative and Jaskier's heart nearly stops. It's hardly the first time he's kissed him, but Geralt is so much softer than before, pressing forward only when Jaskier moves against him. And this is so different from before.

Tonight, there's no reason for Geralt to kiss him, there's certainly no reason for him to be so soft and gentle with him - none other than he simply wants to - and Jaskier could cry. He lets himself be drawn closer, completely entangled with Geralt as he kisses him, soft and slow and delightfully pointless.

There's no need for it, just the want to be closer, to feel each other, and Jaskier sinks into it easily, losing himself to the soft press of Geralt's lips of the brush of his thumb against his hip. When they do finally part, Jaskier isn't disappointed that it's over, because Geralt kisses his nose and his forehead as he settles against him and rather than an ending, it feels like the beginning.

[lunarflux]

"how could i forget the feeling of falling in love with you"

hwang hyunjin x reader

genre — drama!au

for @simp-alert

suggested background music: x

note: soooo i've been in a funk for a few months. i didn't expect people to still find my fics, so i'm very grateful. this fic has been in my drafts for a week or two, and the end originally was different because it mirrored the way i wanted my situation to end. after healing some more, i realized that this is the way it should end.

It had been a while. That was really all you could think to describe the situation you and Jinyoung had been through for the past few years. While your relationship was nearly perfect, life pulled him away, and it was just a matter of time before one of you moved on first. It wasn't like you expected him to wait because, hey, if he really was as wonderful as you thought he was - who wouldn't fall in love with him?

It was the part where he fell in love that made it so much worse. It was like seeing the possibilities of you two reuniting like some cheesy romance novel just burn away and float into the air.

While you two remained friends, this was the week you were dreading.

Jinyoung was moving back, and now it was time to face the beautiful demon you'd worked so hard to forget.

Checking your makeup and hair in the mirror, you thought you'd put little effort into your looks. This wasn't a date. Let's make that perfectly clear. This was simply two friends reuniting after not seeing each other for a few years. By now, you were comfortably single and not looking for anything anymore. Relationships were exhausting, but being in love with Jinyoung was a marathon.

You walked to the bar, peeping at your phone every now and then.

And there he was on the other side of the glass. He didn't look too different. His skin was just as clear though his face looked a little slimmer. Somehow his hair still looked the same despite the time away.

Taking one step towards the door, you hesitated. Truly, he was there. But suddenly, the years of realizing that you'd let yourself wait for someone who wasn't waiting for you came flooding back like a reality check. He was here waiting for you for the first time in years. Did it really seem fair that he didn't have to wait that long?

You took two steps back. It didn't feel right anymore. The daydreams didn't seem so sweet, and your brain went into flight mode.

"Oh - " You ended up backing into someone else. "I'm so sorry!"

The stranger steadied you with both hands and a warm smile. "It's fine - are you okay? You look a little in shock."

"I'm... uh..." You took one last look past the bar patrons. Jinyoung was still there. "I'm okay."

The handsome stranger nodded. "You sure? I've had a couple of beers, so I don't mind playing therapist if you need to talk."

You held up a finger with every intention of shutting him up. "Actually. Okay, fine. Let's talk."

"Let's talk." He nodded.

"If your girlfriend broke up with you because of work and said you two might get back together in the future -"

"Move on." He hung his head back with a cackle. "Move the fuck on."

"But -"

"Okay, fine." He held up his hands in surrender. "Continue. Why didn't you move on?"

"I didn't say it was me!"

"Okay, fine - why didn't your friend move on?"

"If she broke up with you and then dated someone else, but now she's back and she wants to see you - what would you do?"

Your for-the-moment companion's smile lessened, and he placed his hand on your head, patting slowly. "I'd realize that I'm being a fool. If she really loved me, she wouldn't have made me wait. And if I was smart, I would have known that no one waits forever. Yeah, shit happens. She might have been serious. But would I really have been able to get back to loving her the way I used to knowing she gave her love to someone else while I stood here and waited?"

You pushed passed the stranger, nearly knocking him over in the process. "I'm going home."

"Hey, wait - " He grabbed your arm. "Look, I'm sorry, I can be an asshole when I drink -"

"It's not you." You took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm being stupid."

Running his hand through his hair first, he held out a friendly gesture. "Before this conversation continues, my name is Hyunjin. I'm sorry you had to see me... not at my best."

"y/n. And don't worry, this isn't exactly my best look either." You shook Hyunjin's hand.

"Do you maybe wanna go for a walk?"

**

"So are you still in love with him?" Hyunjin walked slowly beside you, sipping on a strawberry milk.

Piercing the straw through your coffee milk, you shrugged. "Maybe. I don't really know. I thought seeing him again would make things fall into place, and it wouldn't have felt like I waited so long."

"What'd you like about him?"

"He made me laugh, and I felt safe."

Hyunjin poked your cheek. "Yeah, well, a good comic and a lock can do the same thing."

You pushed him away. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. It's just hard to forget."

"What you liked about him?"

"How it felt to be so sure that I was in love with him."

Hyunjin stopped walking and sat down. The moon was full tonight, and it made your heart feel heavy. This stranger made the weight feel a little less like a burden.

"I remember that feeling." He sighed, laying his head back on the grass. "Though it's been a while, you don't really forget. It's like everything that ever stressed you out, every secret you kept under your collar - it all goes away. You're just happy."

You joined him, seeing the moonlight glistening in his eyes. "Are you a poet or something?"

"No, I'm just a romantic." He turned to face you. "I could say that right now being here with you is making me feel like I shouldn't need to drink. Or... that being here with you is making me forget about how awful my day was. How I wasn't expecting to bump into someone so beautiful yet sad."

Hyunjin's words put a bug in your throat, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Turning your attention back to the moon, you just let him continue.

"You don't need to walk around with the perfect stranger to forget about him. You just need to move on."

"Easier said than done, isn't it?"

"Of course, it is. But feeling happy and feeling safe is something anyone - it's something I could give you."

You smirked. "Why - you gonna make me fall in love with you?"

Hyunjin turned one more time, his face directly above yours. His hand cupped your cheek. "Depends."

The scent of strawberry trickled down your cheeks. Hyunjin truly was the definition of a hopeless romantic. He was making your chest feel heavy and the world feel small.

"O-On what exactly."

"I'm ready to fall in love again. Are you?"

[offtorivendell]

The Significance of Elain and a Cup of Tea 🍵

Do not screenshot this post.

Disclaimer: these are my own interpretations, and obviously not canon - though I do think that the text supports Elain and Azriel ending up together. I'm sure I'm not the first to see this connection, but I had fun writing it, so... here you go.

It's another long one, sorry. Again, maybe go and make yourself a cuppa first.

In stories that involve Seers, they often read tea leaves, using the patterns they leave at the bottom of a tea cup to predict the future.

Elain, a Seer Made by the Cauldron, seems to have an interesting relationship with tea - it symbolises her/her life, and her reactions to her surroundings while she's written with a cup of tea appear to predict her own future.

The tea predicted Elain being Made

Elain lifted her teacup. “Whatever the reason, Feyre, we are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were—” I pulled my hood back before she could go on. Elain’s teacup rattled in its saucer as she noticed my ears. My longer, slender hands—the face that was undeniably Fae. “I was dead,” I said roughly. “I was dead, and then I was reborn—remade.” Elain set her shivering teacup onto the low-lying table between us. Amber liquid splashed over the side, pooling in the saucer.

- Feyre, ACOMAF, chapter 23

When Feyre, together with Rhys, Azriel and Cassian, visited her family's estate in the human lands, Elain (and Nesta) discovered that Feyre had been Made into a high fae after she died at Amarantha's hands. They are grateful that she's alive - they'd understandably thought otherwise, but rattled by her transformation.

More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.

Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live— Elain sucked in a breath...

Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair.

Elain was still shivering on the wet stones...

From however Elain had been Made… Nesta was different.

- Feyre, ACOMAF, chapter 65

Later on in ACOMAF, after it is revealed that Elain and Nesta were kidnapped by the King of Hybern, Elain is lifted into the Cauldron by the Hybern soldiers, then washed over the edge a Made being, left shivering on the stone floor; in her relief that Elain was alive, Feyre noticed her newly pointed ears - a direct call back to Elain's reaction to seeing Feyre for the first time since she was Made. Feyre was shocked, this time around, and Elain was shivering on the stone ground, as opposed to her tea cup on the low-lying table.

The tea predicted Elain's failed engagement to Graysen

Nesta looked to Elain, still silent and wide-eyed. The tea she’d prepared—the finest, most exotic tea money could buy—sat undisturbed on the table. Elain thumbed the iron ring on her finger. “It is your choice,” Nesta said with unusual gentleness. For her, Nesta would go to Prythian. Elain swallowed, a doe caught in a snare. “I—I can’t. I …”

- Feyre, ACOMAF, chapter 57

Elain, raised to be a fine lady, the prettiest (most exotic) of the Archeron sisters, will eventually lose the life for which she was "prepared," and is left "undisturbed on the table," i.e. Graysen, represented here by the iron engagement ring that he gave to Elain, refused to marry her after she was Made against her will. The ring is also important in that Elain spends a lot of her time in ACOWAR touching it, while she mourned what she lost with Graysen.

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now.”

- Lucien, ACOWAR, chapter 24

Here Elain predicted, heartbreakingly, that Graysen would refuse to See her again - that her being Made fae would prevent him from not just loving her, but identifying with her. There are a couple of great analyses out there that discuss whether and why Elain truly loved Graysen, but what we cannot deny is that they shared a goal, and that goal gave her purpose.

All of that aside, I think we can all agree - his loss!

The tea predicted that there was nothing wrong with Elain

Nesta, sharp-eyed in the corner, had kept quiet. After a long minute, Madja asked us to join her in fetching Elain a cup of tea—with a pointed glance to the door. We both took the invitation and left our sister in her sunlit room.

“What do you mean, nothing is wrong with her?” Nesta hissed under her breath as the ancient female braced a hand on the stair railing to help herself down. I kept beside the healer, a hand in easy reach of her elbow, should she need it.

“What I mean,” Madja said at last, sizing up Nesta, then me, “is that I can find nothing wrong with her. Her body is fine—too thin and in need of more food and fresh air, but nothing amiss. And as for her mind … I cannot enter it.”

- Feyre, ACOWAR, chapter 28

Madja, the Night Court's chief healer, informed Feyre and Nesta that there is nothing she can find wrong with Elain, other than a lack of food, which she is still refusing at this time. Nesta's words, to me, symbolised the concern that the IC and Lucien have for Elain - they're not 100% sure that she came out of the Cauldron with a sound mind - but Madja reiterated her point: there is nothing medically wrong with Elain, and she cannot enter her mind.

Is it because Madja is not a daemati, or something else entirely?

The tea appears to predict a failed relationship - and potentially a false bond - with Lucien

She’d [Jesminda] seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been… thrown at him. He glanced toward the tea service spread on a low-lying table nearby.

Forced his hands to be steady while he poured himself a cup of tea and sat in the chair opposite Nesta’s vacated one.

For a long moment, Elain’s face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. “Lucien,” she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth.

But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say. “You betrayed us.”

She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

- Lucien, ACOWAR, chapter 24

The only time we've had Lucien’s POV (so far) in this series is significant, in that he almost immediately compared Elain to Jesminda, his late first love, and he mused that, while Jesminda had chosen him, had loved him without hesitation, Elain had been thrown at him - very romantic - and she certainly goes on to hesitate in any interactions she has with him. It follows, then, that Elain might not choose Lucien.

Additionally, Lucien forcing his hands to remain steady while pouring the tea, then clenching the tea cup (read: dealing with Elain), could be read as symbolic of the bond between them restricting them both. Lucien then went on to call Elain "another male's bride," which is (potentially, of course) Very Important.

Who might that other male be? We have our suspicions. 🦇

When discussing Elain's health, Madja said the following:

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.” “How.” The word was barely more than a barked command. I braced myself to warn Nesta to be polite, but Madja said to my sister, as if she were a small child, “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

- Feyre, ACOWAR, chapter 28

The beginning of chapter 29 in ACOWAR had Feyre experiencing "the most uncomfortable thirty minutes" that she could recall; Elain and Lucien were having tea, so that he could attempt to sense if "anything was amiss" - as Madja had instructed.

Lucien and Elain sat in stilted silence by the dim fireplace, an untouched tea service between them. I didn’t dare ask if he was trying to get into her head, or if he was feeling a bond similar to that black adamant bridge between Rhys’s mind and my own. If a normal mating bond felt wholly different.

A teacup rattled and rasped against a saucer, and Mor and I glanced over. Elain had picked up the teacup, and now sipped from it without so much as looking toward him. In the dining room across the hall, I knew Nesta was craning her neck to look.

*

The sound [Amren in the other room] seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” Mor put a hand on my knee to keep me from rising, too. “It—it was a tug. On the bond.”

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt… strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.”

“There’s a bond—it’s a real thread,” he said, more to himself than us.

- Feyre, ACOWAR, chapter 29

The words that signify what is between Lucien and Elain here seem quite telling - stilted, dim, untouched - a call back to the "undisturbed" tea service that Elain laid out for their meeting with the queens, which foreshadowed the end of her relationship with Graysen.

The stilted silence and dim fireplace suggest that there is no communication down their "bond," and that they lack the fire of other truly mated couples. More specifically, they could be referring to Feyre/Rhys (bond communication) and Nesta/Cassian (fire between them). Will touch play an important role in Elain's eventual romance?

Elain sipped her tea - read: will live her life - without looking to Lucien at all, while Nesta, Feyre and Mor all watched her/them. Feyre took a moment to wonder if a "normal mating bond" felt different to what she shares with Rhys, not knowing that what Elain and Lucien have may not be normal at all.

Not long after this, Lucien attemped to reach Elain down the "thread" (singular) of their bond and startled her; Elain quickly stood up, then shared that her bond felt strange - almost as if she was answering Feyre's thought. A "normal" mating bond should not feel "strange." What is wrong with the bond between Lucien and Elain? He was unable to sense anything, as Madja said a true mate would, and a little later on, Azriel figured out that Elain was a Seer.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said. No sign of Nuala or Cerridwen. Elain simply removed the kettle from the heat.

I knew I wasn’t truly angry with her, not angry with anyone but myself, but I said, “You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?”

Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter.

“He brought you a present.”

Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”

Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.” She wanted a human man.

- Feyre, ACOFAS, chapter 18

I felt like this passage is partly prediction, and partly a way for SJM to let us into Elain's head; for Elain to speak her truths. A couple of lines did stand out to me, though:

I read Elain "watching the kettle scream" as synonymous with what must have been going on in her head at the time. Scream is an odd choice of word, as most would describe a kettle as whistling. As an aside, there is an interesting parallel that exists with Azriel, in his bonus chapter of ACOSF, where being with Elain makes the noise in his head quiet down.

Elain staring at the steaming kettle seemed to indicate that she might be evaluating her life - could the steam be a metaphor for the mist she will have to See through to find the fourth Dread Trove item? Lucien "not staying for tea" (read: Elain's life) sounded like confirmation (to me, of course) that they will not pursue a romantic relationship together.

Elain’s declaration that Lucien doesn't know her, and that he cannot buy her time or affection with gifts is *chef's kiss* good, though please don't read this as anti Lucien - it's more anti Feyre's poor choice of words.

I have discussed '"I don't want a mate. I don’t want a male.” She wanted a human man.' here, in depth, but a quick summary is that I think Elain wants someone to See all of her, including her humanity, and that her humanity will probably be helpful with her future love interest.

The tea appears to predict Elain's eventual relationship with Azriel, and maybe even a mating bond

She looked away [from Lucien]—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth. “When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.” Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now.”

- Lucien, ACOWAR, chapter 24

Firstly, and so significantly, Elain looked away from Lucien, and towards the windows, instead. We know that, earlier in that scene, Elain was talking to Feyre about being able to see the sea from where she sat, but I think that when Elain is mentioned as being around tea, her words tend to take on a deeper meaning - I interpreted this as Elain removing herself from the conversation she'd been having with Lucien. The next words out of her mouth, then - that "In my sleep, I hear your heart beating through the stone," appear to be spoken not to Lucien, but someone else.

Who do we know who always seems to be looking out windows to the garden, in search of Elain? Who could potentially be flying over Velaris, to or from the House of Wind? It looks like our flower grower might have started the trend!

Who sleeps at the House of Wind, where Elain and Nesta also stay? Aside from Lucien as a guest, there are two longterm residents. One of them is mated to Nesta, while the other one displays some strikingly familiar behaviour towards the middle Archeron sister.

Secondly, the tea burnt Lucien's mouth, then he thought to himself that there's a good chance Elain might not have been addressing him, may have intended to say that to someone else.

Lucien himself told us what was happening, which brings us to:

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it. “Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” “I’d keep that question from Lucien.”

- Feyre and Rhys, ACOWAR, chapter 24

In direct contrast to the tea that Elain and Lucien shared - stilted silence, dim fireplace, untouched tea service (i.e. their bond) - Elain and Azriel sit comfortably - we can assume, due to the lack of negative adjectives - in the sun, a cup of tea (read, once more: her life) "before her." The wrought iron table could potentially be symbolic; that Elain will be hammered into shape by the events of her life, ultimately becoming strong.

Elain is, however, "silent," which may have been indicating that she will spend some time not voicing her own wishes/being passive in her life - we have seen this throughout ACOWAR and ACOFAS, until ACOSF, where she finally started to speak up. It might also mean something else, which I mention further down.

Azriel is even sunning his wings. If you haven't seen it, this is how birds sun their wings - and they look hilariously comfy as they do.

Image source. Can someone please draw the Rhys/Cass/Az version of this?!). 😅

The pose makes them vulnerable; we know exactly how sensitive and possessive Illyrians are about their wings, and how private Azriel is in general, but he trusted Elain enough to expose himself (figuratively - and also, sort of literally) right from the start, just as Elain trusted his reactions at the first "family dinner," back in ACOMAF.

I discussed the relevance of how Elain, the sun, lays bare Azriel's shadows in this post, but the mutual trust and comfort here is, in my opinion, more evidence that Elain and Az share some sort of bond, be that mate or other, that makes him feel innately secure around her. Outside the Night Court, Rhys only ever showed his wings to Feyre, and while Azriel's wings can't be summoned at will like Rhys' can, the same principle stands - protect at all costs, so the parallel is there.

I also think Az may have been showing off his wings - just a wee bit. This is when Feyre uttered her iconic - and maybe prophetic - line, "Why not make them mates?" Feyre, who had thought from the start that Elain and Azriel would make a handsome pair. This is yet another parallel to a canonically mated pair, as we saw Cassian (not so) subtly showing off his wings to Nesta in chapter 29 of ACOWAR.

Oh, and Azriel knew Feyre was watching. So did Cassian. Perhaps they didn't care?

I know Elain x Azriel is not the most popular ship for either of them, but the evidence, to me, has been here all along - not just for a chosen relationship, but also a potential bond. Of course, this shouldn't stop people from shipping who they want. 🖤

The tea predicts that Feyre will become too overprotective of Elain

Rhys smiled at me over his shoulder. Enjoy your tea, you overbearing chaperone.

- Feyre, ACOWAR, chapter 29

" You think I stifle her?"

- Feyre (in response to Rhys), ACOSF, Feyre's bonus chapter

No matter who you ship, the one thing that almost everyone can agree on is that ACOSF demonstrated that Elain is frustrated with being coddled, protected, and not seen; she wants to grow, to come into her own and to have her help be both welcomed and valued.

Unresolved/potential predictions

The following are just bits of text that jumped out at me, that could hint at future events (or could end up being nothing, of course).

Elain thumbed the iron ring on her finger. “It is your choice,” Nesta said with unusual gentleness.

- Feyre, ACOMAF, chapter 57

A hint that Elain's story will be revolve around her making her own choices, both in terms of her love interest and role within the Night Court.

"And as for her mind… I cannot enter it.”

- Feyre, ACOWAR, chapter 28

Elain apparently has an impenetrable mind - will this be important when she deals with Koschei, the queens and other future enemies? Is she an anti-daemati?

But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say. “You betrayed us.”

- Lucien, ACOWAR, chapter 24

Future foreshadowing?! I really, really hope not.

Slow blinkers tend to have quick reflexes, let's hope that this is suggesting Elain will be quick on her feet.

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports...

- Feyre, ACOWAR, chapter 24

Will Elain become involved with Azriel's spy service, or work with him in some capacity? Spies must be able to stay silent, to keep secrets - and we know from ACOSF that Elain is adept at secret keeping.

[moore-nocturnal]

Wrote a bit with First and Hylia it was suppose to have the others feature a bit more but one at a time ;D I'll probably add more to it eventually but here something.

I call it Restless

The group had set up camp for the night, the fire crackles softly as the heroes found some form of comfort through slumber.

What an adventure it is just to do that once again.

Or at the very least try.

He's been with them for a little over two weeks and still he can't help but be cautious. One would think sharing the same spirit.. your spirit (even now it boggles the mind to understand it) that it would be easy to let them in.

He turned his head one last time, a quick glance around. Stares at each individual around him, watching close. Call it paranoia or maybe it's just a habit but he likes to make sure they're breathing. Sometimes they're restless and it's easier to tell and others are so still he can't help but lean closer.

They're fine.

Everyone is fine.

He's fine.

…

He's a safe enough distance to the camp and away that he feels comfortable. The goddess statue that's nearby glows as if to beckon him closer. It's a little farther away then he intends but he makes his way over leaning against the statue getting himself situated again.

Pulling out his sword from its sheath, memories long since past but never forgotten swarm his mind. Callous hands move around the handle, up along the blade searching. Until the familiar clunky script gets requited with his hands. The one responsible for lending him his fangs once again in battle before they were replaced by a sacred blade.

Orville

The name sends a tingle to his heart, the feeling ever fond.

Holding the sword close to his being while trying not to cut himself, he asked with a soft voice-

"Hylia, are you there?"

It's quiet for a few moments before he feels the familiar poke and prod of his mind. Asking for entrance, she was always polite.

Do you wish to speak to me out loud or within your mind?

"Out loud is fine, I'm far enough away that the others shouldn't hear anything."

Did you need something, I was resting you know, are you perhaps lonely?

"Always."

Truly? With a camp full of people and you want to spend your time talking to spirits…

"If I recall correctly that's all I ever was for quite some time."

And still you remain the same, company who I've yet to get tired of, company who I sorely miss.

"I miss you too."

No matter the many times you've been reborn, each time closer to who they once were but never truly…

There's a moment of silence that for once feels nice. With her grace- Hylia, just Hylia to keep him safe.

"... Do you think all of this is pointless? I mean the darkness has us running around trying to stop whatever it is. With all these monsters it's just …"

Brings back old memories?

"Sure, but one cannot simply get rid of them for that would be too easy."

Hmmm, you're tired.

"I'm always tired."

I suppose that's true unfortunately, it isn't even your time to keep watch. And somehow you have the energy to come speak with me.

"Your voice is nice, it helps...always has...when it's too quiet or too dark I.."

Say no more my dear lion I understand-

"More like a wet kitten these days."

Ah but either form is quite cute, if I had my physical body right now I'd hold you close along thy breast and smother said kitten with love and comfort. Vile thoughts begone.

"How are you still so romantic without even trying?"

It's the power of the goddess-

"More like you stole one of Orville's trashy romance books."

Hahaha, I've been found out after so long! My people sure have a way of writing literature, fancy words to just say one thing. But were getting off track, rest and clear your mind of any worry.

You are safe.

He found that his eyes close even as she uttered the last of her sentence. The wind blew felt like a gentle crease on the cheek and then he was able to find a peaceful sleep.

[here4theheartbreak]

Rest, Relaxation... And Exploration

AO3 Link Here!

Collaboration with: @i-live-so-i-love Relationships: Junkook x Yoongi Genre: smut Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~5k

Tags: smut, friends to lovers, Nephilim Jungkook, monster/human Romance, mutual masturbation, handjobs, first kiss, getting together, tentacle monster, tentacles as erogenous spots

Summary: Jungkook knows that Yoongi needs a break, and wants to help him relax. He just hadn't planned on THAT kind of relaxing.

A/N: Written for @calixwrites - hope you enjoy!!

“Why are we doing this again?” Yoongi grumped, getting out of the car and squinting at the sunlight. 

Jungkook twisted and stretched as he stood up, trying to wake himself after the long drive. The day was almost warmer than he’d prefer but it was perfect for what he had planned. 

“Because you have been working too much in that tiny studio with no windows, no sunlight, and no fresh air for too long. You need some outdoor time,” Jungkook reminded him. 

“I’m allergic to sun and fresh air,” Yoongi deadpanned. 

Jungkook was used to Yoongi’s dry humor. He’d known him for years. Ever since he’d accidentally walked in on Jungkook in full Nephilim mode; all thirteen eyes and six tentacle-esque wings on display. Jungkook rarely had them out, even in private, but he’d been in a public bathroom trying to get his clothes and hair perfect for a date. And frankly, sometimes it was just easier with six extra appendages. 

He had been able to keep Yoongi from screaming and convinced him he wasn’t crazy. Originally, Jungkook had only meant to keep tabs on him so he didn’t try to run to the authorities, but somehow, he’d gotten a close friend out of it. A friend that, right now, desperately needed some fresh air and a good meal. 

“Hush and help me unpack,” Jungkook scolded.

Together they lugged it all up the stone steps in one go. (Tentacles really could be handy sometimes.) The beach house that Jungkook rented for cheap from a friend of a friend was small and tidy. One room served as the kitchen, dining room, and living room, plus a bathroom and a tiny bedroom. It would do for a night. The real benefit of the place was that it came with a quarter mile of private sandy beach. 

“I thought the point of this was to get me out of a tiny room?” Yoongi teased after they finished looking around. 

“it is. Which is why we’re going to lay out in the sun. Put some swim trunks on.” Jungkook beamed at his horrified expression. 

“I’ll burn to a crisp! We don’t all have your magical immunity to the sun, you know.”

“I packed you sunscreen. The strongest I could find. You’ll be just fine. And you get to do one your favorite things. Just with fresh air and sunlight.” 

Yoongi continued to look skeptical. Jungkook pouted. “Just give it a chance?”

Yoongi’s expression softened; Jungkook knew it would. The human couldn’t resist a good pout. 

“Fine.”

The two of them changed and made their way across the hot sand. About halfway between the house and waves Jungkook stopped.

“The perfect spot!” He announced, setting down the bag and rummaging through it. Yoongi looked around.

“What makes this spot any different than anywhere else?”

Jungkook shook a large blue and white striped towel and laid it across the sand. He flopped onto it dramatically, the ground giving a satisfying thunk at his bulk. “Because this spot has a towel.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Jungkook reached out, fishing through the bag for a second towel. He threw it to Yoongi, smirking when it smacked the other square in his grumpy face. 

Yoongi set it out, his expression decidedly softer. He settled onto the blanket and paused before kicking his sandals off and tugging his t-shirt over his head. He rolled onto his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms. He wiggled a little, making a spot for himself in the soft sand. “This isn’t so bad,” he hummed.

Jungkook tried not to stare. It’s not that he’d never seen Yoongi without his shirt on. There had been occasions over the course of their friendship where he’d spilled something on himself, or it was just somehow more convenient, but admittedly it wasn’t often. Jungkook hadn’t actually expected him to take it off. But there he was, his broad back looking far paler in the sunlight. 

They were just friends. But, that didn’t stop Jungkook from having eyes. And Yoongi was an attractive human even by human standards. Yoongi had his eyes closed; the soft curve of his lashes and the resting pout of his lips drew Jungkook’s attention next. He really, truly was achingly beautiful. 

Jungkook dug around in the bag and dropped a bottle of sunscreen next to Yoongi’s head. 

“There you go, potato chip.”

Yoongi grunted and opened his eyes. 

“Were you already half asleep?” He asked, rummaging through the bag for a snack.

“Maybe. Did you just call me a potato chip?”

Jungkook pulled a bag of actual potato chips from and popped it open. He smirked. “Yeah. You said you were going to get crispy. And you’re already plenty salty.” He tossed a few of the ships into his mouth. 

Yoongi ignored your joke and squeezed a dollop of the lotion onto his hand. He began to rub it into his arms and face methodically. It was a little unnerving to watch his features slowly be obscured by the sunblock. He glanced up at Jungkook and cocked a brow. 

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, aware he’d been caught staring in an entirely creepy way. He offered Yoongi the bag of chips in an apology. Yoongi reached for them, but paused, both his hands covered in the gloopy lotion. He shrugged and held his mouth open like a baby bird instead. With an affectionate shake of his head, Jungkook dropped a chip into his mouth. Yoongi chewed and swallowed, and demanded yet another with an open mouther. 

“Too greedy,” Jungkook scolded through a laugh, dropping another chip into his mouth. 

He was actively ignoring the fact that it felt a little coupley to be hand feeding him chips. It wasn’t that he’d never considered a romantic relationship with Yoongi. He just knew it would never happen. They both had busy lives and, not to mention, Yoongi was so far out of Jungkook’s league it was nearly laughable. So, any crush that may have tried to bloom was quickly uprooted; Jungkook valued their friendship far too much. 

After the third chip, Jungkook tossed Yoongi something to wipe his hands with. He laid back to enjoy the sun, feeling much of his stress being chased away. 

“Hey, can you do my back?” Yoongi asked, popping the bubble of relaxation Jungkook had been drifting away into. He sighed and sat up, taking the bottle from Yoongi. 

“You have such pretty markings, it’s a shame to cover them,” Jungkook commented casually as he began to rub the lotion into Yoongi’s back. The lines that arched over his shoulder blade and along his spine were nearly symmetrical. As Jungkook worked lower, he wondered what the markings further extension would look like. Humans often had more complex designs in that area, but Jungkook had never seen Yoongi’s. With how shapely Yoongi was though… Jungkook could only imagine they would be just as pleasing. 

“Huh?” Yoongi asked softly. “What markings?”

“These,” Jungkook traced one line that dipped along Yoongi’s spine, still faintly visible through the metallic speckled UV reflecting lotion. 

Yoongi squirmed. 

“Ticklish?” Jungkook asked, repeating the action. 

Yoongi grunted, wiggling away from his fingers. “I will put so much spice in dinner tonight that you won’t be able to taste anything for a month,” he threatened, laughter in his deep voice. 

“Oh fine,” Jungkook held up his hands, relenting. “Now hold still so I can finish.”

“Hey, I was holding still. You started it.”

Jungkook smiled at his pout and set back to work. Just as he finished up, Yoongi spoke again.

“Really though, what markings? Do I have scars or freckles that I don’t know about?”

“No, your stripes,” Jungkook explained hurriedly, hearing the worry in Yoongi’s voice. 

Yoongi craned his neck back to see Jungkook over his shoulder. “I don’t have stripes.” 

It was then that Jungkook remembered. “Oh! Duh. I forgot. You must not have the right ocularity to see them.” 

He was normally so careful around humans. His parents had drilled into him how important it was that people didn’t ever know about his differences. He almost never brought up the things he knew humans couldn’t see with their limited visual range. But Yoongi made him feel so normal. Aside from his initial freak out, he’d never acted like Jungkook’s abilities were anything more than a unique curiosity or a party trick. His expression now remained puzzled. Jungkook closed all but two of his eyes, limiting his vision to what a human would have. He couldn’t help but frown at the way Yoongi saw himself. It was so plain, like a rainbow in black and white for a human. Yoongi was still gorgeous, but that spark was missing. A human’s markings and colorings told Jungkook so much about them than their visible light ever could. Yoongi’s were particularly stunning from day one. 

“In your visible light spectrum, they aren’t there,” he further explained.

“Ocularity? That sounds like a word Namjoon would know. Some obscure thing.”

“It means the number of eyes you have normally. Though I suppose in this case it’s more about spectral frequency than actual number of physical eyes…”

“And in your eyes, I have stripes?” Yoongi looked down at himself, curious. “I must look so weird to you.” He laughed lightly.

“Not at all,” Jungkook said. “You’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Yoongi cocked his head and grinned. 

Jungkook could feel his cheeks heat but tried to ignore it. “Yes, beautiful. You can’t tell me you aren’t aware of how stunning you are and how many people find you attractive.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi conceded. “But I didn’t think you did.”

Jungkook’s blush deepened. He tried to ignore it, but thought his cheeks rivaled the sun’s heat at that very moment. “Anyone with eyes thinks you’re gorgeous. So yeah, that includes me. Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re an annoying troublemaker who worries his friends by overworking thought,” Jungkook stuck his tongue out and turned away, hoping Yoongi would let it go after the riff. 

“So,” Yoongi continued much to Jungkook’s disappointment, “if you have more than the usual number of eyes, and more than the usual amount of uhh… Ocularity… Does that mean you find me more than the usual amount of beautiful?”

Jungkook sighed heavily. “Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, I guess. I just always thought you were good looking. I never realized you thought the same about me.” 

Jungkook scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “I’m sure the glowing eyes and tentacle wings are super sexy to a human.” Jungkook could hear the bitterness in his voice, but it had always bugged him. Any partner he’d ever had had only seen a part of him, nobody ever saw him completely, for what he truly was. They’d call him a monster. 

When Yoongi remained silent, Jungkook figured his question had been answered. But Yoongi finally responded, “it is to this human.”

Jungkook snapped his head up to look at Yoongi then laughed. There’s no way that could be true. “You’re just being nice,” Jungkook said. “I appreciate it. But… Let’s just go back to enjoying the sun, eh?” He rolled onto his back on the blanket and closed his eyes, letting his skin soak up the warm rays. 

Yoongi laid back on his stomach fully, silent for the moment. Jungkook could feel him watching him, but didn’t mind. It was a comforting feeling. 

“I’ve always wondered. Can you feel your wings like that? Aren’t they on your back?”

“I can, and they are. But they also aren’t. I can still feel them and move them. You’re used to thinking in three dimensions, as a human. But when I hide my wings or other parts of me, it’s like…” Jungkook frowned as he tried to find an analogy Yoongi would comprehend. “Like taking pants off a paper doll. They both still exist to you, but for the doll, it doesn’t have pants anymore.”

“So hiding your wings is like taking your pants off?” Yoongi chuckled. When Jungkook glanced over, Yoongi winked suggestively. Jungkook’s brows furrowed, confused about what had gotten into his friend today. “No, not really,” Jungkook sighed, opting to ignore the flirtation… If that’s what it was. “It’s not a perfect metaphor.”

“Do you keep them hidden because they’re private? Or so you don’t scare people?”

“I’m pretty sure people would run screaming or try to lock me up and do horrible tests on me if I just walked down the street with glowing tentacle wings and thirteen eyes,” Jungkook deadpanned. 

“You know I wouldn’t thought. But you still almost always keep them hidden from me too. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were private.” 

“Oh…” Jungkook pauses to consider. “I guess it’s just habit,” he finally settled on. Even home alone he rarely brought them out. Only when he needed the extra appendage to flick a light switch off across the room or carry things. There was another long pause as Jungkook thought about Yoongi’s question, and Yoongi, apparently, was thinking as well. 

“Can I see them?”

“Why so curious all of a sudden?” Jungkook asked. His tone was gentle. He sat up and wiggled his shoulders a little to pull his wings into this dimension. 

“Wow.” Yoongi sat up and looked over Jungkook’s shoulder, his eyes tracing the long, golden, glowing tentacles. They shifted subtly in his perception, never entirely free from the currents of the fourth dimension. “I forgot how beautiful they are.” His gaze darted over to Jungkook’s face and he frowned. “What about your eyes?”

Jungkook hesitated. “You sure? I mean glowy wings might be tolerable… But thirteen eyes…”

“I’m sure. I can handle it. No screaming this time.”

Jungkook chuckled a little. He scrunched his face and blinked a few times, letting every part of himself slip into this dimension. It felt nice, like releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Yoongi stared for a long minute, his gaze intense. Maybe it did feel more like taking your pants off than he thought it would. Jungkook considered hiding his eyes away again; maybe he had horrified Yoongi after all, but Yoongi seemed to shake himself out of whatever trance he was in.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

The pause grew to the point of awkward between them. Jungkook sighed, but opted to ignore it. He rolled onto his stomach to lie in the sun once more, wings still out. 

“Can I touch them?” Yoongi blurted out. He paused when Jungkook looked up. Jungkook could swear he was blushing. “I’m sorry, was that rude?” He asked.

“No. Not rude. Not so different from touching my arm, I guess… I don’t know, really… I don’t know a ton of other Nephilim to have some sort of reference.”

“Oh, uh, right… Sorry.”

Jungkook shrugged and sat up, facing Yoongi. Yoongi did the same. Jungkook spread the tendrils of his wings out in front of him like open hands, glancing up at Yoongi expectantly. Yoongi reached out, setting his hand on top of them. Jungkook was surprised at the sensation. It felt so strange, but not uncomfortable at all. Soothing, in a way. 

“They’re warm,” Yoongi said, surprise apparent in his own voice. He stroked his hand along the length of them, and Jungkook suppressed a shudder. It felt really good. Like someone rubbing his back but… More. Yoongi shifted his hands from stroking three at a time to just one. He twirled his finger around the tip of it, as if spinning a hair. The motion sent an unexpected shiver of pleasure down Jungkook’s spine and he gasped, nearly crying out. He yanked his wings away and instantly shifted them out of sight. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” Yoongi cried in surprise. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would feel like that,” Jungkook stammered, his cheeks flushed and hot.

“Did I hurt you?” Yoongi’s brows were knitted together in concern.

Jungkook wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “No…” He mumbled. Yoongi must not have realized… “The opposite, actually.”

“Oh…”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry,” Jungkook continued. “I honestly didn’t know it felt like that. I’ve never let anyone touch them, I didn’t know—”

“You’ve never let anyone touch them?” Yoongi asked, cutting Jungkook off.

“Of course not. You’re the only human that knows about them. Who else would have?”

“Your parents?” Yoongi suggested.

“They’re terrified of them. And besides… Now I’m glad they haven’t,” he admitted, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle. 

“It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” 

“That there’s this whole other side to you. An amazing side that you don’t get to show anyone. That you don’t get to explore at all because of how people are.”

Jungkook shrugged one shoulder. “I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me anymore, I’ve spent my whole life hiding it. And besides,” Jungkook smiled. “You know the real me. So, one person has seen it. And accepts it… I hope.”

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. 

Jungkook looked back down at the blanket. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a curiosity about what he’d felt in Yoongi’s hands, what more would feel like. He could explore it on his own, he figured. He wanted to put this whole awkward, humiliating event past him and get on with the relaxing weekend—

“I can help you,” Yoongi said, cutting into his plan. 

“Help me?”

“You don’t know much about… That side. I mean, you didn’t know how it would feel to have someone touch them. But someday, I mean… You’ll meet someone who you can share that with, I hope. So, you’ll want to be prepared, or at least know what to expect. So, if you’re curious and wanted to, I… I could help you explore.” Yoongi looked down as he spoke, fiddling with the sand between their blankets.

Jungkook blinked, his mind taking a long moment to process exactly what Yoongi was asking. Was he actually offering… Based on his inability to make eye contact… And the beautiful pink glow of his cheeks, he was. It was strange, thinking of it, definitely not something friends did, right? Jungkook chewed his bottom lip until it hurt, his head twitching as he thought through the situation. It was definitely more than friends. And he should definitely not say yes. This held the potential of changing their entire relationship forever. Ruining it, even. Or making it something more. Yoongi had mentioned finding him attractive. But that was out of the question. No, he had to politely say no, this was something he could explore on his own. 

“Okay.” The word came out firm and decisive, evidently his mouth had decided to ignore every shred of rationale his brain was giving. 

“Really?” Yoongi looked up, his own eyes wide, as if he were as surprised by the answer. “You… I didn’t think you’d agree,” he admitted. “You’re sure? I do want to. But, I know this is… Big. We can stop any time.”

“I know.” Jungkook nodded. “I trust you.”

Yoongi’s entire face brightened, his mouth upturning into a gummy smile that had Jungkook’s heart fluttering and his cheeks and chest warming. 

He took a breath, not sure where to start. “So… What should I do?”

“Well, I need to see them to be able to touch them,” Yoongi teased, reaching out and waving his hand in the empty space where Jungkook’s tentacles should be. 

“Right.” Jungkook wiggled and let them appear once more. 

“I’ll never get over how pretty that looks,” Yoongi commented. He let his hand fall, watching the movement of them for a moment. 

“So, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Yoongi said. “You’ll need to let me know how it feels, okay?”

“You mean you haven’t played with tentacles before? What kind of twenty-something year old are you?” Jungkook teased. 

Yoongi scoffed. He reached out, catching one of the tentacles. He squeezed lightly, just hard enough to give some pressure, his eyes on Jungkook’s face.

“That’s okay, doesn’t hurt but… Doesn’t feel like it did before—Oh!” 

While Jungkook spoke, Yoongi slid his hand slowly up and down the tentacle. 

“Better?” He whispered. Jungkook nodded, closing his eyes. Yoongi repeated the motion and reached out for another tentacle, doing the same. He pulled one closer to him, twirling his finger around the tip like he had before. 

Jungkook moaned softly, his eyes snapping open. He covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh, God, I—”

Yoongi let go of one tentacle to tug his hands down. “We’re alone. You don’t have to be shy.”

“This is so weird,” Jungkook mumbled, leaning toward Yoongi a little.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, please don’t stop… Do that again?”

Yoongi chuckled. He repeated the twirling motion and then slid his hand down the tentacle, moving it back up in one fluid stroke. Jungkook felt his belly tighten up and he moaned softly, his shoulders sagging a little. 

“Come closer to me, I want to reach more of them,” Yoongi whispered. 

Jungkook moved onto the same towel, resting on his knees in front of Yoongi, his head bowed. Yoongi made a small noise. He moved forward, wrapping both arms around Jungkook. He caught the tentacles in his hands, sliding his fingers over them and pressing where they emerged from Jungkook’s back. His short nails scraped over one as he stroked his fingers up it, and Jungkook cried out, jerking forward. 

The motion sent him slamming into Yoongi’s chest, his heart pounding wildly.

Yoongi cried out in surprise, tightening his grip on Jungkook’s back. “Hey… You okay?”

“Y—Yeah,” Jungkook stuttered. He could hear Yoongi’s heart pounding as fast as his own. The aura around Yoongi was shifting, a vibrant array of colors that would have made the most strong-willed person a little dizzy. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook worried. “Is this… Not good?”

“This is…” Yoongi drifted off. Jungkook looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Yoongi’s pupils were dilated and dark despite the sun, his gaze intense. 

“This is what?” Jungkook pressed. 

Yoongi swallowed hard. He shifted, pulling Jungkook closer to him. “It’s okay,” Yoongi whispered. “You can lean on me.” 

Jungkook pouted a little at Yoongi’s lack of an answer, but let himself be guided onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi’s hands slid over his back once more, up short, anxiety bitten nails scraping over the sensitive trunks of his tentacles. Jungkook moaned helplessly, letting his forehead fall onto Yoongi’s shoulder. 

Yoongi began to work each of the tentacles in turn, squeezing and stroking, rubbing, each one, testing each. Jungkook’s entire body was on fire. His stomach was knotted in a million twists, a heat and pressure more intense than he’d ever felt before building low inside his belly. 

“Yoongi—” He strained. 

“I’m here,” Yoongi purred. His breath was hot against Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook moaned wantonly. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that they were “just friends”, he didn’t care that this was just “exploring”. Every emotion he’d felt for Yoongi was rushing back. Every glance that was less than friendly, every “what if” whispered in the back of his mind, every moment shoved away and boxed up under the guise of not wanting to ruin things, not being good enough, not being human enough.

“Yoongi!” He cried again, his voice taking on a pleading lilt. He let his head fall back, leaning into the touches. He looked at Yoongi, struggling to focus. The aura of colors surrounding Yoongi seemed to reflect his own inner chaos, shifting and writhing around them. Despite all of the emotions flooding him, it still surprised Jungkook when he felt Yoongi’s lips against his own. It took him a moment to react. Yoongi’s mouth was soft and plush, tasting of the potato chips they’d shared earlier, the faintest hint of coffee from this morning. He felt Yoongi begin to pull away and made a small noise, instinct kicking in. Jungkook wrapped his arms around Yoongi and deepened the kiss, pressing every inch of his own body against him. 

The tentacles that Yoongi wasn’t touching wrapped around them, brushing Yoongi’s back and neck lightly. 

He could feel Yoongi’s cock, pressing up against the fabric of his swim trunks, just as hard as his own. Jungkook brought his hips down, grinding their crotches together gently. It was almost disappointing; the lack of feeling he got from it. It was nice, of course, but didn’t feel near as amazing as Yoongi’s hands on his tentacles. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, reacted beautifully. His hips jerked and he moaned into Jungkook’s mouth, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the tentacles. 

Jungkook pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. He began to hump himself against Yoongi, their breathing rapid as they shared the same warm pocket of air. 

Curious, Jungkook let one tentacle sink down, sliding over Yoongi’s bare knee. He shifted his own seating position and pushed it up slowly, into the leg of Yoongi’s swim trunks and up. Yoongi’s eyes widened almost comically when he felt it, his hands going still.

Jungkook pushed up further, letting the tip of the tentacle brush over Yoongi’s balls, already drawn tight to his body. Up further, and around his cock. He wound the tentacle around it in a firm grip, amazed at the texture he could feel, and how good it felt. He could feel Yoongi’s pulse, fast and strong. He stroked it experimentally. Both gasped. It was so intimate. Though it wasn’t exactly like being penetrated, it was so much more than any masturbation he’d done before with anyone. He began to jerk Yoongi off slow and steady, his own climax drawing closer. 

Yoongi was wiggling and moaning, clearly struggling to maintain composure. He continued to work Jungkook’s tentacles, knowing the perfect motions at this point to send all the good sparks straight to Jungkook’s guts. 

“Please—“ Jungkook gasped. 

“Are you close?” 

Jungkook nodded. Yoongi let go of one tentacle and grabbed the front of Jungkook’s shorts. He pulled them out and pushed them down just enough for the tip of Jungkook’s cock to be exposed. 

“Nobody likes come in their shorts.” Jungkook laughed breathlessly. He did the same for Yoongi, but moved back and pushed them down further.

He watched his tentacle stroke Yoongi’s cock, breathless at the beauty of it. The stripes on Yoongi’s back wound around to his front, swirling around his cock in complex, beautiful patterns. 

“Together—“ Yoongi panted. 

Jungkook blinked at him.

Yoongi let go of his tentacles only long enough to pull him close again. He touched the tentacle on his cock. “Jerk us both off.”

“I can barely feel my cock with you touching my tentacles,” Jungkook admitted.

He still did as Yoongi requested, unable to hide the smile when Yoongi’s hips jerked. The skin of their cocks slid together as he stroked them both with the tentacle. 

Yoongi turned his focus back to the other five, matching pace as they each pulled one another toward climax.

Jungkook came first, unsurprisingly. His head fell back and he shouted Yoongi’s name. His full form shimmered into view, the intensity of his orgasm forcing him into one dimension. His cock spilled his release down the shaft, slicking the way for his tentacle as he continued to stroke them both. Every nerve in his body was on fire, even his tentacles felt as if they were tensing and releasing in time to the powerful climax.

Yoongi swore and jerked. Jungkook forced his eyes open in time to watch, not wanting to miss it. Yoongi’s release spurted onto Jungkook’s belly. Yoongi shuddered, dropping his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder as the waves of pleasure washed over him. Jungkook could nearly see it in his shifting aura, beautiful and hypnotizing. 

The two sat in silence for a long time after their orgasms faded, catching their breath and letting the reality of what happened sink in. Yoongi was the first to move, reaching over and dragging the bag closer. He found the towel he’d used to wipe his hands earlier and used it once more, cleaning the release from their bodies and Jungkook’s tentacles tenderly. 

Jungkook moved off him and back onto his own blanket, fixing his shorts. He shrugged a bit, his tentacles and extra eyes slipping from view once more.

“So…”

“That was…” Yoongi began at the same time. They both chuckled a little, a tension in the air. 

“What do we do now?” Jungkook finally asked. He found himself unable to meet Yoongi’s gaze, afraid of what the other was going to say. 

“You were saying I was handsome. I mean… That you thought I was,” Yoongi began.

“You are.”

“Was it just that? Like… You think I’m handsome but we’re friends and… That’s it? Or… More?”

Jungkook cautiously looked up at Yoongi. He was sitting in a similar position, staring at his hands in his lap. 

“I’m afraid to answer,” Jungkook admitted.

“Please, don’t be. I need to know.”

“I don’t want it to ruin our friendship.” 

Yoongi looked up. “If you’re scared of that… Does that mean it’s a yes? To… More?”

“I tried to ignore it. I figured we were both busy and you’re… So handsome. I’m just…” Jungkook drifted off. 

“The most stunning person I’ve ever met,” Yoongi finished.

“That’s a boldfaced lie,” Jungkook snorted.

“No, Jungkook. It’s not.” Yoongi moved forward. He grabbed Jungkook’s face, cupping it in his hands. “I’ve been fascinated with you forever. You’re funny and kind and beautiful, and so interesting. I can’t get bored around you. You make me so happy. I just figured… I’m so… Human. And how dull I must be to you.”

Jungkook grimaced. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You are anything but dull.”

“I lack the ocularity,” Yoongi responded, his voice shifting as he smirked. Jungkook laughed. He set his hands over Yoongi’s wrists.

“So, it seems like… We both have been interested in more for a while.”

“And were both too worried to say something.”

“Now that the truth is out… What’s next?”

Yoongi smiled softly. “I think we go take a dip in the ocean. And then make dinner… And then come lay on the beach and watch the sunset together… How does that sound?”

Jungkook smiled brightly. He let his tentacles and eyes appear, his heart skipping a happy beat when Yoongi’s smile broadened.

“I think that sounds like the perfect first date.”

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 10 | " AT LONG LAST PT. 2 "

starring: enhypen ft. daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3 @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge @hooniecore @thenoceurgirl @thonkingdeepo

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One of the strangest things about love is that it will make you feel rooted one moment, then wavered by the next; all by the person whom you treated like your resting place — only for them to be tired of you in their next waking day. In Jungwon’s case, he didn’t feel threatened by the marquess’ efforts to acquire his girl. Despite Y/n’s plead to stop the unlabeled thing going on between them, Jungwon refused to feel daunted. So he did what he does best: expressing his sentiments in the form of written words— the language of the unsaid.

The night Y/n ended things between them, Jungwon made a quick stop to their library to write down a few of the many things she did to him on the daily; it contained some of the uncountable things he wanted to say to her if she’d only listened. He poured out his heart, writing to the best of his ability with all the love and warmth she deserved, hoping his adoration would reach her if it wasn’t too late yet.

Crumpling away various parchments and scratching several more, he finally had it neatly tucked in between the pages of their favorite Jane Austen book she threw at him weeks prior. Before leaving the said book upon the large, round table in the center of the room, Jungwon topped it off with a little quote, once again, peeking from the worn-out cover of the antique novel.

“I will go if you need me to go, but bear in mind that I don’t want to leave. I have no other homeland but you. So I will patiently sit in the corner of your heart and wait for our time.”

If it weren’t for Jay’s knowledge about his friend’s almost parting gift, Y/n wouldn’t be rushing down their manor’s library with an eager yet tormented heart the day after. She immediately clasped the book, the repertoire of their precious memories and Jungwon’s poetic affection, the instant she saw it lying on the surface of her late father’s desk.

Y/n pulled out the tiny parchment with Jungwon’s last quote, putting down the book back on the wooden desk. She carefully muttered each word as if it was an ode, constantly bouncing in her mind back and forth.

Her heart found a bit of relief behind his written words, yet she still found it vague that he couldn’t face her and tell her himself. Y/n picked the book again and as she flicked through the pages, a small, handwritten envelope caught her attention. Her heart began to thump.

She gently tore the envelope open only to be welcomed by several folded papers brimming at the edge of the torn covering. Jungwon got her used to the underlined phrases and pieces of quotes, and almost nothing from Jungwon’s heart itself. And now suddenly, all the letters were about her, from the depths of her lover’s affection.

“Be still, my heart.” She whispered under her shaky breath.

My dearest Y/n,

We made quite a mess, don’t you think? Or rather, I did.

When I didn’t react to your efforts of reaching out,

I'm sure you thought I'd gone on or despised you.

I bet it never ever occurred to you that I just couldn’t

bring myself to say "hello" and risk another goodbye.

You wore your best dress that day we departed,

and you were there to watch me leave.

And all the times you let me in just for me to screw things up and leave again.

I’ve been trying to undo what I did to you by making amends.

I’m trying so hard, believe me.

Everything I said in the past and the phrases I underlined in attempts to confess to you,

They were all true.

I cannot stop thinking of you, my thoughts of you never end.

They’re so loud they prevent me from sleeping at night.

I’ve been restlessly rehearsing the words I’d tell you if time didn’t forbid.

But unfortunately, it appears that my time in your heart is up.

Truth be told, we were something, don’t you think?

I cannot shrug away the thought that we were nothing when

I could feel your calm breath against my heaving chest,

It felt like you were meant to reside there, in the warmth of my embrace.

I’m afraid I couldn’t bear myself to write more of these.

They don’t deserve to be kept in any longer.

If you still wish to talk to me and hear me out before giving your hand away,

Meet me in the Queen’s Garden at dusk tomorrow.

Jay has agreed to chaperone you there,

But he must leave us to ourselves when we reach the Catalpa tree.

Until then, I will remain in the state of waiting, for the last time.

— Forever yours, Jungwon

The awaited dusk came upon, and it was a shocker for Y/n that she rejected Sunghoon’s plea to spend the day together over an impulsive meeting with Jungwon. Jay helped lift his sister from the horse, firmly securing his grip on her corseted waist. Her heart was in a weary state; she feared it would be a cycle again of Jungwon acting out his affection and leaving her hanging when their moment’s up. She couldn’t trust him fully anymore, knowing he had recklessly wasted so much borrowed time and promises.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine? I can stay by the gazebo and wait for you.”

“It’s alright, Jay. Didn’t he promise you that he’d send me home? Ride safe, brother!”

Jay walked closer to her and draped his arm around her shoulder, planting a long, soft kiss on the crown of her head. “See you at home, sis.”

Y/n heaved a deep breath before taking baby steps towards the Catalpa tree where Jungwon had been lounging hours prior. With a heavy heart and romantic complications in mind, she stood in front of the lover she forced herself to detest; eyes never leaving his.

But Jungwon, being easily distracted by her tantalizing eyes, quickly averted his gaze to the grass he had been standing on. His confident stance stripped away though he mustered the courage to look at the beautiful pair, as the object of his affection gradually approached him.

“Why didn’t you come and talk to me yourself?”

“Would you have listened?” Y/n ran out of retorts as she was guilty enough, cutting Jungwon’s explanations that night in their garden.

The boy drew closer to her, softly lifting her resting hand to interlock it with his. “Y/n…” only to be shrugged away by the maiden.

“You must have gone crazy, coming here like this. Tell me, are you that desperate to impel your pride-”

“This is not about my pride! I-” Jungwon ran a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh, realizing what he just did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It upsets me to know that you still think this is all for my ego, supposing you’ve read the letters I left you.”

“So you’ve been living in denial all these years?”

“I never meant to come between you and him.”

“Yet here we are. Someone’s caught in the middle, and it’s definitely not you, Jung.” The boy stared down at his worn-out boots, million-dollar thoughts running through his mind, yet he couldn’t find the ones he needed to say.

“Do you want me to start it off for you?” Y/n crossed her arms, trying her best to compose a cold approach to Jungwon, although the chap’s been looking unkempt like he hasn’t slept for days in every passing minute of their imminent bickering.

“Haven’t you gotten the letters?”

“I did.”

“Is there anything you want to say about it?” Y/n scoffed at the timid boy who was shattered by the lady’s callousness.

“You asked me to come here, Jungwon! All this time you’ve said nothing but a few words to me. Are you even serious right now?” She half-yelled in frustration.

“I’m trying to prevent myself from saying the wrong things.”

“You’ve barely been able to look me in the eye!”

“For the reason that I cannot bear witness to the misery I’ve caused you!”

Y/n gulped when she saw a tear grazing down Jungwon’s dimpled cheek. It was the first time she’d seen him cry in a long time, the last one being the day he left her for university five years ago.

“It pains me,” he stammered, breaths shaky as tears kept dripping down the grassy lawn. “It pains me to know that I’ve yet again, caused you another heartache. If there was anything I could do to bring back the hands of time, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat. If I could go back to when we were thirteen, on the exact day I left you for London, I would vow to you then and there that I will spend every lifetime with you when I get back.” Jungwon went on and on, eyes now fixated upon her sparkling orbs that reflected the full moon above them.

“But I was a stubborn, scared, idle bloke who’s now deserving of punishment. It’s long overdue, but I still think I deserve this, and I’m sorry. I’m tremendously sorry that it took your beautiful marquess to be caught in the middle of our mess for me to realize that you were my all and more. You are my all and more, Y/n. I couldn’t bear this any longer. My feelings will not be silenced this time, and I must let you hear of how I truly, madly, and deeply love you now more than ever. I’d hate myself for eternity if it came to the conclusion of having to lose the one real thing I’ve ever hoped for in this lifetime. If the mighty heavens don’t forbid us to love again, I swear I’d love you right.”

“Why are you telling me this now? You had all the chances, Jung. Why did it have to be in the most unsuitable moment where Mother and the Duke are preparing for the imminent wedding?!”

“Sometimes you don’t fully know the answer until someone’s breaking badly in front of you. I’m sorry, Y/n. But I’m here now, in all my glory, swallowing my pride, and laying my armor down if you choose to rather love than fight.”

Jungwon approached her. Too close until an inch of distance was left between them. His eyes had been watering with tears the entire time he was rambling his feelings, but he wiped her glistening tears away instead, bearing in mind that he’s making up for lost times. His face was mere inches away from hers, breaths fanning against each other as Y/n sniffs lightly with Jungwon’s nose bumping against hers.

“I love you, Y/n. My longing for you aches like piled-up bricks pushed against my chest, as my love for you burns, heavily and passionately, like a thousand suns set ablaze right before our very eyes. My heart is, and always will be, yours. You’ve imparted me this quote once from a book you found scattered around my room. ‘Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony’ and I had carved it into the depths of my soul, putting myself under the commitment of being worthy of your choice. I grew confident because I know you love me truly more than him.”

Jungwon raised her flimsy hand and kissed it with much intent before placing it around his shoulders and having his hand rest on the small of her back. With his other hand hanging freely to his side, he lifted it up to graze his gentle fingers upon the lady’s soft cheek, carefully taking in her satisfied reaction to his touch as she kept her eyes closed and her lips parted. Jungwon pulled her chin up with his forefinger, his thumb softly pinching it in the aftermath. He brushes his nose against hers, bathing in each other’s warmth and shy touches, bodies electric.

“Marry me.”

Y/n shoots a concerned look at Jungwon, “but what about Lady Choi? I thought you two-”

“No one else could make me the happiest man in this world, Y/n, no one but you.” Jungwon wasted no time and crashed his lips against hers. First, and long-awaited kisses are finally shared under the illuminating beam of the fullest moon of the year. The gent tilts his head to the side, gaining more access to the lady’s lips as Y/n heaves a deep breath, slowly taking in his upper lip within hers.

He pulls away mere seconds after to get some oxygen into his system while taking the opportunity to continue his unrehearsed proposal. “My heart will only rest in yours. Marry me, Y/n, will you?”

The lady buried her face against his chest that was clad in blue, velvety frock coat adorned with gold embroidery upon its hems. She sniffed his immaculate scent in before letting out muffled whispers. “Give me time to reflect on it. Only then will I give you my answer.”

“Time, of course. As much as you need, my love.” Jungwon gave her a quick and final kiss on the lips before freeing her from his embrace. “I must get you home now. Your mother would be frantic if she knew you were frolicking around with me while she worries about your wedding plans with Sunghoon.”

“Don’t say that. He hasn’t proposed to me yet.”

“But when he does, I’m certain your mother won’t pass up the chance.”

Y/n kissed him back. Fleeting, but full of love. “It’s me who’s getting married, Jung, not her.”

“I love you.”

“You’ve said it already.”

“I will say it again if I have to.” Y/n chuckles lightly, feeling relieved now that Jungwon has trampled down the barriers preventing them from transparency.

The gent lifts her up to his white horse before following after. He instantly took hold of her hands and had them wrapped around his small waist. “Hold on tight. We’re past my promised hour so I’m going to have to speed up, okay?” Y/n didn’t say anything, instead, she hugged Jungwon tightly by the waist and snurfled her cheek against his back. It was enough affirmation for him, so he yanked the thick rope, revving his horse on the cobblestones on their way home.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series’ taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[janetbrown711]

I request the scene we discussed 😂 Lena returning after eloping with William

Important note: I’m officially making the Angelina 1 Lives alternate timeline/au thing a story, and this is technically the beginning. I’ll string the other two into the plot line eventually, but yeah XD sorry for the confusion, I tend to write what I want before I write what makes sense :P

Princess Angelina II was engaged to Sir William the Good, though it was in secret. After all, he was just a knight and she was the princess. For a moment, Lena thought their luck might be on their side when her mother fell deathly ill, but by truly miraculous means, the queen survived, which meant they had to continue in secret.

However, secrets had a cost to them, in the sense that no one else knew. This meant that Lena still had to deal with suitors coming over and trying to romance her, while she had already sworn herself to William. Needless to say, time was wearing on William and Lena more than they had originally thought. Still, they remained hopeful and patient that their time would come.

“Angelina, you have to at least accept one of the suitors. It’s better to at least not hate your future husband before marriage,” Queen Angelina the First gave her daughter a quick glare as she looked over papers. 

“I don’t like any of them, what can I say?” Lena shrugged. 

“You know, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this-”

“Something I highly doubt,” Lena interrupted her mother. 

“Watch your tone,” Angelina warned, and Lena stepped down. 

“As I was saying... I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but since your impertinence has given me no other option, I will be selecting the suitor for you,” She said, signing one of the papers. Lena paused. 

“I-I’m sorry, what?” She blinked. 

“You’ve only done this to yourself, Angelina, I’ve no other choice. You aren’t getting any younger here,” She eyed her daughter up and down. 

“I- uh- will you excuse me, mother? I need to go,” Lena asked. Her mother looked at her suspiciously before nodding. Not wanting to be in there for a moment longer, Lena bolted out of the room and ran across the palace, all the way down to the royal stables, where William was. 

“Lena? What’s the matter?” He asked as he got off his horse. 

“My mother... she said...” Lena panted. “She said... she’s gonna... arrange...”

“Lena, you aren’t making sense. Have you been running?” William raised an eyebrow. Lena rolled her eyes and paused to catch her breath. 

“My mother said that because I didn’t pick a suitor, she’s choosing for me,” Lena explained. 

“Oh... oh that’s not good. What are we gonna do?” He asked her. Lena thought. 

“We... we need to get married. Now,” She said. 

“What- now now?” William asked. 

“Well yes, I don’t know how long I’ll have. We need to do this, and we need to do this now,” Lena said, grabbing his hand. 

“Where are you going?” William questioned.

“The underground servant's tunnels. They go all over the kingdom. If we go far enough we can find a town with a  priest and be married there. Hopefully, they won’t mind the short notice,” She explained. 

“Or the fact you’re the princess,” William pointed out. 

“...Yeah, that too,” Lena said, realizing she hadn’t thought that through. Still, she didn’t stop walking and soon enough they made it to one of the entrances. 

“So... where to?” She asked him. William read all of the signs before snapping his fingers. 

“I know a place where I know they won’t refuse us,” He winked, taking his fiancées hand. 

“Oh? And where is such a place?” She chuckled, enjoying the moment of rebelliousness. 

“Acme Falls, my home town. They love me there, I’m sure they’d love you too,” He smiled at her, and together they ran down the dark tunnels for hours, only stopping once or twice to catch their breath. Eventually, they surfaced and wandered right into the middle of the plaza. 

“So... now what?” She asked. 

“William? Is... is that you?” A very attractive blonde woman asked. 

“Heloise!” William smiled at the sight of his childhood friend. 

“William! What on earth are you doing here?” She ran and hugged him. “And with the crown princess-?! Oh my- I’m so sorry, your highness,” She immediately dipped into a curtsey. 

“Oh please, any friend of William is a friend of mine,” Angelina smiled. “If I may, you are quite gorgeous,” She added. 

“Thank you,” Heloise chuckled, embarrassed. 

“We’re here to be married,” William explained. 

“You’re engaged to the princess???” Heloise asked. “Aren’t you two supposed to have a giant wedding ceremony with the whole kingdom invited? Isn’t that how royal weddings are supposed to go? My- I didn’t even think a knight could marry a princess,” She thought out loud.

“Actually, he- can’t. Not with my mother knowing anyway,” Lena explained. “That’s why we came here- to be married in secret.”

“Oh eloping is very romantic,” She nodded understandingly. “William knows where the church is. I can get the priest and a few townsfolk if you want,” she offered. 

“That’d be great, thank you,” William smiled. Heloise nodded, and ran off. 

“I guess you weren’t kidding about this place, huh?” Lena chuckled. 

“Acme Falls is practically perfect, what can I say?” He snorted. “Shall we?” he offered his arm. Lena took it with a smile. 

“We shall.”

And so Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca II and Sir William the Good were married in Acme Falls, with the town as their witnesses, and Lena was the happiest she had ever been in her whole life. Happily, they walked back to the castle, but they both stopped right before reaching the exit. 

“Are you ready?” William asked. 

“I don’t know. Why do we have to return?” Lena questioned. 

“Because it’s almost nightfall and you’re the princess and your mother would likely send a search party and it’d be a whole catastrophe,” Willaim joked, but Lena wasn’t in the mood for laughing anymore. 

“I’m frightened William,” She said. 

“It’ll be okay, Lena. I’ll always be here for you, remember?” He said, giving her hand a squeeze. 

“Right,” Lena nodded, about to step forward before stopping herself. 

“Stay with me tonight?” She requested. William nodded. 

“Of course, my love,” He said, and they shared a kiss. 

“Let’s go then,” Lena took in a deep breath, and together they stepped out onto the castle grounds. 

And so Lena and William slowly crept their way into her bedroom, far enough apart as to not raise suspicion, and spent the closet thing they’d have to a honeymoon together. In the morning, William kissed her goodbye, and climbed out the window, and went to his training, and she missed him terribly (despite being only a few buildings away).

Therefore, their secret engagement now turned into a secret marriage; a marriage that Lena realized she was going to have to tell her mother about sooner or later before it was too late and she was already in the middle of another wedding ceremony. However- she wasn’t quite ready and preferred to hold onto her nights of paradise with William however long as possible before her mother tried to ruin it somehow. 

Except she couldn’t, Lena reminded herself. Divorce was simply unheard of, especially for royalty, so her mother would simply have to deal with it. That was the main reason they eloped in the first place.  

The good/bad news was that William had been promoted to be a guard inside the castle, so Lena would see him much more often than she used to, but it was awkward because she couldn’t talk to him, much less flirt. Plus, he often watched over her mother in the throne room, and he said that it was “the most stressful situation he’d ever been in”. 

“Excuse me, Princess, your mother said she’d like to see you,” A servant girl stood outside of Lena’s room. 

“Whatever for?” Lena asked, setting down her book. The girl shrugged. With a sigh, Lena set down her book.

“Does she seem upset?” She asked, getting up and heading out of the room. 

“No... in fact, she seems almost happy, your highness,” The girl said. 

“My mother? Happy?” Lena blinked. “This can’t be good...” she said, picking up her pace. With haste, she reached the throne room. 

“Lena, there you are,” Her mother smiled at her, “You’ve met King Benedict,” she gestured to the king standing by her throne. 

Uh oh. 

“Why, yes I have,” Lena nodded at him, sharing a quick glance with William in the corner. 

“He’s the one you’ll be marrying,” She announced. 

Shit. 

“Mother, may I have a word with you- alone?” Lena asked with a nervous smile. Angelina frowned. 

“It’s already been decided for you, Angelina. You didn’t decide and because of that-” 

“I know, but I do need to talk with you,” Lena interrupted her mother before she could think to stop herself. The queen’s eye twitched. 

“Fine.” She huffed. “King Benedict, you may wait in the grand hall,” she said. He nodded at her, then Lena, and left. Then, her mother’s focus went back to her. 

“This better be good Angelina, or so help me,” The queen threatened, and Lena felt a shiver crawl up her spine. She looked at William for support, and he gave her a weak smile. She took a deep breath. 

“Mother, I can’t marry him,” She said. 

“You don’t have a choice,” Her mother rolled her eyes. 

“I’m serious. I can’t,” Lena said again. 

“And why is that?” Angelina rubbed her forehead. 

“Because I’m already married,” Lena announced. Her mother froze. 

“To whom?” She demanded. 

“Sir William,” Lena admitted. Angelina’s eyes went to William, and he remained still as a statue. 

“Really now?” Angelina chuckled darkly. 

“It’s true. We eloped in Acme Falls three nights ago,” Lena said. 

“You expect me to believe that?” Angelina continued to laugh it off.

“Well- yes. We have certificates and everything- it was legally binding,” Lena didn’t know how else to explain such a simple fact to her mother. 

The queen leaned on her throne and thought for a minute. 

“Well, I suppose it’s a simple fix really, I could just have him execute-”

“A-and I’m pregnant!” Lena shouted over her mother, and the room fell utterly silent. 

“Y-you are..?” William blinked. 

“Yep,” She lied, laughing nervously. 

Definitely no going back on that one...

“Guards, leave,” The queen ordered, her face utterly unreadable. William and Lena shared a look of anxiety before he was forced to walk out. Once they left there was a long stretch of silence, before Angelina slowly took off her gloves, stood up, approached her daughter, and struck her across the face. 

“You stupid, pathetic, wretched child! Do you know how much you’ve just cost me?!” She shouted. “I’ve spent years upon years upon years finding eligible bachelors for you, and yet you never gave them a second thought, and for what? Some bastard from Acme Falls?!”  

“Don’t you dare talk about William like that,” Lena protested, and Angelina struck her again, this time causing her to fall onto the floor. 

“I will say whatever the hell I want because I am your mother and I am your queen,” She said, towering over her. 

“If you kill him I’ll kill myself and you’ll be left with nothing,” Lena looked up at her. 

“Of all the impertinent, aggravating, abominable things you’ve done, you’ve decided to top it all off by marrying a filthy peasant,” The queen was barely keep in her anger. “I just- I can’t believe my own flesh and blood would betray me like this.”

“Oh please, like you’ve ever treated me like ‘flesh and blood’,” Lena muttered. 

“I have done nothing but care for you. I’ve clothed you, given you a home and an education, and provided you with numerous options for your future and future suitors. It’s not my fault you’re so impertinent that you refused to consider them for even a moment,” She clenched her fists.

“You’ve never loved me,” Lena said, tears beginning to stream down her face. “If you did, you’d be happy for me.”

“You never think anything through, Angelina. Did you not stop to think about how this would impact the kingdom? How this would impact me?” She asked. 

“I hate you,” Lena glared, and Angelina hit her again. 

“You are going to pay for your actions, Angelina. The hard way,” She declared. 

“It’s too late mother. There is nothing you can do to undo what’s been done,” Lena smirked. 

However, she quickly regretted her pride when her mother angrily yanked her hair and pulled her up, and then proceeded to drag her all the way up to the tallest tower of the castle. Her mother then tossed her in there and locked the door with a key she kept in her pocket. 

“You will not be leaving this room until you have understood a fraction of the pain and agony you have caused me,” She said, before storming away.

And so Lena stayed in the cold, dark room and found herself sobbing and sobbing and sobbing and sobbing until she was sick to the stomach. 

Things were supposed to get better. She was supposed to be untouchable. She and William were married now- it was supposed to be okay. 

Instead, now she was locked away for who knows how long in a dark, cold room with a bare-bones bed, a broken mirror, a blanket as thin as paper, and a window.  

Lena picked up a shard of the broken glass, and without thinking, she chopped her hair off. 

That was one less thing her mother could manipulate...

And William... what was going to happen to him?

Would she kill him? Could she? He’s a trained knight, one of the best across all the lands, surely she couldn’t kill him “the old fashioned way”. Surely that would mean he would be okay... right?

And what if she was pregnant? Sure, she lied out there but she could be right. Oh, what terrible circumstances to be born into...

And so Lena remained sobbing, eventually setting the glass shard down, and laying on the horrible bed and holding herself, trying to get some sense of comfort. 

However, soon she felt another pair of arms wrap around her, and to her complete surprise, it was William. 

“William- w-what-? H-how-?” 

“Shh, it’s okay Lena, I’m here, it’s okay,” he hushed her. Lena didn’t argue.

“B-but how?” She asked. 

“I climbed,” He said. 

“Th-that’s like- 50 feet. You could’ve died,” Lena broke the hug. 

“Lena, it’s okay. I made it, and I’m here, that’s all that matters,” he placed a hand on her face, wiping away a few tears. Lena didn’t have it in her to argue further, so she hugged him again and continued to sob.   

“Th-things were supposed to get better,” She cried. 

“I know... I’m so sorry, my love,” Wiliam was crying too, and he stroked her head of freshly cut hair. 

“Did she do that?” He whispered. Lena shook her head. 

“She just gr-grabbed my hair a-and just dragged m-me s-so I cut it off,” she explained, trying her best not to hiccup. William hugged her tighter. 

“I’m so sorry, Lena...” He said. 

“I’m sorry too,” she said. “You’ll probably b-be killed or fired or de-knighted o-or something.”

“I don’t care, as long as we’re together,” He kissed the top of her head. 

“As long as we’re together,” she repeated those words to herself. Despite everything, they were a little comforting. 

“It’ll be okay, Lena. I-i don’t know how or when, b-but it will be okay. Someday...” he swore to her, and for a moment, Lena believed him. 

Someday it will be just she and him... maybe a few kids running around in a sunny field collecting wild flowers... and they’d be happy. Safe. Her mother would be dead and gone and they’d all be happy and safe and together. 

But it wasn’t “someday”. Lena’s reality was a cold tower far away from the ground and her friends and familiar faces, and her studies and books, for who knows how long, and she was miserable,

but at least she had William, and that made things at least a little bit better.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

[yongiefilms]

FILM | Bound At The Start

BASED ON | A Taste of Winter collaboration feature done by @pastelsicheng​ and @dearyongs​

STARRING | Lee Donghyuck and Gender Neutral Reader

GENRE | Teen, Drama, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Winter themed, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | (upon release not all in teaser) Thematic elements, suggestive references, sexual innuendos, crude humor, strong language, lots of banter, lots of arguing, and Donghyuck is simply an annoying shit 

PLOT | Everyone knows how the best friend to lovers story goes, the typical caught feelings and confession cliché with a dash of unwarranted spice. Except at the same time that is not how the story goes for everyone, especially for you and your own best friend. Feelings? Out of the picture. Sickening romantic love? Nonexistent. Drama? None, unless you count that one time Lee Donghyuck tried to sneak wine out of the cooler when you both were sophomores and he was grounded for three weeks since he got caught red handed. So life was simple with no complications for the two of you, but sometimes life works in mysterious ways that are not always welcomed. Maybe feelings were not as out of the picture as you believed them to be and if they wanted one last chance to have something more before being forced to rot away, then everything got a whole lot tricker during the winter season. OR The unforetold pact between two best friends is finally broken. 

ESTIMATED RUNNING TIME | 10k words

RELEASE DATE | February 2021

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Send an ask or private message to be featured in the credits (tag list) for this upcoming film release.

▸ CLICK BELOW TO ROLL CLIP FOR FILM PREVIEW...

“Here we are, kids! Get up, get up!” 

Another shrill voice to wake up to besides Donghyuck’s was not a pleasant sensation, especially when you could feel a headache coming on from one remark. 

“Ugh, Dad! Why do you have to be so loud?” You groggily whine in response, clenching your eyes firmly shut since you knew if you opened them you would be met with the blinding light from the sun, which reflected across the white snow. You shift in your seat, a supposed bony body preventing you from comfort in your desperate approach to get back to napping.

You hear him scoff way too dramatically followed by the sound of the car door closing shut. He knocks his knuckles on the glass of the window while he maneuvers around the vehicle, yet you remain unmoving despite the beep of the trunk opening. “Why do you have to attack my volume of voice? How else do you expect me to get you up when I know you can sleep through a fire?”

He does not let you answer him before he proceeds in a rise of voice. “Exactly!”

You huff and cross your arms like a young child, not giving in to share a piece of your mind. 

“Make sure you both get inside within the next couple of seconds or I will drag our bundle of joy here inside myself. Oh, and get your bags from the trunk. Do remember to close it.”

Donghyuck’s head shifts in the form of a nod targeted towards your father and you hit his forearm to stop him from moving so much, not even acknowledging the previous words spoken.

“Damn, sunshine. Even your parents can’t stand you...that's kind of sad,” Donghyuck snickers loudly, purposely wriggling his body to get you off of him.

“Shut the fuck up and stop fucking moving,” you retaliate with one eye open, peering down at his black combat boots to raise your clad foot down on his in hard motion. 

His knees knock with your own and it is now a battle of who will admit defeat first after countless attempts of shoe stepping. 

“Okay! Okay! Dammit, you heathen. I can’t catch a break from pain over here...ever,” he sighs and scoots away from you as far as he possibly can, leaving your head hanging in the process, his shoulder no longer there to provide support. 

“Ow! I just got neck pain, you jackass. Warn me next time you move so abruptly!” 

You crane your neck upwards and move the entirety of your head in circular motions, making sure to roll every joint to get back feeling. You bring your hand to massage the tenseness in the skin further and throw in a stink eye at the boy still sitting besides you, rolling his eyes at your theatrical efforts. 

“You okay, you big baby?” He questions with a pout, not that he truly cared since he knew it was just a try to make him feel bad as it always tended to be. 

“Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you for caring,” you respond with clear emphasis on the latter word. 

He rolls his eyes again and nods, placing his ring adorned hand on the car handle to push open in order to exit. “Let’s go then and remember I’m not carrying all your bags inside this time. Be a strong bitch for once.”

You wave your hand in the air, following suit. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, but need I remind you that it was only one time and I was tired.”

He mocks you, raising his own hand in the air to move about. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, sunshine.”

You huff, but keep your lips sealed, taking hold of the handle of your luggage and duffle bag once Donghyuck takes them out of the trunk in one swift motion. Once his own pieces of luggage are secured, he closes the trunk and the obnoxious ring of the car alarm echoes into the surrounding, most likely the cause of your dad inside locking the car up from inside.

“Adventure awaits!” Donghyuck declares, stomping ahead with lightness at the thrill of a much needed vacation after the long, painful times at school. 

You giggle at his youthfulness, but still follow in his footsteps because adventure did await as long as you were with him. Hopefully that would never change.

[starshine583]

can we see damianette with v?

(Let me just say that I absolutely LOVE this concept!! I could write a whole ficlet on this one too! anyway, I hope you like the snippet as much as I did.)

Darkness. That was all Marinette had ever known. In fact, it was all a good portion of the world had ever known, and it was thanks to this little thing called Soulmates.

A long time ago, the gods decided that humans had become blind to the true purpose of love and romance. So, to remind them of this, they cursed the world with literal blindness, and the only way to nullify this curse was to touch your soulmate directly. Then, the gift of sight would be restored to both parties, and they would finally be able to see for the first time.

At first, Marinette was extremely excited to find her soulmate. After all, who wouldn’t be? The life of the seeing sounded wonderful, especially when her Maman and Papa would tell her stories of the sea and the stars. And having the love of your life, the person you’re going to be with forever, be the first thing you truly see? That sounded incredibly romantic, and she couldn’t wait to experience it. 

As the years passed, though, and more people around her found their soulmate, the excitement that had been bubbling inside her began to fade, and a quiet resignation took its place. If she hadn’t found her soulmate yet, that meant she probably wasn’t going to be one of the lucky ones who found their soulmate early. Therefore, she needed to learn to be patient, instead of tearing herself apart with anticipation. 

This revelation led to Marinette exploring her capabilities and becoming affiliated with her blindness as best she could. She could already get around fine, but she wanted to get around better than fine. She wanted to get around so well on her own that people forgot she was blind altogether. Then, perhaps, she would be able to forget too. Or at least forget that everyone but her could see. 

She had just started being able to walk without using her cane when she received a pair of strange, magical earrings. The discovery was definitely a shock, but the thought of being able to push herself to the absolute limit as a superhero intrigued her. So, she accepted the earrings and became Ladybug, savior of Paris. 

Imagine her surprise when she found out that her partner was also blind. He didn’t move around as easily as she did, but their gadgets helped them find their way well enough to fight. For example, her yo-yos would use beeping sequences to tell her when she was near something, while Chat Noir used his staff as a makeshift cane, and the akumas were normally loud enough that they didn’t have to guess their locations. 

Alya joined their school around the same time that Marinette became Ladybug, and Marinette was absolutely delighted to meet her. Not only because the new student gave Nino his sight, but also because she was able to describe the colors to Marinette in a way that she could understand. Her parents had tried to tell her about the colors before and how beautiful they were, but in the end, the descriptions always depended on sight. 

Alya, however, described them with feelings.

“Blue,” she would say, “is like dipping your hand into the pool. It’s cool and calm and sometimes sad, but it’s beautiful. It’s the color of the sky and the sea and your eyes.”

“Red is the color of heat, of anger, of blood.”

“Yellow is the color of sunshine on your skin and happiness and things that make you smile.”

“Green is the color of envy or disgust, but it’s also the color of summer’s grass.”

“Black is the color of darkness, the same thing you see now.”

Now that Marinette had at least somewhat of a shaky grasp on what colors were like, she wasn’t nearly as annoyed when Mlle Bustier decided to take the class to an art gallery during their field trip to Gotham. It was still an inconsiderate thing to do, but she had Alya to guide her if necessary and had heard about a section of the gallery that was made specifically for blind people. So she had hope that the visit wouldn’t be as awful as it sounded.

“Remember class,” her teacher called as she led everyone inside the gallery, “everyone needs to have a safety buddy at all times. Gotham is well known for its villain attacks, so stay together!”

Alya sighed next to her. “It’s not like it’s any different from our akuma attacks. Why all the fuss?”

“Well, the villains here don’t transform back once they’re caught.” Nino pointed out. “It’s kind of like a ton of Hawkmoths running around instead of akumas.”

Marinette nodded in agreement, though none of them were probably looking at her anyway.

“True, but they also have more super heroes here.” Alya argued. “Batman, Red hood, Nightwing, Robin- if a villain attacked us, they’d be surrounded in ten minutes!”

Marinette held back from commenting on that remark, but she knew from personal experience that superheroes had their own lives too. Just because a single villain showed up somewhere didn’t mean that all of the heroes in Gotham would show up at the same time to fight it, or that the villain would be any easier to take down once outnumbered.

She lightly touched Alya’s arm to get her attention. “I’m going to go find that blind section that Mlle Bustier was talking about .”

Alya paused her conversation with Nino to reply, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not! I’ll go tell Mlle Bustier where we’re going, but you can start walking now if you don’t need any help?”

“No, I can manage.” Marinette smiled. Mlle Bustier had passed out a special map of the gallery the night before that had bumps for the walls and statues and braille to tell them which rooms were what. Besides, if she could fight akumas across the Parisian rooftops on a regular basis, she could certainly find her way around an art museum.

The two separated, Alya going right to speak with Bustier, and Marinette going left to find the blind room. She idly tapped her cane on her shoulder as she walked across the hardwood floors, the echoing footsteps and hushed talk of other visitors giving her directions on which way to step and which way to avoid. Some of the voices spoke in different languages, and it caused Marinette to wonder whether the people around her were tourists like herself or locals. Probably a decent mix of both.

When she was sure that she’d found the correct room- there was a sign with braille on it that said “blind section” - she let her cane tap against the floor and began wandering around the room. The pictures inside had bumpy textures for her to run her hands across, and the statues that were open to anyone above the age of eleven were a mix of grainy and smooth, most likely made from different types of rock. It was admittedly strange tracing her hands over things that were supposed to be human bodies, but if it was the only way to observe the master pieces..

A few minutes passed of her dragging her hands over the displays when something strange happened, something that made her pause.

Footsteps and voices had been a consistent background noise from the moment she walked into the gallery, but for some reason, both of those sounds abruptly stopped in the last minute of her being there, as though everyone that had been in the room with her suddenly left. That wasn’t possible, though, because she didn’t hear anyone leave, and she couldn’t fathom why a whole group of strangers would tip-toe out of a room to avoid being detected by her. 

Before she could call out to the people who had to be around her, somebody gasped, proving that other people were, in fact, still in the room with her. Then, another person gasped, then three, and someone shrieked. 

Now Marinette was panicking. What was going on? Why were they screaming? What did they see that she couldn’t?

Where footsteps had been scarce before, there were now footsteps everywhere, along with more screams. People were running, but from what? She didn’t hear anyone else enter the gallery, nor did she hear a villainous outburst. 

Marinette strained her ears to listen for something more, something out of the ordinary that would cause people alarm, but it was hard to hear anything else over the screams. The only other thing she could catch was a strange, hissing sound. They couldn’t be running from that, though, could they? What would be making a hissing sound that had everyone bolting out of the gallery?

“Marinette!” 

Alya’s voice nearly made Marinette jump five feet in the air out of fright, but she caught herself and turned towards the direction she assumed her friend was coming from.

“Alya, what’s going on?”

Somebody grabbed her arm, and Alya’s voice spoke up again right next to her. “We need to go. There’s this weird, green gas that’s filling the gallery, and it’s causing people to.. to..”

Alya’s explanation faltered as she let out a snort, which confused Marinette. Didn’t she sound panicked a second ago? Why was she laughing now? This wasn’t a prank, was it? No, Alya would do that..

Another laugh burst from her friend’s lips. Then another. It almost sounded like she was trying to contain it, like she was laughing against her will. 

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. What did she say about the gas again? It was causing people to do something? What if it was causing them to laugh?

“A-Alya?” Marinette said, trying to remain calm as she grabbed Alya’s shoulders. If the gas was causing people to laugh, does that mean she’s inhaled it already? Was the effect going to be permanent? Was it going to be fatal? Why would someone release that type of gas into an art gallery?

“Mari-Marine-” Alya wiggled out of Marinette’s grasp and began laughing harder. Marinette tried to grab her again, but her friend fell to the floor. 

“Alya!” Marinette cried, kneeling down next to her. The girl was writhing on the floor now, cackling like she’d gone mad.

“G-Get- you need- you need to- need to go-” She said through laughs, but that was all she said. After that, Alya fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and Marinette was left panicking and wondering what she should do. She could try to go get help, but she didn’t know where the gas was coming from. Even if she did, she had no way of knowing who might be waiting for her outside. The gas might be a way to push herself and the other civilians out onto the street. 

Marinette stumbled to her feet and took a moment to listen to her surroundings again. She could still hear screams, but they were more towards the back of the gallery, while laughter could be heard towards the front. That meant the gas must have come through the front entrance. Was that the hissing sound she’d heard earlier?

Just as she was about to call out Tikki to give her a visual on the gallery, another sound reached her ears. This time it was a clicking, similar to that of metal being hooked onto something, and it came from above her. Was someone on the ceiling? What would they be doing up there? How would they get up there in the first place?

A whizzing sound followed the click, and Marinette tensed as she listened to it grow closer. Something or someone was coming towards her. Was it the villain who spread the gas? Why didn’t she hear it move on the ceiling beforehand? Was she going to have to defend herself and Alya as a civilian? 

A pair of boots hit the hardwood floor, and Marinette shifted into a fighting stance, holding her cane up like a sword. If she had to go, she didn’t plan on going easily. “Who are you?”

“My name is Robin.” The response was quick, almost automatic. “We’re evacuating the premises. I need you to come with me.”

Marinette hesitated. Wasn’t Robin one of the heroes Alya had mentioned? The person in front of her sounded like another teenager. (Then again, being a teenager didn’t stop her from saving Paris on a weekly basis)

A leather glove wrapped around her fore-arm- his hand, she realized -and he pulled her against him. 

“Hold on tight.”

Hold on tight? “What do you me-”

Robin clicked a button, and with a sharp tug, they were flying through the air. Marinette let out a yelp, and then she did something that changed her life forever.

She wrapped her hands around his neck.

As soon as she did, a bright flash of light invaded her vision, and suddenly, colors were everywhere. There were light colored walls and dark colored floors- perhaps that was the brown she’d heard about? -and the statues were a mix of light and dark colors, similar to the marble rock that she’d been taught about. And the paintings- oh, the paintings were just bursting with color and life! It all looked positively extraordinary and amazing and-

Robin gasped above her, no doubt from the shock of seeing as well. His hand must have slipped from whatever was pulling them upwards, because in the next moment they were falling back to the ground. (And she could see it! She didn’t have to hear the rush of wind or feel the pit of her stomach rising to know!)

The two hit the ground with a grunt, and Robin swiftly shifted their position to use his body as a shield to protect Marinette from further injuries as they rolled across the floor. This resulted in Marinette landing on top of Robin and Robin rubbing the back of his head with another groan. 

“A-Are you okay?” She asked as she pushed herself up to hover over him. That fall didn’t feel too steep, but having extra weight on top of him most certainly would have made the landing worse.

Now that she could actually see the person in front of her with her own eyes, she could tell that he was definitely a superhero. He had an entire costume on, equipped with a cape and everything. She even spotted a utility belt on his waist that appeared to have a hefty amount of gadgets on it.

Robin looked up at her, and though his mask hindered her view of his eyes, the surprise was clear on his face as his eyebrows shot up.

“Who..” He trailed off, his head tilting slightly as he glanced around the room. He was still absorbing the fact that he could finally see, just as she was.

His gaze snapped back to her. “Who are you?”

I could ask you the same question. She thought. After fifteen years of searching, she’d finally found her soulmate, and not only did he live halfway across the world from her, but was also a superhero just like her. What were the odds?

Reality slapped both of them in the face when another scream pierced the air, and the two scrambled to get back to their feet. Soulmates or not, they were still in the middle of a villain attack. They couldn’t get distracted.

People were still laughing hysterically on the floor, but now a strange gas was trailing into the blind section. Marinette knew she should be panicked seeing it, considering what it did to Alya, but another part of her felt giddy, because Alya had also told her that the gas was green. She finally knew what green looked like!

“We have to get out of here.” Robin said. He pulled something off of his utility belt- was that a gun? -and shot it upwards. Marinette’s gaze immediately followed it curiously, and she managed to catch sight of a shiny object latching onto an open hole in the rooftop. It made a clicking sound, reminding her of the sound she’d heard when Robin first swooped into the gallery.

So, that’s how he got in here. She thought to herself. 

Robin pulled her against his chest again, clicking the same button he had earlier to start rising to the roof. “No surprises this time, all right?”

Marinette couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips, but it wasn’t because of the gas. The ludicrousness of the situation was simply too much. Who asks their soulmate not to give them another surprise such as the gift of sight? Who finds their soulmate in the hero who’s saving them during a villain attack?

Apparently, Marinette does, and this field trip, she decided, was turning out to be much more interesting than originally expected.

(Send me a letter and I’ll do a thing!)

(The next one I’ll be doing is O with Felinette!)

[ohayohimawari]

And Everyone Else Knew It

A drabble for Day 5 of @kakaobiweek Blue | Safe | Mutual Pining

Brief mature humor, romance, and fluff. I hope that you enjoy reading it!

And Everyone Else Knew It

Kakashi combed his cowlicks with his fingers and tried to steady his heart as he hurried to meet with Obito.

It was part of the latter’s conditional release to have regular meetings with a member of Konoha’s security force. As Hokage, Kakashi was not only the top of the law and order food chain in the village, he was also the only one with authority to pardon anyone for war crimes. As such, the Council of Elders decided that he would be the one assigned to supervise Obito’s rehabilitation and integration back into society. But there was a problem with this arrangement.

Obito was hot, and Kakashi had it bad for him.

His attraction to his old teammate and hero set in almost the exact moment they were reunited on the battlefield during the Fourth Great Shinobi War. The shock over the fact that Obito was most certainly not dead lasted for a fraction of a second, replaced by the shock over the handsome man he’d become. Kakashi barely had an opportunity to make sense of his conflicted feelings before they fought in their Kamui dimension, where he wished they were exchanging blows of an entirely different variety.

But that would be impossible, even after the impossible became possible.

Just because Obito was alive didn’t mean he could return Kakashi’s feelings. Any daydream in which the Rokudaime might indulge quickly ended with the cold, hard fact that a man who would start an international war over a female was probably, most likely, definitely not into dudes.

Even though he wore a watch these days, Kakashi checked the sun’s position in the sky to determine the time. He quickened his pace when he realized he was running late. Running late was Obito’s schtick, and now that he was back, it seemed silly to Kakashi to mimic the habit. At least, that’s what he told himself to explain why he would always hurry to their meetings, not because he was excited to see him or anything.

The funny thing was, was that Obito wasn’t arriving late to their meetings, either.

Kakashi attributed Obito’s punctuality to his desire to make a good impression on his parole officer instead of desiring his parole officer. But what a delicious fantasy that was; it was one that Kakashi turned to often in private and one that he shook clear from his mind as he opened the door to the restaurant where they agreed to meet. They had important things to discuss this time.

Obito said he'd undergone many changes recently, so Kakashi suggested they'd meet in a more casual atmosphere than his office. That way, it could be more like two friends having a conversation instead of abiding by the guidelines of Obito’s punishment.

However, when Kakashi spied Obito waving to him from where he was already seated in a booth, the Rokudaime wondered if he’d set himself up for additional hurt by arranging what could feel more like a date to him than a meeting.

Kakashi nodded a curt greeting at the three remaining members of Team Ten, who enjoyed their weekly dinner together in the booth next to Obito before joining his unrequited crush.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m starving, so I already ordered for us,” Obito said as soon as Kakashi sat down.

“That’s fine,” Kakashi was too nervous to have an appetite, anyway. “So, you mentioned that a lot has happened since the last time we met,” he folded his hands in front of him on the table, “you should be moved into your new apartment by now.”

“I am,” Obito nodded.

“How do you like it?”

“I mean, it’s an apartment,” Obito looked down at his lap. “It’s small, but it’s bigger than my prison cell and comfier than a cave.”

Kakashi hummed thoughtfully in response, quietly considering how Obito lived for so long in hiding and doing his best to ignore how his heart ached for the man.

“My neighbor is a kind woman,” Obito continued, briefly meeting Kakashi’s gaze. “She’s elderly; her eyesight isn’t great, and I don’t think she knows who I am,” he smirked sheepishly. “I help her carry her groceries up the stairs, and she brings a plate of whatever she bakes that day, which is really nice.”

This sent Kakashi’s aching heart into somersaults, and he figured he better say something while he still could talk. “Are you forming connections and friendships with others?”

“Yeah, y’know, Gai comes around with his student, Lee, and they invite me to train with them. They, uh,” Obito chuckled, “gave me a matching leotard, and I like sparring with them, but I don’t think green is my color,” he laughed. “It’s nice to feel included, though.”

“Gai is pretty great that way,” Kakashi agreed, thankful for his old friend and rival.

“Kurenai smiles and waves at me when I see her at the cemetery these days, so I hope that we’ll become closer over time.”

Kakashi nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and ignoring how his stomach tightened.

“I dunno, there’s only one person that I talk to a lot since I’ve come back, and that’s, well,” Obito mirrored Kakashi’s discomfort across the table, “I mean, everything about my life is complicated, but that’s really complicated.”

“How so?”

“Well, they’re pretty great,” Obito’s sheepish smile returned. 

Kakashi noted that when it seemed that everything else about his old teammate had changed, that expression remained the same. Then he realized that he was lost in thought, not listening as Obito continued to talk.

“...And they make me feel safe. Which, after everything I’ve been through, that’s pretty important.”

Kakashi kicked himself for not paying attention to Obito because whatever he said made him blush.

“Anyway, that’s hopeless,” Obito muttered.

“Why?” Kakashi asked.

“Well, I was kind of a jerk to them when I was a kid, and… and then I went and messed everything up.”

Kakashi leaned over the table closer to Obito to emphasize his earnestness. “People are learning that you were taken advantage of, Obito. Yes, you did terrible things, but you were manipulated when you were vulnerable. Then, you fought alongside the Allied Shinobi Forces when we needed it, and most importantly, you aren’t running from the repercussions of your actions. That’s why I could pardon you, and it’s why people are able and willing to forgive you.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Here’s your broiled saury,” a waitress interrupted, and Kakashi sat back in his seat so she could set his dinner down on the table in front of him.

Obito thanked her and assured her that they had everything they needed before leaving them alone at their table.

“This is my favorite,” Kakashi muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” Obito replied off-handed, reaching for his utensils.

As casual as it seemed to Obito, the gesture touched Kakashi. He swallowed down the dangerous beginnings of hope before it could take hold of his exhausted heart and sought to encourage Obito in all of his pursuits. “If I’ve learned anything from being Naruto’s teacher, it’s that nothing is ever truly hopeless.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Obito spoke through a mouthful of food, and it amazed Kakashi that he could find even that attractive.

“They’re popular, like, really popular, internationally popular,” Obito’s eyes bulged as he stressed the point. “They could seriously have just about anyone they wanted, and I can’t exactly compete with that,” he finished, clearly crestfallen. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

Kakashi was not a romantic man, and he knew it, and he also knew that he didn’t have a chance in hell with the man that sat across from him, no matter how much he yearned to reach out and reassure Obito that he was worth loving, and—

Kakashi chewed his dinner and choked on the word ‘love’ when it crossed his mind. He was in way deeper than he thought and decided that a change of subject was probably best. “You mentioned that you found a job,” he offered.

“Oh, yeah!” Obito perked up at the opportunity to share his good news. “I may not be a ninja anymore, but I’m still in pretty good shape.”

Really good shape, Kakashi thought.

“So, I was offered a modeling contract.”

Kakashi dropped his fork in his surprise, and it clattered on the table.

Obito laughed at him. “I know, it’s unexpected, but,” he chuckled again and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Looks like I’m going to be the next bad boy in Blue Boy.”

“Blue Boy?” Kakashi repeated, astonished. “The gay men’s lifestyle magazine?”

“You know it?” Obito asked, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were into— I-I, I mean, I’ve bought a few editions,” Kakashi felt his mouth go dry, “for the articles.” And if Obito would be featured in its photo spreads, he’d be buying a subscription.

“Right,” Obito drawled sarcastically, and Kakashi felt seen. “Anyway, to be honest, I was amazed too,” he fiddled with the straw in his drink, “I don’t exactly consider myself to be fashion model material.”

“You’re hot!” Kakashi was juggling too many surprises, and as a result, dropped his filter. Then he did his best to pick it up and put it back on when Obito’s eyes snapped to his face. “I mean, that’s hot, I mean, good for you,” he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him, or for an assassin to show up intent on taking him out, or—

“You think I’m hot?” Obito asked quietly, tenderly, longingly.

Kakashi licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak but closed it when everyone heard Shikamaru’s groan from the table next to them.

“Mendokusē! Would you two just kiss already?”

Both men sat in silence, staring at each other. Kakashi felt as flushed as Obito looked.

“Shikamaru’s right,” Choji agreed. “You two are worse than a one-hundred-thousand-word slow burn fanfic.”

“Oh, I love those!” Ino gasped.

“A what?” Kakashi asked.

“Who cares,” Obito answered, his eyes beginning to smolder in a way that Kakashi had only dreamed. “Let’s pay the bill and—”

“My place or yours?” Kakashi flagged down their waitress.

“How about ours?” Obito asked, his Sharingan eye already spinning.

[roronoatrash]

His Proposal

Roronoa Zoro X Reader

See last part for author's notes

Your hands were tight as you prayed over and over again for his victory. Well, he wouldn't really agree with you praying for his victory since he doesn't believe in god.

Your eyes were glued to the scene before you - a scene that seems like it's been years since it started; a scene that could only end with either the best day of his life, or the worst day of yours.

It was the final battle for the world's greatest swordsman.

They've been at it for days, but you dare not look away. You weren't gonna sleep until it was over, because at anytime now, you could either have the Greatest Swordsman after this or have lost the greatest man there is.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

Both contenders weary after countless exchanges of blows, neither one giving up. No. They couldn't give up. Not after everything they've been through.

"Come on, babe... you can do it..." you mumble to myself over and over again. The other crew members anticipating what would be the result. Luffy was obviously on edge, and even if he had complete trust in his first mate, he still had witnessed how Zoro lost so bad to Mihawk before. Luffy witnessed how one of his best friends almost died right in front of him.

Clash. Clash. Clash.

Zoro and Mihawk were bloody all over. "Chopper's gonna have a big headache after this," you whispered to yourself

"Santoryu Ogi: Ichidai Sanzen Daisen Sekai!" Zoro shouts. Clash. You held your breath, kept your eyes open, you couldn't move, couldn't breathe, this was the evolved move of the attack he first used against Mihawk, and though you only heard about it in stories, it felt like you were living that scene out. However, the only difference is that...

Thud. Silence. Absolute silence. Nobody could move. Nobody wanted to move in fear that they would ruin everything.

"Huff... huff... huff..." he looked down, while raising his fist up. He had defeated his enemy. This long battle had finished.

"ZOROOOOOOO!!" Everyone ran. You were in shock. You couldn't move. And when you could finally move your upper body, the first thing you could do was cry your eyes out. You were covering your mouth. You couldn't believe it.

"Babe..." you muttered out. "Babe..." you continued crying feeling like there was no end. You felt your legs come back to you, so you ran. You ran to him.

"Babe... YOU DID IT!" Mihawk was on the ground, he wasn't dead, no, he just couldn't continue any longer.

You kept on running to Zoro. All the members were already near him, Chopper already starting his treatment. But, even when he had finally reached his goal, his dream, even when he was bloody and tired from the fight, his eyes remained firm on you: his eyes that were full of love and admiration were looking only at you.

The moment you got close to him, he grabbed you and brought yoy into a tight embrace.

"I did it, (y/n)! I did it!" he said as his face was nuzzled in your hair.

"Yes, you did do it, Zoro. I'm so proud of you," you said, hugging him even tighter. "But, you have to lie down first, you need to rest up, you're really injured." You switched from hugging him to caressing his face.

"Not yet. I'm not yet done," he said.

"What? What do you mean you're not yet done? You just defeated Mihawk, you're the world's greatest swordsman. You deserve to rest after that gruesome battle," you reasoned out.

"No..." Zoro whispered. He placed his hands gently on your cheeks, letting his thumb wipe away the tears. "Normally, I wouldn't be doing this romantic shit in public since I'm not the dumb ero-cook over there." Sanji quickly reacted but was easily dragged away by Nami, as well as the other crew members, being dragged away by Robin.

"Let's give them some privacy," Robin said. And although some of the members had some complaints, with one swift punch by Nami, there were no other complaints.

"But, I never break my word." Zoro brought your face closer to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Normally, you would be too shy to do this, but it seems like adrenaline does a lot," you giggled to him.

"Shush, I'm doing the talking," he ordered. "Well, when we were talking about our future and all, I made a promise to you back then."

"Wait, what promise?" You couldn't remember any promise he made back then. But he then proceeded to pinch my lips together to keep me quiet. What a man.

"When you asked me if we would ever get married, I dropped my favorite sake, which you had to buy me another bottle since I dropped it because of you."

"Hey! I bought you another bottle because I love you! It had nothing to do with my question!" But again, he proceeded to cover my mouth.

"I made a promise back then that I would only ask you to marry me when I finally became the world's greatest swordsman because you deserve the best only." Okay. You were feeling the tears. You're crying your eyes out again.

"Babe... your title doesn't matter to me at all. You're already the greatest man ever 🥺." You were so weak when it came to this man.

"You're biased. You have terrible standards." And to that you laughed. He was so adorable.

"I don't like romance, but for you, I'll try it. I never wanted love, but you make me crave for it. You're everything I could ever want in this world and I love you so much," he whispered to you.

"Wait... did Robin teach you that?" You laughed a little. It was too out of character for him to think and be able to say such words.

"Stop ruining the moment," he looked at you with a frown.

"Alright, alright, but can you tell me if she taught you that? So, I could thank her for it," you beamed at him.

"Fine.... yes she did teach me...." he mumbled it out. "But since you keep disrupting me..."

"Sorry, sorry hehe," you smiled at him.

"We've been together for a few years now, and honestly, I can't think of anyone else to be with other than you. And I don't want to be with anyone else other than you. As cheesy as it sounds, it's the truth. So, (y/n), will you marry me?" You were now full blown crying tears of joy, of love, of happiness. Seeing a bright future together with a man who would always stay true and loyal to you.

"Yes! A million times yes in a million lifetimes!" He had carried you in his arms. Chopper was truly an amazing doctor, he was able to patch him up good enough for him to be able to carry you. He was injured but he was happy. And you were happy. And you walked away that day with a fiancé and the world's greatest swordsman.

A/N: AAAAAAAAHK welcome to the end if you reached it. This is my first ever fic as well as my personal fantasy hehehehehehe but no, I won't be doing a writing blog, I might write once in a while, I might write some fantasies with the man who lives rent free, in a mansion, with a million servants in my mind hehehe

I imagine that Perona would be by Mihawk's side aiding him away and patching him up, as well as chopper checking in on Mihawk because he adorable like that. And and and I can imagine that Mihawk has a proud smirk on his face because he so proud of his disciple.

Daz all, I hope you enjoyed it! I wanna know what you think about it so do leave a comment!

Xoxo, roronoatrash

[dropsofletters]

how to lose someone in seven steps? | yangyang

— summary: yangyang lives his life going from party to party, but when one grand event suddenly threatens to make him lose all his money, she ponders if she should break his heart in pieces or not. instead, she teaches him how to live a normal life.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: liu yangyang x reader — genre: rich kid!au ; magnate!au ; singer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: fluff ; angst ; romance ; humor ; drama — word count: 11,304 — playlist: criminal – taemin ; dway! – jackson wang ; 7 rings – ariana grande ; lifted – cl ; leonidas – yangyang ; +5 stars+ - cl — note: you have to read the prologue before reading this route.

Bottles stacked on top of one another, organized, some from the eighties, other from the latest few years. Shelves that clad themselves in pristine class, though their surroundings are dangerous for such expensiveness. There, with a dress that fits her body a little bit too tightly, she truly wonders what goes on through rich people’s heads. Money, obviously—how to spend it, how to waste it, and how to win it again, but whoever owns this mansion doesn’t think about the fact that any of the drunkards around the party could eventually knock themselves over with this shelf filled with alcohol—from wine to champagne—and possibly die in the process from a shard of glass going through their heads, or that someone could steal from him. Bottles lonely, void of anything to protect them, just a slide of the glass enough to grasp the material.

Though, she knows what she is doing. Tugging at the gold dress that Liying insisted on buying for her, she hopes that no one sees her. Not that she should be thinking when Hao specifically brought her to this party to socialize with possible record label owners or other artists that would want to collaborate with her—but after a while of speaking about nothing at all and sipping on the same glass of champagne, she feels drained out of energy. The host of the party word of mouth and yet, nowhere to be seen.

Cutting the chase, she turns around to see if she can find Hao somewhere. The living room is packed, people gathered dancing, some sprawling themselves on the couches, smoking and drinking. Nearby, a man tugs a woman to his lap, her cigarette falling on the floor to remain unlit as another person joins them. It’s only a matter of second before she feels her blood boiling in embarrassment, crossing one arm across her chest to hold her elbow upright with her drink when she sees the kiss shared by three. Parties like these do get a bit crazy.

The mansion is pretty, though, and while Hao is out—somewhere—trying to get her a record deal, she basks in the material beings around her. Golden walls, red decorations, and floors that were pristine when she had gotten there earlier but are now dusted in alcohol and ashes. She gives one step forward, then two, and she stops herself, not knowing exactly where to go. She has already talked to some people, but her social batteries are running out.

Getting her phone out of her purse, she puts her lips together until they decolorate the slightest under the pressure, typing a message for Hao. Not that she couldn’t call him, but screaming over the music as Post Malone plays for the umpteenth time just doesn’t sound like the best of ideas.

To: Hao-Hao.

Where you at?

I want to go home.

The response comes sooner than expected, her phone vibrating in between her fingers.

From: Hao-Hao.

I’m talking to the son of a record label’s CEO.

You can’t go now.

He’s a bit drunk but I’m taking care of him so he can hear you sing once he’s more sober.

To: Hao-Hao.

I’ll step out for a few minutes, then.

Call me when you need me. I won’t leave.

The sigh that rips from her throat only lets go when her phone plops back in place in the almost-empty purse, her heels clicking against the black tiles of the mansion. With each swing of her hips, energy drains itself out of her body. There is nothing that she would have wished for more than just lay herself flat on her bed, start a video-chat with her friends and just get lost in the conversation. At first, she thought it would be easier, speech slurred that would help her sound more appealing to those who are drunker than her, but no one pays attention to possible talents in parties like these.

The coldness of the night bites at her arms, as well as some mosquitoes, scattering across her ankles and making her hiss as she continues scratching herself. A fountain stands right at the front, surrounded by trees and a few sports cars. One of those cars, however, is Hao’s old, dark thing that seemed to be much less cool in comparison.

A swat of her hand against her skin has her hissing.

Fuck mosquitoes.

Fuck this party.

Fuck the broken dream that she keeps chasing with the hope of her story turning out to be more interesting than it really is.

From the far distance, just as she leans back against one of the many cars there, an engine starts to roar to life—getting closer and closer, perhaps wanting to get to the party faster, catching the attention of the entire block, not that they would care. With the golden fabric of her dress barely covering her from the coldness of the white convertible, she takes her phone out again to talk in the group-chat, but as her fingers work against the screen, the car gets closer. The wheels become music at that moment, the culprit making its appearance as the car enters the mansion, barely giving the security guards at the entrance any time to open the gates.

A gorgeous night blue makes the car outstanding, blend into the night but make it more noticeable in between the expensive cherry reds and the bone whites. Instead, the driver parks nearer to the mansion, closer to one of the street lamps by the entrance, draping its white glow onto the concrete that leads to the main door. Whoever the owner of the car is manages to park the car backwards, roaring the engine a few more times when he’s put in place before moving back a bit more…

And a bit more…

Even more…

Then, comes the crash. Miniscule, but enough to create a dent on the night-sky car.

The coolness only lasted for a second.

She has to look away, because she may not be an avid driver…but even she knows that getting too close to a street light wasn’t a good idea. Instead, she brings her phone up her face to use it as an excuse, eyes inspecting the car’s door when it opens, watching a set of slim legs peak out before the entirety of the owner makes his presence known.

Blown portions of his brown hair end up in the slits between his fingers, gripping at the strands for dear life as he stares at the dent on his car. Parted, obscured and defined lips call out for her attention, the ‘o’ in them almost funny had it not been for his beauty. His brown eyes widen in panic, knees creaking under his weight when he kneels beside his car and actually, for real, plants a kiss on the surface before connecting his forehead with it. If she is not mistaken, the sigh that rips from those precious lips sounds like an apology.

It’s none of her business, she tells herself, but when she crosses one leg over the other, she realizes just how freezing the night is, her thighs in full display while the handsome idiot with the car looks as toasty as ever. A blue hoodie on top of his body, black ripped jeans making his legs look like they last for miles and even some more. His shoes, however, are one of the latest releases of a popular brand that she feels like she heard one of her friends speaking about. Maybe Elena.

Maybe, he’ll have enough of a heart to give her something to cover herself up with—that’s the excuse she uses when she pulls her weight away from the white convertible that held her up to go over to him. The clicking of her heels does nothing to call out for his attention, forehead still pressed to his car like the main character of a romantic movie asking for the forgiveness of his partner after fucking up.

He did fuck up…his very expensive sports car, for example.

“Hey…” Her voice wavers a bit, eyes trailing down to the kneeling man. At this point, his thighs may be burning over the forced squat he is doing. “Are you crying right now?”

That seems to make him pull away from his car, pushing his face off the car before widening his eyes in the process. Not a single glistening tear clads his irises, so he seems to be fine. “Wh—? What? No.” He scoffs in the process, standing up and licking his lips in the process. “I’m just…some douche…one of my friends, like, he’s a total douche, he—ah, he crashed my car against the…the thing—”

“I saw you crash your own car.”

The puppeteer lets go of the marionette in him, shoulders dropping, legs becoming flimsy as his faux smile turns into somewhat of a pout, arms crossed over his chest to indicate just how attacked he feels right now. The grin from her is inevitable. “Then, why do you ask?” He conquers, though, one look at her has him giving a double-take, and sure, she looks good…but the squint of his eyes and the frown on his face is for something else. “You look oddly familiar. Have I, like, seen you before?”

“Have you?” Now that she thinks about it, the defined lines of his lips somewhat click on her. From where? She doesn’t know. “Now that you say it, I feel like I have seen you…”

Wiping his—probably—sweaty hands on his jeans, he claps his hands together. “Like, for real, I have seen you.”

“Maybe, the crash did something to your head, I don’t know.”

The guy in question can only hiss in the process. “That’s your nicest try for a joke?”

“That’s your nicest way of parking?” She asks, one thumb going over to his still very much dented car before sighing. “What’s your name? Because I really feel like I know you.”

Though, she does have a plan—leaving this poor man crying about his convertible isn’t something she is planning to do tonight. At most, she will call her brother-in-law and see if he knows someone who can fix cars, just if he wants the number. Not like he needs it with the amount of money he clearly has. “Liu Yangyang.” He replies, his hands placed on his hips when he looks at his car. “And that’s Emilia, my baby.”

“…You crashed your baby against a light—”

“My baby betrayed me and went a little too far, mind you.” Though, now that she has laughed and her phone is, once again, on her hand, she can think about that name. Liu Yangyang, Liu Yangyang.

Fuck.

Liu Yangyang!

“Oh my God, you’re Liying’s ex!” That’s not the kind of sentence that must have left her lips at that moment, but it’s what comes out of her. It takes a few seconds for Yangyang to process what she just said, pursing his lips in the process before squinting at her once again.

“And you’re part of her friends’ group. The little Girls’ Generation wannabe group.” Yangyang replies, though his voice begs to do no harm, she can’t help but feel a little bit hurt by his words.

“We are not a Girls’ Generation wannabe group.” She corrects, not realizing just how punctuated her words are coming out until Yangyang chuckles at her.

“You just did a sick dance move with your neck, bro.” The young man adds, making sure to move his head from side to side, perhaps more stylishly than her. “Are you sure you’re not a dancer?”

“I was going to call someone to help you out, but I’m not going to anymore.” She says, though Yangyang shrugs his shoulders.

“Dad will pay for it.” He adds, looking around for a few seconds. “And if you’re the only person who saw it, I just need to keep you quiet about it.”

“Why? Stuff like this happens at parties all the time—”

“Not when you’re the host and you’re not the slightest bit drunk, no.” This mansion…this goddamned piece of art that looks like it could be a castle, with how tall the walls are and how gorgeously decorated it is, belongs to no other than Liying’s ex?

“T—This is your house?” She asks, fingers widely pointing at the entrance before Yangyang nods. “What were you even doing outside? You’re the host!”

“You know, like, when it’s someone’s Sweet Sixteen party, they just arrive later than everyone and make a grand appearance and it’s, like, I don’t know, cool or whatever?” With the rapidness of his voice and how excited he seems to be about this situation, she can’t help but be in awe. “I was aiming for that.”

“Were you also aiming to crash your car or did your Dad pay for your license, too?” With the smile that appears on his features, somewhat shameful as he looks to the side, she can’t help but clutch her phone closer to her chest. “You bought your driver’s license!”

Yangyang rushes to place both of his slim hands on her cherry red lips, shushing her in the process, his face mere centimeters away from hers. “What do I have to do to keep you quiet? I need to look cool, still.”

Not that she was planning to ask him for anything, so she pushes his hands away from her mouth. “Ew, dude, I don’t know where your hands have been—”

“That’s not usually how that goes.” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself, before opening the door to his car once again. Bending down, he seems to be looking for something in the front portion of his car. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not that bad of a guy. I wash my hands.”

“Sure, you do.” She replies, aware of the fact that this is the man Liying had rolled her eyes to a bunch of times. Didn’t she ask her to break his heart like a month ago? Yangyang’s immature, from what she has heard, but the rest of him is a secret. “You don’t have to give me anything. I’ll just stay around this party for a bit longer and then, I’ll call it quits.”

“Aw, why? Is Taeyeon missing?”

“Taeyeon?” At the mention of such a name, she frowns.

Still, he continues to speak from inside his car, putting a few things together that she can’t quite make out from her position. “You know, like, Taeyeon from Girls’ Generation.”

“Huh?”

“I’m joking.” Dragging his voice, he comes out with a bag in between his hands. Typical in its beige and brown color, Louis Vuitton with just one clear glance. What is even more impressive than the purse on itself is how he pushes it towards her hands. “There you go, your gift.”

“…Yangyang, what language are you speaking in? I don’t even—What are you doing?” She asks, taking the purse in between her hands before shaking her head.

“Actually, I speak some. German, English…I took some Spanish classes—”

“Yangyang, I can’t take this purse.”

“It’s not that expensive.” He shrugs, as if this is really not worth more than anything she owns. Even more than her entire apartment compiled together. “Besides, you didn’t make a big deal out of me and Emilia having a moment, so…I’m letting you go with this bag. I brought it with me today, but I think it’ll go better with your outfit…” Though, she doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail down her body before correcting himself, blinking quickly and giving one of his infamous smiles. “Take it.”

“Yangyang, no—”

Unexpected are the steps he gives towards the door, rushed as he runs away from her, looking over his shoulders as he screams: “Too late, I’m already going.” Though, when he opens the door in one swift motion, he doesn’t forget to add something else. “See you later at the party.”

Though, she can’t even walk forwards to search for Yangyang in between the masses of people when she feels her phone buzzing in her purse.

Well, her original purse, not the Louis Vuitton one.

Is it even hers now?

From: Hao-Hao.

Go home…

The guy fell asleep after vomiting on my shoes.

It’s safe to say we’ve done nothing in this party.

Two steps back make her heels waver under the weight of the droplets of champagne on her system. Tugging both purses over her shoulder, she smiles. Yangyang, more than immature, has that youthful person that not a lot of people have.

###

Birthday parties are already not that good to start with. Put one single candle on a cake and start singing a song, that’s the best way to make anyone feel out of place and awkward. They are even worse when she feels two children tugging at her pants, and thank goodness a white belt wraps around the baggy beige pants, because they would have been at her feet had it been for Liying’s daughter’s friends.

Some people just launch themselves at their dreams as if they were a rocket, and Liying is one of them. Last year, when her stress reached her peak and her dating list only got longer with more mistakes, she decided to draw a line over all men in her life and go for her biggest dream all on her own. It wasn’t the clothing line that she had already worked in—and that, somehow, people were always surprised to hear about when seeing how plainly she dressed—, but having a child instead. That’s where the four-year-old child by her mother’s legs came along, adopted a year ago and still very much adoring her small, loving family.

But this is her first birthday party, and Liying had gone over the moon with preparations. Everything pink, in the shade of Peppa Pig, with children songs playing in the background as some of them scream, jump, and one of them even blows bubblegum into the air only to cover his face in the sticky substance. Surprise. The bubblegum is also very pink.

Liying picks her daughter up from the ground then, placing her against her hip as she gets closer to her. “Chengxiao, Mei, let go of her legs. She can’t even walk.” The monotone tone must have worked more than her pathetic plea, widening her eyes in adoration when seeing one of her best friends with her. “Did you buy the candles I told you about? I’m sure we need to give them some sugar before they start going crazy.”

She doesn’t know if she just chuckled or sighed. “Isn’t it too much sugar already?”

“It’s never enough sugar for them.” Liying conquers, placing a kiss on her daughter’s cheek before putting her down again. “Baby, tell all your friends to gather so we can start singing the birthday song!”

“Yes, mama!”

Liying pushes the strands of her dark hair away from her face, putting it up in a bun before asking. “So, candles?”

“I can’t even walk, Liying. They’re in my purse.” She points, well aware that she needs her bed more than ever right now. Not only had Chengxiao thrown a tantrum when she had not sung the Peppa Pig theme song for the umpteenth time, but she also had to take care of the other children. Wipe the bubblegum away from that little dude’s face. Make sure that everyone in well fed. Over everything, she has to pick the music and Lord forbid she picks something that isn’t Baby Shark.

Liying moves over to her pink couch, draping the children’s coats away to reach her purse before frowning deeply. “Your purse, you said?”

“Yes.” Using the coats as a pillow, she lays back on the couch, exhaling deeply as a sweet, tight-lipped smile appears on her face. “God, I’m about to pass out.”

“Don’t pass out on me.” Liying says, rummaging through her purse. “Why do you have so much shit in your purse?”

“The girls put all their stuff inside. Some of them didn’t bring purses.”

“I’m sensing Shishi and Elena in that statement.”

“Shishi can’t wear a purse that doesn’t have Pokémon characters all over it,” She starts. “And Elena is too cool for a purse.”

“Got it.” Liying finishes, pressing her purse to her abdomen to keep looking for her candles before a soft hum leaves her lips. “I found two things.”

“Two?” Her eyes open at that moment, staring at the objects in between Liying’s fingers. One of them is the number four in the form of a candle, and the other is a crumpled piece of paper that seems to beg to be recycled. “What’s that piece of paper?”

“I don’t know, was inside your Louis.” Liying whispers, unfolding the paper as she speaks. “And no matter how much I love that you’re wearing Louis Vuitton, it’s not your thing. You don’t wear anything expensive.”

Cameras flash inside her head at that moment, the aftermath of having a picture taken of her and the flash still bleeds inside her eyelids. Liu Yangyang in the shape of a gift, that’s what that purse means. Given to her a week ago, and still clinging to her side like pure nature.

What? The purse is cute…

“I—This is going to be so funny but,” Time for the truth, she tells herself. “I went to a party last week, right? And I went out to get some air because it was too cramped inside, so a guy crashed his car and—” Liying raises her eyebrows then, never showing quite as much of her expressions as that moment. “And it was so stupid, so I promised not to tell anyone and he gave me a Louis Vuitton.”

“Good guy.” Liying shrugs her shoulders. “Got his name?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” Liying says, turning the paper around. “Because he asked you to meet up with him in this place three days ago and you hadn’t even realized that he had put that paper inside your purse.”

Grasping the paper in between her hands, the flutter of a butterfly goes up her sternum and rests on her trachea. The handwriting on the paper feels like him, somewhat rushed, always on the verge of doing something, and with one little smiley face at the end, he does ask to meet up with her at certain place, three days ago, with the time written and all.

“…That’s the funny thing.” Though, her laughter sounds as fake as it possibly can be. “We both felt like we had seen each other and, hah, turns out it’s Liu Yangyang, your ex.”

Had it been anyone else, they would have at least gasped, but heart of steal, soul of stone, mind of ice—or better known as Liying—, simply seemed to find it fitting. “Huh,” She says, looking down at the piece of paper. “A downgrade for you but an upgrade for him. I think he’s asking you out.”

She shakes her head at that. “No way. He’s being friendly.” She says, quirking her eyebrow in the process. “Why? Is it the whole breaking his heart thing going on or—?”

“No.” Liying replies, zipping the bag in the process. “Yangyang is obnoxious and used to love Cheetos way too much for anyone’s liking, but he’s a nice guy.” She rolls her eyes then. “If you can keep up with the whole…Yangyang-ness that comes with it, and you’re really thinking about it, or about him. Who am I to say no?”

Sitting up, she hooks her fingers around the paper, crumpling it up in the process. “…Not like it matters if I’m curious about him. The day just passed.”

“Go there again.” The woman starts moving towards the kitchen, eager to give the children some sweets to see if they will get sleepy in the process. Liying’s intelligence goes above NASA at times. “Yangyang does party a lot, and attend a lot of events, but it’s always in the same places. People go to Yangyang, Yangyang never goes to the people.”

“…Why’s that?”

Liying sighs. “He’s rich, babe.” Pushing the candle into the pink-coated cake, the cream sloshing around a bit in the process, Liying chuckles at her own words. “Everyone follows after you if you’re rich.”

“…I don’t want him to think I’m just looking for money, though.” But, why does she even care about it? She has a Louis Vuitton bag now—

“And you took the Louis in the process of not wanting to seem like an opportunist?”

“I took it because he ran away before I could give it back to him.”

“And you were unable to go after him because…?”

“I was tired.”

Liying puts one hand on her waist, the shirt she is wearing a little bit more see-through with the passage of years, sticking to her like glue. Liying’s emotional side lets her cling onto the most miniscule of things. “Sorry to break it to you, babe, but your mind played games on you and took the purse because you wanted to have a reason to see him again, or something to cling onto until you saw him again. Not to blame…he’s a charming guy. Younger, but that’s the charm.” She sighs in the process of her train of thought. “…If only I liked older guys, I wouldn’t even be here on the first place.”

“I’m not interested in Yangyang.” She replies, clapping her hands together as she calls for the children.

“I could be the greater friend and say you shouldn’t, because he’s a man-child, and he’ll possibly be more of a headache than a good thing but—” Liying joins her then, screaming for the children to gather, the sounds of toys being dropped to the floor and cheers coming from the masses of children making her curse internally. While she’s here, their other friends are by Liying’s room, playing games online— “You are curious about him, and the mom in me is telling me I have to let you live your life so…” Liying taps her fingers against the crumpled piece of paper in between her hands. “Go there on the same day this week, same time. See if he’s there.”

###

A recording studio is not where she imagined herself to be on a Thursday at two in the afternoon, but it’s where Yangyang had invited her to go last week. With its gray walls, harsh lights that make her cringe onto herself in case someone looks a little too close at her face, and the staff rushing from one place to the other, she feels both sad and thankful that she’s not part of this. One, she doesn’t have to be judged by anyone but two, that almost means she’s not known by anyone as an artist.

Much to her surprise, the security guard at the entrance—at least two heads taller than her—had let her in at the mention of her name, but lost as lost can be she is when inside the studio. Asking one of the staff would be much too embarrassing, for Yangyang had invited her there, but he wasn’t exactly expecting her. Besides, if he had invited her, it would look too ridiculous to ask for his whereabouts. A fan, she would look like a fucking fan.

But, Yangyang doesn’t seem like an actor—if he was, and with the amount of popularity he has, he would have had at least three paparazzi on his back when he crashed his car. One step forward and she almost stumbles against one of the light guys, apologizing profusely as she continues going forward without a North. Whatever it is that she is doing other than looking around, is not the closest thing to finding Yangyang.

Much to her surprise, in front of one of the many green screens in that endless studio is Yangyang, seated in what she would compare to a director’s chair, the lights on him only highlighting the aspects of his face that had not been there when she had met him at the party. His lips are rosier, a sheen of highlight on both his cheekbones to make them more prominent—though, the structure of his face sculpted by the Gods was—. A golden bomber jacket rests on his arms, one leg crossed over the other as he speaks into the air with certainty. Confident with his hair pushed to the side and a small smile playing on his lips.

“Honestly, I’m just here to have a good time.” He shrinks into himself the slightest, tucking his hands under his thighs before swinging his legs back and forth. “I don’t care what anyone says,” A quirk of his eyebrow comes after, laughter following his statement. “Why would any of the other guys judge me for partying and buying expensive stuff when they, like, they do the same thing? It’s just…I want to live my twenties before I just completely turn my life upside down.”

The director asks, far too quickly. “How are you going to do that?”

Yangyang thinks for a moment, but he doesn’t deflate, much like he doesn’t give an absolute answer. “…What everyone does, go to Hollywood.” Though, he laughs at himself, shaking his head at the same time that the director asks to cut, a group of stylists rushing to him to fix his hair just at the same time that he stands up.

Statements. A green screen. Extra good makeup.

Questions.

They’re asking him questions about him…

And he’s here each week…

Yangyang is part of a reality show.

What the fuck?

Crossing her arms, she leans back on the wall as she watches the staff gather around him, telling him about places to go to after this, shootings that they need to do, and each voice molds onto itself until they are imperceptible. The farthest he gets from the green screen, the more she comes into view—with far less makeup than him and a red leather jacket that is much too old to compare to his bomber jacket.

Whatever.

Yangyang stops on his tracks when he sees her, stopping his typing on his phone when he smiles widely, like a kid that had just gotten his preferred kiss. “Girls’ Generation!” Confusion bathes the faces of the staff around him, and it takes her a second to curse under her breath when he moves towards her. Next thing she does is tell him her name. “Oh, sorry, I don’t keep up with the newest members.”

The only member he seemed to know was Liying, after all. “But you sure do keep up with something, Kim Kardashian.” She says, jotting her chin towards the chair that has now been taken over by someone else. “I didn’t know you were part of a reality show.”

“My manager asked me to join. Something about publicity…and people investing more in my appearances if I do. Influencer stuff, I guess? Like, I don’t like to call myself an influencer because I can’t, like, even influence my cat but…you know.” Yangyang goes around his answer a few times, earning a chuckle from her at the same time he drops a joke. “And please, call me Kendall. Taller, ass less fat, and I can pride myself on my legs.”

One look at them promises her that he is not lying. Long, slim, definitely looking good in whatever kind of pants he wears. “I’ll have to watch your show later.”

“Please, don’t.” Mortified, Yangyang shakes his head. “It’s all scripted and for drama. I promise, that’s not really how I want you to see me.”

Instead, she licks her lips. “Well, I found a paper in my bag asking me to meet you up here so…” She trails her voice. “How do you want me to see you?”

The challenge must have excited Yangyang, who runs his fingers through his hair and she almost believes she saw one of the staff dying in the process. That, or she’s trying to find other reactions similar to hers, heart thumping against her chest. “Well, I have some unreleased movies in my mansion and I thought we could—”

A woman with glasses propped on her nose, very much over the age of sixty, shakes her head as she nears Yangyang. “You can’t do anything today.” She finishes for him, throwing a look towards her before swallowing thickly. Something tells her that this is his manager, because she doesn’t look like Yangyang at all, and because of her authority.

Each day she is more thankful of having Hao.

“Why?” Yangyang drags his voice in a whine, turning to his manager to talk to her. “I thought I had Thursdays all for myself.”

“You thought correctly, but not today.” The woman turns her tablet to bathe Yangyang’s face on its glow. “Someone contracted you for a photoshoot today and I need you to take your pretty face to your limo so we can get there on time and have your makeup redone.”

Well, fucking shit.

She came all the way here for nothing.

Yangyang glances at her in the matter of seconds, his hands coming forward to grasp hers in their hold. His fingers are cold, mannerisms not as quickened as his voice, with his fingers soft like silk against her skin. She could get used to it. “Sorry.” He mumbles, biting his lip after. “Want to give me your number so we can meet up some other time?”

“Okay.” She says, soon after Yangyang takes his phone out of his pocket, giving it to her after unlocking it.

“Do you need me to call a cab for you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll walk home—”

“No way.” Yangyang denies, eyes turning to his manager. “Can we wait five minutes and call a cab for her? I can’t leave her alone here.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“I want to.” He says, taking his phone in between his hands again before pointing to a door on the left. “There are some really good crepes over there, want to eat something as my manager calls a cab for you?”

A dream man doesn’t exist, they just don’t. She knows this, has engraved it in her brain and heart with each disappointment that has met her in the shape of a lover. However, with Yangyang talking over bites of his food, films that she hasn’t even heard about going past his lips with ease, summary after summary all awfully explained, she can’t help but think that she can get used to it.

Get used to the fluttery feeling that follows her when he closes the door to her cab and waves to her until he’s out of sight.  

###

To: Group-Chat.

I’m going to Yangyang’s place today.

The meteorite that splays in colors, leaving a black hole in its wake, comes in the shape of messages, both meaning to entice her to go into this damned date…and others simply for the sake of laughter.

From: Liying.

Ask for Alexander Wang’s newest collection.

From: Elena Wang.

He has money?

From: Liying.

Lots.

From: Yifei.

That’s it.

Girls.

We’re collectively asking for something so our babe can ask Yangyang to gift it to her.

And we do that each time they meet.

From: Elena Wang.

A ring.

From: Shishi.

The entire Dragon Ball collection.

From: Liying.

Clothes for children.

Preferably my daughter.

From: Bingbing.

Ladies, we all collectively suck.

We shouldn’t ruin her date like that.

(I say, as I lie through my teeth).

From: Angela.

We’re just joking, babe.

Go on that date!

If it didn’t work with Liying, it may work for you.

To: Group-Chat.

Thanks for making it awkward, Ange.

Important nights deserve bigger measures. An extra look in the mirror. Another movement of her hands to fix her hair and a blow of air that almost leaves her breathless, opening one more button of her shirt before hooking it again. She straightens her back, but with her heart thumping against her ribcage with more intensity at the action, she sighs. What is it about him? This man, whose life doesn’t fit hers at all, manages to make her curious. An itch. Thirst. Whatever this is, it palpitates with curiousness.

The mansion looks different in the daylight, but maybe she was a bit too tipsy when she had been here last. She smiles at the door, because why not practice for a while? Why not wait and ponder if this is another one of her bad decisions? Someone whose sunshine smile radiates on her eyes, blinds her, then takes her to a million trips towards the fields of heartbreak. He’ll know everything of her before she will even know what his favorite color is.

She had grown with only women in her life. No man in sight. Women gave out their empathy while men casted sympathy. Love is such a wicked game that it never gave her a moment to think better, to think about the words that had always been told to her:

Find a man who’d stop himself from kissing you if that meant hearing your voice.

But that never happens, so why is she here? Why does her finger come forward and press on the doorbell? Legs shaking, hands twirling against one another, she stops herself from running away when she hears Yangyang’s voice coming from the microphone at the entrance, telling her to hold up for a second.

She doesn’t need a man.

Then, why does she want one?

Why does she want him?

Diamonds have never been her thing, for the brightest thing she has seen is a smile. Convertibles can’t mean a thing when she can move in a cab and get the company of someone else while she writes some songs on the way home. Yangyang believes in the opposite of the world she has built for herself—the truest her, but that doesn’t seem to cross her head when he’s in front of her, in a white t-shirt and the air of a fucking nightmare.

Because falling for Yangyang is going to be a nightmare, much more when he calls her name as if it’s the melody of his favorite song that he had forgotten about in the twists of life, and when it comes up in the radio, he just knows about it. The lyrics, the tune, he appreciates it, loves it to bits for the three minutes and some seconds that it lasts.

Yangyang is three minutes and some seconds.

Yangyang is a nice feeling, nothing more, nothing less.

“You look pretty.” The glance-over he gives to her body is imperceptible, had it not been for his compliment, she would have never noticed that Yangyang spared one of the rushed seconds of his day by looking at her. “Wanna get inside?”

“It’s not like I came here to stand by the door.” She jokes around, making sure to smile just to avoid any misunderstandings. Yangyang closes the door behind them when she does get inside, one arm coming up to rest on her shoulder as he moves her forward.

“You know, I really thought you were, like, the sweet kind when I met you.”

“I am the sweet kind.” She wishes she could pay more attention to the living room around her, much more spacious when there are not hundreds of people scattered to make a place for themselves in this world of social rules. “You just…” Her words cut off when she looks at him, for his lips tell her—in silence, something she would never connect with Yangyang—that she’ll probably get in trouble with this one. “You don’t make it easy to be sweet to you.”

His lips move with such precision in her line of sight that she almost snaps out of it. Looking into his eyes would be less of a clear sign of her interest, but when he throws himself on top of his couch, legs sprawled like his arms to call out for her attention, she realizes something…

She’s really interested in Liu Yangyang.

“I’m going to earn it, I’m sure.” How in the world Liying called him insecure? She’s not sure. Instead, Yangyang leans his weight forward, taking a big bag of Doritos from the coffee table before opening it in one swift motion. A remote rests on his other hand, leaning back on the couch with the bag placed on his lap and his left arm extended for her to lay on it. “I have some films for us to watch…and I bought different snacks because I wasn’t sure which one you liked the most.”

“We can share.” She says, taking the spot beside him before slowly descending into the pits of Hell, letting her cheek rest on the side of his slim arm. “Do I get to pick what film to watch?”

Yangyang’s hand practically snatches eight pieces of Doritos to throw them inside his mouth, nodding in the process. “That was the initial plan.”

“Okay.” Taking the remote from his hands, she skims through the unreleased films he had talked about. “How do you even have these films?”

“My family owns a film production company. They all come from there.” Yangyang says as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, and she tries not to make a big deal out of it.

“Then, how did you end up in a reality show?”

“It’s a reality show to, well, like, show the lives of rich people and their children. I’m not always there, like, I’m not a regular.”

“Ah, I see…” She replies. “Does your family appear more regularly on the show?”

“What?” Yangyang asks incredulously, smiling.

“You said rich people and their children…”

“Yeah, but my family didn’t want to tag along.” His voice doesn’t become distant, fingers resting on her shoulder to play a bit with the fabric of her shirt. “Mom said if I was crazy for putting a portion of my life out there—for basically looking for the wrong kind of, like, of…” He looks up for a second, finding the right words. “Publicity, but I didn’t care at the time. I thought it was just going to be like recordings of my friends and I when we went out partying.”

“And what is it like?” She questions, cheek squished against his skin, movies momentarily forgotten for a moment, for her eyes are absolutely connected to this portion of him—the real behind the blinding smile.

“They give you a script and they make you sign a contract that says you have to, like, always be involved in drama, I want to say?” Yangyang chuckles in the process. “Basically, if I stayed quiet for too long, my manager would have to make me do something. Like, I don’t know, create a dating rumor or something…and that would have people talking for a while and boom,” He claps his hands together, right over her body, making her chuckle in the process. “We have a new season.” Though, the position makes him be a bit closer to her, enough for her to count his eyelashes, see the small blemishes on his delicate skin.

“Do you do that right now?”

“Nope, I stopped being a regular because of that.” Yangyang drags his voice, a groan coming soon after. “It was tiring. I’m just there for the fun…and for acting experience, I guess. It’s fun to see the drama go on when I’m not in the drama.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“What about you?”

“Pardon?”

“What do you do?” His back comes in contact with the couch once again, leaving her with the time to breathe in oxygen and not his pure cologne. Somehow, she misses it.

“I’m a singer.” Though, she corrects herself when Yangyang parts his lips in surprise. “Well, I am trying to be a singer—let’s just say I am unemployed as of now. I have a manager, just haven’t had my big break, that’s all.”

“You are not part of a record label?” Yangyang asks, only to have her shaking her head. “Well, I have some contacts. I think one of my cousins owns a record label, so I could call him up—”

“Yangyang, you haven’t even heard me sing.” She tells him…because Yangyang lives his life with a blindfold, stepping forward without seeing if there’s an abyss just two steps away. “Are you always like this with strangers? You can’t offer me opportunities like that—”

For the first time in a while, Yangyang stays silent—he never does, much less does he look like he’s deep in thought, as if there is a portion of him that questions the reason behind his smiles, his humongous parties, his social presence that seems to follow him everywhere he goes. “Isn’t it better to trust too much than not trust anyone at all?”

“No.” She says, fingers coming up to interlock with his on her shoulder. “Yangyang, you’re going to end up hurt. Not by me, I can reassure you that, but by someone else…”

“It’s not like it hasn’t happened.” Yangyang says, and the seriousness in his voice is masked by a cramped smile. “It, like, it doesn’t matter. I’m a savage. I have money. It doesn’t matter, really. I can get over anything.”

“…Yeah, but you should be careful about what you give out to people.”

“A record deal isn’t that big of a—”

“Yangyang, I have spent years trying to find a record deal, of course it’s difficult—”

“Then, let me help you.”

“No.” She adds. “The beauty of reaching your dream is knowing you went through Hell and back for it, and you never gave up.”

One hand rests over her head, moving her from side to side. “That’s such a big brain person saying. I don’t even know what, like, to tell you.” Laughter bubbles from her, staring at his brown eyes that twinkle under the sunlight that peaks through the windows. “Okay, I’ll let it be.”

“Okay. Thank you, anyways.”

“Anytime.” This time around, she does turn her attention back to the TV screen, humming a song to herself as she looks through the options. “Oh shit, I forgot the drinks.”

Yet, she’s too comfortable in his arms to really care about that at this moment. “We can go search for them after the movie.”

“Are you really going to have Doritos without some soda on the side?”

“…Yes. It’s the healthier option, actually.”

“It’s not the—” Yangyang cuts himself short, sighing deeply. “It’s not the funniest option, darling. Life is about having fun.”

“Are we really having this conversation over soda?”

“Yes.” Yangyang throws his head back, neck in full display for her to see when he calls out a name she doesn’t know: “Lai Fang!” Silence. “Lai Fang, can you get me some soda, please?”

It must be one of his workers, now that she thinks about it, but much to Yangyang’s surprise, more than one person get out of the kitchen. Each of them dressed to utmost perfection—all in black uniforms, but sporting something similar other than that…the luggage that they carry, some bags, some simply display their disappointment on their faces.

The woman in the front, with short hair and lively nature, lets the wrinkles on her face speak about her years of hard work when she lowers her voice the slightest. “Yangyang, I’m sorry to say that I am not going to be working here anymore. None of us are.”

Maybe, since this is a date, she had expected Yangyang to act remotely cool. However, his arm slips away from the back of her head as he stands up, rushing to whom she supposes is Lai Fang. “What? No, no, no, no, no.” He repeats, waving his hands in the air as panic overtakes him. “I’ve paid you all. My chefs, my cleaners, my valets, my guards. What? Why are you leaving?”

Lai Fang sighs deeply, taking Yangyang’s hands in between hers before rubbing soft circles on top of the skin. “Yang, your family asked for some time-out. We will no longer be working here for you because they want you to learn how to fend for yourself. Something about being too spoiled—”

“Guys!” Yangyang says, a smile on his face as he tries to mend things. She rests her chin on the backrest of the couch, staring at the scene unfolding in front of her. His world is crumbling down at his feet at that mere moment. “Guys, we don’t have to tell them! I’m perfectly fine with doing my stuff, but you know how it is…nothing will ever be the same without all of you guys here!”

“We have to leave, Yangyang.” Lai Fang lets go of his hands, and what seems to be tears gather at her eyes as she pulls away from him.

“No, Lai Fang! You can’t leave—!” Almost like a kid watching his mother go to work in the morning as he stayed home on a Saturday, Yangyang tries to rush for the entrance door, stopping anyone from leaving. Had it not been for one of the other workers winning over him in speed and opening the door, no one would have been able to leave. “What am I going to do now?”

“Be a normal young adult and live your own life.” Lai Fang says, rubbing her eyes before waving her hand at Yangyang one last time. “You can always text me if you need help, but this is the last day I’m working for you, Yangyang.”

“But—” His words are cut off with the staff leaving one by one, not hearing his pleas when the door closes in front of him before he could say anything else.

Silence fills the air. Seconds in which his eyes seem to be trained to that door, as if he just had a nightmare and he’ll wake up at any second. The screen still blinks and calls for their attention, so she does what would be best in that moment—

“Let’s watch a movie and calm down for a second, okay?”

Yangyang cuts himself out of whatever trance he had put himself in, clearing his throat before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll go look for the soda.”

“Sure. I’ll wait for you here.”

The sound of pans clashing against each other, plates clanking obnoxiously and Yangyang cursing under his breath continuously tells her that this won’t be easy for him. Liu Yangyang has been left to be a normal adult for once, and he can’t quite fit in into the role. What a curse.

###

With soup sloshing around the container that she holds in between her hands, she doesn’t know how to ring Yangyang’s doorbell. She could scream, of course, but she doubts he will hear her from the depths of his mansion. Not that there are a lot of people there to start with, considering that all his staff left only days ago, but with how saddened he has been about the loneliness in his own home, she can imagine he’s buried deep in his bed, earphones taking him to a whole new world where he doesn’t actually have to prepare lunch.

Her foot must do.

She brings her foot up until it graces the doorbell, but it falls down before she could ring it. Fuck. She repeats the action and digs the tip of her Converse shoes into the doorbell, creating a prolonged sound that should call out for Yangyang’s attention. In the far distance, she hears an unintelligible scream that she connects to his presence, followed by the sprinting that she knows he always does when going through his house.

Out of the many things she has done for someone she is interested in—cursive in interested, there’s nothing more there—, making them the healing soup she had perfected from an online recipe and bringing it to them wasn’t an option. Sure, maybe she just feels a tad guilty for what happened to Yangyang, it wasn’t his fault to live in a world of fantasies and for him to be dropped into reality in the blink of an eye. That doesn’t happen to a lot of people.

But, why is she helping him?

The door opens to welcome the sight of Yangyang looking like the most beautiful mess she has ever met. For the first time in her life, she believes it when people say the best of attractions come when you’re attracted to everything, including their imperfections. His brown hair stays a mess on his head, sticking around in several portions. Eyebags cover his usually taut skin, and for utmost reference of what he is doing, his hands are bathed in soap. His shirt—once white, she can realize that much—now sprawls bits of pink in the weirdest of places, the only thing seemingly put together the gray sweatpants on his nice legs.

“Help.” Yangyang breathes out at that moment, not quite realizing that his hands are very soapy when he comes forward to wrap her up in a hug. Yangyang’s dramatic on his actions, she believes, and his parents may want to start pondering on adding him to one of their movies by the way he lifts her off her feet the slightest to hug her, bending her back a bit to be able to push his weight forward, hide his face on her hair and let out the longest sigh she has heard. “I’m trying to do laundry and all my clothes are now pink.”

…She’s helping him because of this.

The hand that is not only onto the container rests on his back, fingers threading over the fabric of his shirt to rub against his scapula. “Oh, baby, that’s no good…”

“I’ve been doing laundry for an entire night and now all my Alexander Wang collection is gone.”

Oh, shit.

One of her friends had mentioned the Alexander Wang collection…and she doesn’t know how much it is worth, but it’s one hell of a lot.

“Yang, have you had anything to eat?”

“Cheetos count?”

She pulls away to look into his eyes, running her free hand over his locks to pat them in place, though his hands don’t let go of her waist and her eyes can’t get enough of this sight of his face that she had not seen. The pout, the helplessness, the beauty of wanting to try to be normal. “Cheetos don’t count.” She mumbles, lifting the container up to his face. “I brought you some soup. My special healing soup.”

With nimble fingers, he grasps onto the plastic container, eyes widening momentarily before he babbles out: “A—And you’re helping me learn how to do laundry?”

“How about this?” She makes herself at home when she goes past him, taking off her jacket and swathing it on the hanger at the corner. “I’ll teach you how to be a normal person. Laundry. How to use a stove. All of the like.”

Yangyang closes the door behind him, his fingers now coming in contact with the little post-it note she had placed on top of the container, and she has to look away the moment he lowers his gaze to read it in a mumble.

“You can do it, Yang.” He reads out, before a sweet giggle leaves his lips. “Okay, let’s learn how to be a normal person.”

###

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up.” Even when saying that, Yangyang’s actions don’t falter the slightest bit, squatting in front of her guitar case to open it as she prepares her electric guitar for a street performance. “You have to do this every time you run out of money?”

He doesn’t understand it, and she can’t bring herself to be mad at him, looking around in case anyone has heard the mere obvious. She still owes her landlord one month of rent and in light of not having any café or bar performances coming soon, she has to search for a way to reunite the money to be able to pay her rent. Crossing the guitar over her chest and making sure the guitar amplifier is well connected, she hums at what he says.

The city bustles on its wake this afternoon, people going from side to side, the lake behind her surrounded by tourists and people who want to have their sweet picnics. Much to their delight, she’s going to sing today…and that may be against what they would have imagined their afternoon to go like.

“Yep.” She pops the word out, lowering the volume and practicing some of her minor chords. “Yangyang, being an artist is difficult and maybe, I’m just really not that talented, and that’s why—”

Yangyang moves his hands from side to side in front of her, movements erratic and somewhat dramatic, the sleeves of his designer sweater floating around his hands comically. “We’re not saying that. You’re talented. That’s something I have already established.”

“You haven’t even heard me play or sing anything.”

This is all he needs, a challenge or a dare, something that makes him sit in front of her guitar case, dropping a few bills into it that may be a little bit too much, his whole attention trained towards her—weeks of knowing him and still, she can’t see an imperfection in him that doesn’t make her heart beat rapidly, either in annoyance or because she’s flattered by this whole new world that she has met with him. “Okay, play something.” Yangyang says, bringing his knees up his chest, his chin squishing itself against the bony surface before nodding softly. “I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.”

She has played the guitar too many times, sang even more, when sober or when drunken, when in a party or when alone, but somehow, this feels different. His eyes on hers, studying her but never judging her, listening and truly understanding the words that escape her lips when she sings, watching her with so much intent that she feels nervousness for the first time. Her eyes close, trying to lose herself in the feeling of being there—of being supported, because Liu Yangyang oddly feels like her first fan, and she’s not quite against it.

When she opens her eyes, minutes later to start another song, she’s surprised not to see Yangyang. Not that he is too far away, blending into the groups of people as he calls them over, pointing at her widely in a way that has her laughing a bit at herself in between the words she is singing. Yangyang sprints from one place to the other, capturing people as he says:

“Do yourselves a favor and listen to her!”

It’s at that moment that she realizes there is really something more than interest, but what would be closer to love at first sight. There, with him, she can’t imagine having no one else by her side. There, with him, she wondered how in the world destiny had connected the two of them. Not a bad match, but definitely an unexpected one.

###

There’s a reason why human contact is so beautiful, and it is because the brain has the possibility of remembering far more than what we intend. Homely, it feels like, when Yangyang enters the convenience store after parking the cheapest of his convertibles outside, and decides to slot his fingers in between hers. Slim fingers, nails that come in contact with the outside of her hand, his rings scalding in coldness against her skin. There are diamonds in there, ones that left imprints each time he held her hand, but now she can’t get enough of them.

She wouldn’t say Yangyang is perfect—he isn’t. Spoiled, he seems to be, somewhat lost in his own world of seeing the good in everyone. For him, spending as much as he does is enjoying life, but he’s learning. A good listener, a copycat of what he hears and deems right, Yangyang now comes into a new phase of his life.

With her free hand, a kiss resting on her cheek in the process, she takes a cart out of its confines. Yangyang fixes the cap on his head as if not to bother her when he goes for another kiss to her cheek, the fabric of his white sweater—no longer making his clothes turn pink, thankfully—rubs against her forearm when she speaks up. “Now, Yangyang, how much should we normally spend in groceries?”

The man thinks for a moment, walking forward with her as she goes to the first hall. “I don’t know, like, seven hundred bucks?”

She turns to him with her eyebrows very raised, lips parted before breathing out the deepest of: “No. Yangyang, what the fuck? You live alone, I’m sure you can get to spend much less than that.”

“Sorry.” Yangyang speaks, laughter overtaking his body, his shoulders shaking in the process. “I spend like a thousand at minimum every time I buy something.”

This is the part of her that, sometimes, feels like Yangyang and her will never fit into the same sentence. Too different of lives can only create a mess when colliding together. A beautiful mess, she likes to call it. Losing him is not something she is thinking about as of now. “No, Yangyang, we’re not—We’re not doing that.”

“Okay, so what must I do?” Yangyang asks, and she takes this moment to dip her hand into her own pocket, taking her phone out, unlocking it and giving it to him.

“We’re going to use our trusting friend, a calculator, and try to stop ourselves from overspending.” She speaks softly, listening to the faint sound of what seems to be jazz music in the background. “And by us, I mean you.”

“In my defense, I always ‘almost failed’ math class in high school.” Yangyang replies and, as always, he makes her laugh.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey! I was a great student in, like, language class and stuff.”

Something about the smiles they both share makes her feel perfect—it shouldn’t, never has she felt quite like this, and somehow, she can’t bring herself to pull away when his lips come forward and rest on her forehead. Not that he has gotten anywhere remotely close to her lips, though, practically prolonging the stress of not knowing where they stand. Friends. Friends that like each other. Fire and water coming together. Something.

It’s comfortable, but no one knows exactly what it is.

###

The shivering feeling that comes after a sip of lemonade, sugar to the tongue, on a hot day of summer is the best feeling in this world. It reminds her of excitement—to reply to someone’s text on the early stages of dating, to get on stage for the first time after hearing a round of applause, all in one simplistic taste. Not even the laughter that surrounds her living room as her friends gather around could make her feel as great.

Her head lays on Bingbing’s lap, the fabric of the red dress Yangyang had bought for her relishing against her skin when she turns to her side, listening to the story Elena is telling through sips of her wine, the glasses ones that she hadn’t ever gotten out of her shelves but now co-exist in the hands of her friends. Life is good, for one second, she doesn’t have to think about the unknowingness of her existence in a world that is much too big.

Though, someone knocks at her door, enough to interrupt Elena as she presses her mouth in a thin line. “Who could it be? We haven’t ordered anything yet.” Elena says, and Bingbing takes the time to extend her hands after she gets off, pulling her dress down the slightest to cover more of her thighs and go over to the door.

“We should. I’m craving pizza like crazy.” Bingbing instructs, but she doesn’t pay much attention to what the woman is saying. Instead, she pulls a sweater up and down her body, covering the neckline of her dress before getting the door. Fingers threading on the doorknob, she opens it without really checking who it is, and if someone had told her this would be a sight for her to see months ago, she would’ve laughed straight at their faces.

A starry-looking button down covers his chest, but his legs are in display thanks to his ripped jeans, yet the dark color scheme is changed for something much brighter when his lips part in a smile and he points at the cardboard he has hanging from his neck thanks to some thick thread.

In red letters, much too bright, clearly in his handwriting, Yangyang has written ‘Kissing Booth’ and one dollar by its side. “Hi!” Yangyang greets, making everyone in the living room shush themselves to listen to what they’re saying—he may not see them, but all her friends had noticed him. “So, since you don’t let me help you economically and, like, you said you would only accept money that you’ve earned…I’m doing a kissing both. One dollar and I give a kiss out. So, you know, I can give you some money.”

She has to frown at his logic, or maybe, it’s the idea of Yangyang kissing anyone but her that makes the lemonade glass on her hands almost fall. “Yang, what are you even talking about?”

“All profits from the kissing booth will go directly to your bank account for your rent.” He indicates, moving his feet back and forth before looking up. “…I haven’t had any clients, though—”

“You are not having any clients.” She conquers.

“Why?”

“I’m not letting you kiss anyone.” The moment those words leave her lips, she can hear Liying snickering in the far distance, too soft for it to be heard by anyone, much more when Shishi splays her hand on top of her mouth to keep her from making any noise. “…For me. I’m not letting you kiss anyone for me.”

“Why?” Yangyang asks, leaning his weight against the doorframe before quirking an eyebrow. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“…Ah…” She clears her throat, not noticing just how close he is until she feels that damned, obnoxiously ugly cardboard sign bump against her chest. “What if I am?”

Taking his wallet out of his pocket, Yangyang gets out a lot more bills than necessary, putting them on her hand before shrugging. “You shouldn’t. Someone just paid you around a hundred kisses from the kissing booth guy. I don’t know the source, though.”

With her heart thumping like crazy, she watches as Yangyang takes her by the waist, hands fisting the fabric of her sweater before his lips descended upon hers. Fervor bleeds through his kisses, wanting and needing more of her, overtaking any rational thoughts as he makes all the worries dissipate. Her hands have a mind of their own as they thread through his hair, never getting enough of him—enough of the fantasies he likes to live just to spice up her reality.

When he pulls away, he gives a step forward, ready to take her inside until she breathes out quickly: “Yang, all my friends are here.”

“What?” The poor guy says, roses blooming on his cheeks when he turns to the left, watching the group of women raise their hands in the air.

“Surprise!” They all greet in a way that has Yangyang hiding his face on the crook of her neck, bringing a smile to her face.

She could get used to this. Not for three seconds, but for much longer.

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

Life Unlived - yoongi x reader

Summary: On your death bed, your king visits you. 

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader / Seokjin x reader

Warnings: Major character death. Infidelity. Royalty AU!  Rating: Mature (NC17, for infidelity and implied smut) Word Count: 2,462 Genre: Romance, angst, royalty au 

Notes: This was supposed to be part of the 30-minute challenge I have going on - just basically, write anything within 30 minutes. But it got away - a whole extra hour! (Updated with new header + new format)

yoongi looks up as the heavy doors of his wife’s chamber open. for a moment, a sliver of candlelight escapes the room, some warmth passes his feet before disappearing into the cold. 

out steps one of his oldest advisors, lord seokjin. even after decades of life and two wars marred by many deaths, the lord of the north remains handsome even in the dark. his hair has gone grey, just like yoongi’s and though his shoulders remain broad as the sky, his back has stooped bringing him closer to the earth. 

“my king,” seokjin greets with a bow, and if he���s surprised with his royal crown’s appearance, he does not show it. 

there are no servants around, yoongi made sure of that. and decades ago, that would’ve been enough for his oldest friend to call him by his name. perhaps even crack a joke or two, but it’s been decades since he heard seokjin address him with anything but detached respect.

in the darkness of the halls, a cough echoes and both men sharply turn to the door, their bodies stiff, waiting just until the cough subsides. 

“how is she?” yoongi asks

for a moment, seokjin’s old bones fill with rage. rage at the audacity of yoongi to ask. rage at the unfairness of it all. and yet -- one look at his king’s trembling hands, seokjin knows that this is not the time for bitter words. 

“not well, my king. the physician says that... she will be lucky if she sees the morning.” 

yoongi closes his eyes and feels the cold hands of dread grip his heart and slide against his back, the ermine fur of his coat failing to keep it away. “i see.”

when yoongi enters the room, he looks at your figure bathed in candlelight. if he’s more of a romantic, he’ll have the courage to tell you that you look ethereal like the sun goddess you and your country believe in. (or used to believe in, before, before his father outlawed such heretic practices) 

with your faded hair stark against the rich red of your pillows, your skin glowing, he could almost taste a time way back.

but then, a cough rattles your chest and without opening your eyes, you reach for a cloth by your side. you strain for the few inches of distance and yoongi steps to close the distance between the two of you. 

he hands you the bloodied cloth quietly and watches you cough, your eyes blearily looking at him. 

“seokjin? my lord, did i not tell you to go home?” 

yoongi’s heart stutters at the fondness in your voice, even when it’s not directed at him. he aches to be spoken to like that so much that he wants to lie -- 

“it’s me.”

and instantly, your languid - weakened- state vanishes and he sees you transform from an ailing old (beautiful, still-- you were always so so beautiful) woman on her deathbed to the warrior queen he married so long ago. 

you blink away the sleep and fatigue before turning to see your king standing by your arm. “my king, what are you doing here?” 

without speaking, yoongi sits by your side, taking the cloth and dabbing it on your mouth gently, his own withered hands shaking. gone are the days that he bested all the land in archery and tennis, and all the things princes do. 

“my queen is sick, do i not have the right to see her too?” 

the last word hangs between the two of you. it hangs like the decades long affair unacknowledged yet known to both of you. 

you handle it like you always handle yoongi. unyielding in the face of the storm. 

“of course you do, my king. but i know for a fact that the physician has barred you from entering my chambers.” 

yoongi inhales, his own breathe stuttering. oh, to be young again and to argue with you endlessly. he’ll take your sharp words everyday if it meant you’d look at him. 

“the physician says you may not last the night.”

“and you’re here to make sure i do not?”

the bite in your words is familiar but your accusation is not. do you truly think... no... you couldn’t possibly...

yoongi looks at you, stunned, his eyes wide and you pretend that it’s glassy too. perhaps he has tears for you too. 

“i do not wish for your death, my queen.” 

you eye him warily, the softness of his voice lost against the hardness of the walls surrounding your heart. those you’ve built the moment you knew that you and he could never be. 

“so you say. when i die, they will pressure you to marry again. and you may marry anyone just give me the courtesy befitting of my station - thirty days, my king.” 

it is familiar. you’ve said the same thing before and though it was decades ago, yoongi never forgot. 

it had not been the first nor the last affair you discovered. and as the years went by after the incident, yoongi realized that perhaps it’s not even really just about his affairs. 

but, it had been a fine morning and you were twenty-two and he was twenty-three. you’ve been married for a year and he’s been pursuing someone for longer. 

it had been an old acquaintance of his, a daughter of one of their esteemed lords. they had gone to school together. she was beautiful, kind and regal. he was supposed to marry her instead of you and he had fancied that perhaps he’d be one of the rare monarchs with a happy marriage. 

but instead, for the sake of the alliance, he married you. 

he had been bitter and angry, and he did not hide it from you, therefore turning the whole court hostile against their new queen. whispers of your past as a warrior littered the halls adorned with vile words and curses as if you made the choice to sit on their throne yourself. 

you had known that monarchs of their country were not expected to be monogamous. you knew that. but you were at least hoping it won’t be slapped against your face.

“I didn’t come here with the belief that you would love me, yoongi,” you began, poised and regal, your royalty shining through. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I’d just hope perhaps you’d allow me the courtesy my station requires.”

none too subtly, you flicked your hard eyes to the window where the woman in question walked with the other ladies.

yoongi was enraged at your courage and in anger he said, “you’re welcome to your own affairs, my lady. leave me with mine. and don’t call me ‘yoongi’, i am your king.” 

nights after, he laid with her for the first time and continued to do so for a long time. 

“my lord, what’s on your mind?” his lover murmured against his chest, catching yoongi looking at the empty vase by his desk. 

“why do you not send wildflowers anymore, my lady?” he asked, quietly. 

“hmm?” she hummed, kissing the back of his ear, “i’ve never sent any, my lord, you deserve far more than just flowers from the road.” 

soon, he found that the little things were from you. the command to re-shoe his favorite horse every time he hunts, the extra bags of tea from the neighboring kingdom, the quiet of the court of commons -- the wildflowers by his bed.

he didn’t think you’d actually have an affair until he slowly saw you less and less around his circle and more and more with somebody else.

he half-expected it to be a quick affair, seokjin was notorious with his strings of lovers, but a month passed, then another... and another. 

and he never left. 

even when you could not lay with him, when you and yoongi were trying for an heir. even when you were swollen with yoongi’s children. even when you marched on to fight in the first war - the first queen to ever do so. even when you grew old, and your skin began to droop - seokjin never left. 

it grated yoongi’s pride for years and it took even longer for him to realize that it’s not his pride that was hurting. because he realized, not once, not even after you lost one of your children to stillbirth, not even after your other children’s births, not once, did you call him by his name ever again. 

yoongi sits vigil with you through the night. his own back hunching as he sit by your bed, offering you water and more blankets as the night grew colder. you slip and out of consciousness and as time went on, you grow less and less lucid. 

confessions spill from your lips. of how you’re worried of your children; your son who’s next in line to be king, your younger son who’s learning up north and your daughter, who’s almost at the age to be married. you worry and worry.

and then you turn to him, your hand seeking his. “you will guide them, won’t you, my king?”

“of course, my queen.” yoongi reassures, his lips touching your knuckles. here, at the end, he will take what he can get. 

your eyes shine at the gesture, soft and almost loving. “you know, i loved you the first time i saw you.” for a heartbeat, yoongi aches at the thought that perhaps you are seeing seokjin here, in your last moments, but he holds fast, even as his eyes water. “but you hurt me so much and so often, yoongi.” 

a heart-wrenching sob tears through you and a tear drops on his withered hand. at the tip of his tongue are apologies and confessions of his own, remembering all his sharp words and bitter affairs. but he remains quiet. 

“i first saw you in the battlefield, do you remember? of course you don’t. silly me.” you muse, eyes softer than he’s ever seen. “i was bloody and dirty, and you looked at me like...”

your voice grow softer, sadder, “you looked at me like i was dirt beneath your shoe.”

yoongi shakes his head, vehemently, “no, no, i thought you were beautiful.” he confesses.

he remembers, how beautiful you were, how terrifyingly beautiful you were - goddess of war, fighting for the kingdom you would one day rule together. he feared you then, as he continues today. what will come in your absence?

in your last moments, you let your walls drop and you smile, reaching over to caress his face, “a liar does not make a good ruler, my king.” 

yoongi captures your hand, and holds it close, his breath hitching at the teasing lilt of your voice. oh all the wasted time, all his pride. “i am not lying.” 

softly, you brush your thumb against the tear streak under his eye. “are you crying for me, my king? will you miss me?”

a lump forms in yoongi’s throat and he nods, vulnerable and aching. he climbs into your bed quietly, shuffling until you’re face to face. 

“truly?” you ask, eyes round in wonder. 

“truly.” 

the old monarchs will laugh at yoongi, old and curled up with his dying wife. his father always said that there’s no softness and romance in a marriage between two royals and yoongi used to believe it, seeing it play out in his parent’s marriage and in yours. 

but, he had also seen the quiet looks his father gave his mother when he thought she wasn’t looking. he had seen the almost-routine way his mother cuts meats for his father on their table and thinks that perhaps, it wasn’t always that love wasn’t found. 

it’s just that it was never spoken, acted on, and fostered. 

bitterly, he realizes that he and his father turn out to have more in common than he thought. 

silence befalls the two of you and yoongi holds both of your hands, scared of the coldness of them. death has entered the room and he aches for his youth, for a miracle - anything to fight for you. there’s still so much he wants to say. too much. 

“even if you didn’t love me, i had hope you would’ve found a friend in me, my king.” you whisper, voice raspy and your eyes fluttering. 

yoongi’s lips wobble, “yoongi. please, my--- y/n, please say my name again.”

“yoongi,” you repeat, the name almost unfamiliar to you, “yoongi, did you find a friend in me?”

i found so much more, i’m sorry -- i’m sorry. “yes. i did.” 

a brilliant one, a kind one with whom he raised his children with and ruled his kingdom with. someone who raced to the battlefield with him, every bit deserving of your people’s love. a great friend, just albeit distant, there was an ocean neither of you ever attempted to cross again, not after more and more cruel words from yoongi’s pride and more and more distance from you. 

“i’m glad.” you sigh, feeling death nudging at you, “i’m sorry you had to marry me.” you confess, “i’ve robbed you of your happiness.”

strength returns briefly into the old king’s hands and he grips your hands desperately, only loosening it at the sight of your wince. “no. no. i--”

will he really do this? confess on your death bed and let you die weighed by his own regrets? will he? will he say, "i’ve loved you too for the longest time"? But isn't it cruelty? Something more for him and less for you so instead--

“you brought me happiness.” yoongi has always been selfish. he will not deny himself this and you will not die thinking you are unloved by your husband. 

in the dancing lights, you are young again and you smile almost delighted and yet so heartbroken at the same time. “i’m sorry i brought you pain as well. perhaps next time...”

yoongi doesn’t believe in the next life, but for you, for this, he will. “next time.”

the queen passes in her sleep and witnesses say that the king was found cradling her body close, his sobs echoing in the chamber. they say it took hours before he allowed the physicians to take her body and prepare her for her final place. 

their kingdom mourn for the loss of a great queen that ruled with compassion and wisdom, she who listened to the masses because her roots remained strong. their children mourn for the loss of a gentle mother, with eyes like crescent moons and presence wrought with history and magic. 

seokjin leaves his estates to his brother, rides a horse in the middle of the night and never comes back.

and their king, yoongi - yoongi never marries again. 

notes: comments and feedback are much appreciated! :) 

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Precious Inexperience

A/N: Welp. Should I be posting this on Easter? Probably not. This was written under the influence of the lack of sleep and the over-abundance of wine. This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​’s “What’s Old is New Again" Challenge. I used the prompt #14,  “I do not know how to kiss or I would kiss you. Where do the noses go?” - Ingrid Bergman 

Pairing: King!Robb Stark x F!Reader

Rating: M for DARK THEMES including dub-con, death, death of children, Robb being a dick, a bit of smut, and canon-typical sexism

Warnings: Again, dub-con/dubious consent, talk of pregnancy, men being terrible-PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: The King in the North was now King of the Seven Kingdoms. Peace reigned. But Kings need heirs.

The King in the North they called him. King in the North even as he sat on the Iron Throne. Robb Stark was King of the Seven Kingdoms—won with bloody battles and dead wives. Alliances were sewn with marriages and Robb had easily taken a wife when it meant more men for his armies, more food to feed them, a stronger claim to the throne that had taken the head of his father all those years ago.  A Frey girl. She’d been pretty. Pretty for Frey with small hips and a nice smile. She died in childbed—their son along with her.  Then there was Margaery Tyrell. The beauty of the Reach. With the Reach under his command, Robb was unstoppable. Food was plentiful even as Winter came and went and the remaining forces loyal to the Crown starved and died. 

Yes, she made a beautiful queen for a year. When her face turned purple and blood poured from her eyes, everyone cried “poison! Poison!” and pointed fingers at the Greyjoys, still refusing to bend the knee to their new king. No one ever truly knew who had murdered The Gracious Queen Margaery, but the heads of hundreds of Greyjoy bannermen decorated the pikes outside the Red Keep until the last Greyjoy, Yara, finally accepted his rule.

The Realm had peace, it seemed. The Dragon Queen had stayed in Essos with her army and her dragons and the Wildlings to the North had been eliminated under the command of his bastard brother, Jon Snow.

Peace, they said.

But, Kings need heirs.

The Westerlands submitted their prettiest maids from the best houses. The Stormlands, too. The Vale followed, along with the Riverlands, and the North. And Dorne, who had skillfully played both sides of the board during the war with the lions, had been slow to send a proposal.

The Martells were skittish, for good reason, to marry into another royal family. But that did not mean they did not want a Dornish woman to marry their new king. Robb had been kind to Dorne; knew their worth and history. He met with Prince Doran in the Water Gardens, personally, to broker an alliance and laughed with Ellaria Sand and Prince Oberyn at their feasts. The Northern King knew the power Dorne held. It had been no secret that Robb had sought Dorne’s council on many things.

But it came as a surprise to Y/N when Prince Doran sent for her and her father to come to the Water Gardens and meet with him. Her house was small and held modest power, nestled on the westernmost coast of Dorne, just south of House Dayne of Starfall. It was mostly a small naval fleet port and trading post with merchants from the Reach and Westerlands. As the fifth child of her family, she was often over-looked in many regards as her elder sister was groomed to one day take her place as head of the family. It was no bother to her, mostly. She was able to read and spend her time racing horses. Her Northern-bred mother was aghast when she had first learned of a few Dornish customs, but had softened immensely when she learned her firstborn, her daughter, had not made her a terrible wife. She’d produced an heir, after all. But the one frivolity she could not and would not condone was any sort of romantic interludes. She did not care that the rest of Dornish nobility embraced paramours and bastard children. 

Y/N and her seven siblings were raised with Northern sensibilities in that regard. No men were left near her unsupervised. She was given little education on the art of romance other than the books she had to smuggle away from her mother’s prying eyes and, because she cared little for most people, it did not bother her in the slightest.

Marriage was not something she thought about often. Her house was secure with her sister and her marriage to Prince Doran’s son, Trystane. Her sister was pregnant with her second child already, much to the happiness of her family and the Martells. Her elder brothers were prosperous knights and her younger siblings were contemplating becoming maesters or a septa. The family coffers were plentiful. She needn’t marry for advantage in any regard.

Or so she had been led to believe.

When Prince Doran reached for her hand with a soft smile, she gave it to him readily, even as his heir, Princess Arianne could not offer a comforting expression. “The King has asked for a bride. You shall be our envoy.”

There was no argument. No brokering. No tears.

It was a strange sort of fog that clouded her mind as her father thanked Prince Doran and Princess Arianne for “the honor” and then tried to ready her for the trip to King’s Landing and the long days spent in the wheelhouse on the journey north. She hardly remembered any of it. The ladies maids were frantic about her, as they helped her dress in a pretty golden gown and pressed sweet-smelling perfume to her neck and wrists. All of it felt like it was happening to someone else. Not to her. Things like this didn’t happen to her. She would read and race horses and get scolded by her mother for smelling of hay or stealing berries from the kitchens.

It was a cattle show, if she had to give it a name. The potential brides were scattered about the throne room, their fathers at their sides, all primped and ready for inspection.

“Stand up straight, girl,” her father chided, a soft tone betraying his love for his second daughter.

“Yes, father,” Y/N murmured in return and did as he bid. “But, truly, you cannot believe he will even look at me.” She had always thought herself plain. It was no bother, really. Her sister was the heir and beauty and it took all the pressure of being a lady away. Her sister was kind to her, too. Perfect in every way. If she were standing here, Y/N was sure she would have been proposed to by now. And her younger sister was so enthralled with religion she hardly spoke of anything else.

“Prince Doran knows the King very well. He chose you for a reason.”

“Fine. But when we get sent home, I-”

“Your Grace.” Her father bowed and she quickly followed with a curtsey, grimacing at not noticing when the young King had stepped in their direction. “May I present to you my daughter, Lady Y/N.”

The King was handsome, obviously. His russet hair curled over the tops of his ears and even with the growing beard, he still had a young man’s roguish charm. Her heart suddenly constricted as he held out a hand toward her and her fingers shook as she placed her hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His words were murmured, beard scratching against her fingers. 

“L-likewise, Your Grace.”

Robb stood straight with a smirk and there was a gleam in his eye that made her stomach twist. He nodded to her father and walked away to greet the next lady as she deflated, breath rushing.

“Well, I hope are happy, Father. I did my part on behalf of Dorne.” She was ready to go home. Now. The look the King gave her left her unsettled. There was a darkness behind his pretty eyes, one she had only seen when faced with feral animals that would howl in the night outside her family’s castle walls.

But then some man in a grey and black surcoat, embroidered with a snarling direwolf, stepped to her father’s side and whispered in his ear before his unfamiliar eyes flickered to her. The exchange lasted barely a few seconds and soon the man was walking away, following his king through the shadows.

“What is it?”

Her father frowned and dropped his voice to a low whisper she had to strain to hear even as he bent to her level. “You’ve been requested to meet His Grace in the gardens tonight.”

“Tonight?” She parroted. “Will you be there?”

“No. This is to see if you would be compatible.” Even as the words left his mouth, she knew he did not understand them.

“Must I go?”

Her father nodded. Sealing her fate.

                                                           **

The gardens were quiet except for the chirping of an incessant bird hidden somewhere in the greenery. The only other person she had seen while following the map she’d been handed just after dinner, was a guard at the entrance who looked at her with hard eyes from beneath his helmet before letting her venture in to the twisting, turning paths of green.

She squinted at the crudely drawn map in the dim moonlight and hoped she had found the right place. There had been a statue, a few turns ago, of the King’s sister, Sansa, holding the head of Cersei Lannister on a platter. Before that, a statue of the slain Stark boys, Rickon and Bran, astride their direwolves—a dead lion was crumpled under their paws. Arya had to be somewhere, too. Y/N was sure of it. She wondered what her statue depicted her doing—Arya was known throughout the Realm for her vicious nature and love for her family. She had set sail to the West not long ago with her new husband, Lord Gendry Baratheon.

She sat down on the stone bench and folded the map, putting it away before chewing at the side of her thumb. Whether it was boredom or trepidation, she wasn’t sure. The entire situation seemed…off kilter. There was something bubbling beneath the surface she didn’t understand.

“My Lady.”

She quickly stood and curtseyed as the king walked around the corner and into the small clearing. “Your Grace.”

He reached for her hand and pressed another kiss to her knuckles. “I’ve been told you are the fifth of eight children.”

She frowned at the strange start of the conversation but did nothing to deter it. “Yes, Your Grace. Two sisters and five brothers.”

Robb hummed and nodded, eyes raking down her form. “And your sister? She’s pregnant with her second child. After only two years of marriage.”

She nodded. “Yes. They are hoping for another boy.”

Robb’s eyes closed and another smile touched his lips, this one much more relaxed, as he settled on the bench behind him. “Good. That’s good.” She moved to sit beside him when he pressed a hand against her stomach and pushed her back. Her feet stumbled and he caught her at the waist, pressing his fingers into her skin with a grip that stung. “No. I want to look at you.”

Standing tall, she tried to even out her breath as she felt his eyes start to roam. His hands moved to her hips and his thumbs dug into bottom of her stomach, pulling a gasp from her lips. “Y-your Grace?”

“These…” He squeezed her hips. “These could do nicely.”

She looked down at her hips he seemed to be so attentive to, wondering what he could possibly mean. “Princess Arianne said I had my mother’s hips, perfect for children.” The compliment had always been a strange one, but the Princess assured her it was good.

Robb dragged her close, feet once again tangling and almost careening her forward as the young king kept her mostly steady. “Your father and Prince Doran have assured me that you are pure. I will ask you this only once. If you lie, I will know and the consequences will be severe. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, Your Grace.” Her heart was hammering a painful beat against her ribs as he looked up at her. “I understand.”

“Have you ever been with another man?” His eyes pinned her, cold and knowing.

“No. I have never even…” her words trailed off as heat washed down her spine.

“Finish what you were saying.” Another squeeze to her hips.

“I have never been kissed, Your Grace, let alone laid with a man. I am afraid my inexperience will only disappoint you.”

Robb’s answering smile reminded her of his family’s sigil; sharp, snarling teeth. As he stood, his hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts, and dragged her close. “You are mistaken, my lady. You have made me very happy.” And he kissed her then, stealing her breath as he pried her lips apart and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Shaking hands found purchase in his dark-colored tunic as she tried to keep up with his mouth that seemed determined to devour her whole.

                                                             **

The examination by the maester had left her shaking. “She is untouched, Your Grace,” the maester said to Robb as he waited outside her chambers. “As promised.”

The door hadn’t even closed and he was basically shouting her purity to the halls of the Keep. She curled into a ball on her featherbed and drew a pillow to her chest as if that would help take away the embarrassment and the discomfort from the Maester’s previously prodding instruments and fingers. She barely heard them speaking of fertility, her mother’s, her sister’s. Hers. Her bed dipped with the weight of someone sitting but she didn’t turn to see who it was, expecting her father.

“Could I have some tea, please, papa?” The old nickname for her father slipped out. “I feel like…I feel like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

“It doesn’t.”

She sat straight at the sound of the king’s voice, fright grasping at her heart. “Your Grace, I-I-I-”

Robb suddenly loomed over her, legs bracketing her thighs and pressing her against her pillows. His hand slithered its way under her chemise to press against her bare stomach and she felt her heart try to lodge itself up in her throat. The scent of him, of leather and spice and ale, flooded her senses as he leaned closer to breathe his words against her mouth. “This belongs to me. All of it. All of you. I will make you round with my children as many times as your body can take if it pleases me.”

“Y-your Grace-” Her scared eyes looked over his shoulder to see the door to her chambers had been shut, sealing her away from the world.

“You will give me an heir that is mine without question and then you will give me more. More children to fill these cursed halls with something other than the whispers of politics and subterfuge.” He sat back on his heels watched her heaving chest with a smile that looked too soft for him now. “You have made me a very happy man, Y/N.”

Her name sounded strange on his tongue.

And she hated how much she liked it.

                                                           **

The ceremony had been ornate and befitting of the young king and his new queen. She traded her father’s colors for black and grey and silver and felt the snarling direwolf pressing against her back with the new bridal cloak even as his pretty lips pressed against hers and the crowd cheered.

She was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

His third queen.

The festivities came and went and soon she was alone with him in his chambers and he hardly kissed her again before her dress was discarded and her chemise torn to near shreds. And it hurt. Every slap of his hips as he rutted against her brought her closer to some strange precipice she couldn’t name, cresting between pleasure and pain. Coiling tighter and tighter in her stomach like a terrible snake.

“You’ll give me a boy,” he said, breath hot against her ear as he dragged her ever closer. “You’ll give me children.”

“I will,” she whimpered in return, fingers trying to find a grip on his slick back. A scream nearly wrenched its way from her throat as he sunk his teeth into her shoulder. “I will!”

His thrusts turned animalistic and her head nearly hit the carved headboard as he pushed her further and further up the overstuffed featherbed and then, with a final thrust, he sunk his deepest yet into her and stayed there as warmth shot through her.

And her coil snapped, legs shaking and eyes rolling with convulsions she couldn’t stop.

He stayed inside her for a while, prick softening. And it was the gentlest he’d been with her since the ceremony, letting his hands roam her torso, sponging kisses to her face and breasts, murmuring how she’d give him an heir.

“I will,” she said again, words not her own, body still reeling with aftershocks. “I will.”

Robb held her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, almost repentantly. “You will. Or you will see The Stranger just as Roslin and Margaery did. Do you understand?”

It was only after she had ‘accepted’ his proposal had she learned that Roslin had birthed a boy that could never have been Robb’s son, born too early to have been conceived by him, and Margaery had been barren. She nodded and gently pushed the hair away from his eyes, now uncaring that they held very little warmth when they looked at her. Maybe they would when she gave him a son. Maybe he could love her then.

When he finally pulled out of her, he canted her hips up and shoved a pillow beneath them to keep her aloft. “Stay like that until morning.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A/N: Well, there you go. Please tell me what you think. 

Part two

[arhvste]

irreplaceable - oikawa tooru

summary - you and oikawa have been broken up for a couple of years but managed to maintain a close and friendly relationship with each other however, it proves to be too much of a challenge for you two to keep your relationship purely platonic. - fluff

an- this was requested on my wattpad i’ll tag the user when i find it, also i have no idea what the hell is going on with the spaces between paragraphs i can’t fix it google docs obviously hates me but i’ll put up with it for now.

warnings - cursing (minimal)

“Hey I think we should break up. It’s for the best right now.”

-

It had been 3 years since you and the famous Oikawa Tooru had decided to part ways. There was no bitterness behind the decision to end your romance, it was just like Oikawa had said, “for the best right now.”. You two had remained close friends despite your relationship status returning back to single, there was no reason to be unfriendly and throw away what you had so carefully and lovingly built up over the past 2 years with each other. Your schedules disagreed with each other and time spent together had slowly but surely decreased leading you both to mutually decide on putting a halt on your romance to prevent the feeling of neglect on either side.

You truly were happy for Oikawa and everything he was achieving and still were just as close to him as you were before, the only difference being you two weren’t exactly physically affectionate anymore. Not that you minded a huge amount but part of you did hang on to the last two words of his break up line.

“Right now.”

Before, you had secretly hoped to naturally rekindle your romance and pick up from where you left off as time went on and your schedules changed but it never happened. Not sure on Oikawa’s thoughts and feelings about the situation, you had decided it was best to move on and you did your best to do that, managing to convince yourself you were over the setter. Deep down you knew you still had lingering feelings for the boy but they were enough to handle and had gotten exceptionally easier to control and ignore when you were around your ex. You were almost certain that those lingering feelings had eventually faded but you always knew the boy would have some sort of place in your heart as your first serious love and you were fine with accepting that.

Whatever Oikawa was feeling about you, it didn’t matter as much to you as it did before. He was happy to be working towards his goals as a professional volleyball player and you couldn't be more proud of him.

Things were fine the way they were. You were still good friends and still hung out together as you did before. Both happy and content with the events occurring in your own lives while still being able to offer support and a platonic type of affection. Things were okay as they were and you were both okay with that.

-

The door slammed open startling you from the couch causing you to snap your head up and in the direction of the front door to your apartment. Your gaze met an irritated looking Oikawa who was currently dripping wet from the rain. Little droplets of water fell from his pretty brown locks which had stuck to his face agitating him further and his soaked clothes that would definitely need throwing in the dryer immediately.

“Bad weather?” you hummed teasingly as you swung your legs off the couch and made your way over to the soaking volleyball player.

“No, the sun is shining, temperature absolutely sweltering as you can tell by my excessive sweat.” he sarcastically quipped back, taking off his puddle filled shoes as close to your front door as he could.

Even after your break up, the two of you would still frequently visit each other's apartments whenever you wanted. Though you weren’t exactly romantically affectionate anymore, you both still found comfort in each other’s presence and the pair of you would visit each other when one of you needed to vent something out or you just felt like a general catch up between your busy and cruel schedules.

You threw Oikawa a warm towel that had just come out of your dryer. He caught it sharply and brought the warm and soft material to his face savouring not only the comforting warmth it brought to his cold skin, but also the relaxing scent of you. Oikawa would never admit out loud but, the scent of you was so familiar to him it almost gave him a sense of home. His pride wouldn't allow him to ever admit to something so sappy out loud to you, at least not for now.

“Go on, you know where everything is, go take a shower and leave your clothes in the basket outside. I’ll throw them in the dryer and make us some tea.” You smiled warmly at him as you made your way past him into the small but clean and sleek kitchen area to fill the kettle with fresh water.

“Thanks Y/N-chan. You’re the best!”

“We can’t have one of Japan’s top rising volleyball stars catching a cold can we? Now when you make it big, you’ll have me to thank because I kept you in good health.”

Oikawa snickered slightly before making his way to the bathroom down the hall in your apartment.

It wasn’t rare for the boy to visit you after training. Sometimes he needed a little extra support or words of encouragement particularly after training sessions he found more challenging or tiring than usual. You were a good listener who gave honest and unbiased feedback and that was something Oikawa could greatly appreciate you for.

After you heard the bathroom door click shut you approached the washing basket and grabbed his sopping wet clothes and threw them into the dryer in the small utility area. Turning it on a quick dry you set the basket back down and made your way back to the kitchen to finish serving the hot tea.

Grabbing two mugs, you carefully poured the hot liquid into them and carried them over to the small coffee table which sat in front of your couch. You went back to the kitchen to grab two plates and a loaf of milk bread you had made earlier. Oikawa had taught you how to make milk bread and you made sure to have some made as much as possible just in case he ever decided to drop by. Your cooking and baking skills didn’t go unnoticed by the setter who decided that “Y/N-chan’s milk bread is the best.”. You smiled to yourself fondly remembering the time he announced that after trying a piece of your first attempt of the recipe.

You heard shuffling noises from the bathroom and after a couple of minutes you heard the bathroom door open. Oikawa made his way over to you with damp silky hair which had perked up slightly, the soft white towel slung over his neck to keep his fresh t-shirt from getting soaked through by the water droplets in his hair and a pair of fresh training shorts.

“You’re always a few steps ahead huh?” He smiled as he sat down next to you and relaxed into the couch.

“If you’re referring to the warm clothes I keep in the airing cupboard for you, you’re welcome.” Turning to lazily smile at him.

You both stayed like that for a few moments. A comfortable silence washing over the two of you. Neither of you felt the need to speak up just yet, you both allowed yourselves to indulge in the calming and warm atmosphere around the pair of you.

After a few moments passed by, Oikawa leaned forward to rip a piece off the milk bread loaf. Biting into it he hummed in approval before eating the whole piece. “Y/N-chan, you make the best milk bread you know?” Your laugh rang through Oikawa’s ears. “Your flattery will get you anywhere Oikawa.”

A few moments passed again, nothing said between the two of you. Oikawa had a slight frown on his face looking as if he were deep in thought. You noticed this but decided to let him be for a moment.

The setter sat there trying to find the right words to use to get his current thoughts across to you. Truth be told Oikawa had shown up to your place purely for a general catch up but picking up on the little quirks and details to your routine with each other, he had been thinking about you the minute he noticed the spare clothes you kept for him in the airing cupboard. He had never really lost feelings for you. Sure, he had been on a few dates here and there, but nobody lasted more than 3 dates before he grew bored. His mind would always wander back to thoughts of you and he took this as a sign that these other girls were just temporary fillers for the void left in him when you had split up. He had always known you were the only one who would satisfy his physical and emotional needs, but he wasn’t sure as to the whereabouts you were in your feelings for him so he never spoke up about the situation.

After a few minutes you grew slightly concerned. Yes, you knew the two of you could sit through a while of comfortable silence but the bothered face on your ex worried you slightly.

“Oikawa? Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh- uh yeah, sorry lost in a thought for a second there.”

He looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes and gave you his signature charming smile.

You had known Oikawa for years and you had grown close enough to be able to tell a genuine smile from a fake one and the smile he was currently pulling right now was most certainly fake. You frowned at the boy making his smile drop a little.

“What's wrong Y/N-chan?”

“I should be asking you that? You should know by now to not pull that half assed expression with me.”

Oikawa sighed and broke eye contact with you as he cast his gaze down to the coffee table.

“It’s just, well- Ah fuck it. You’re really irreplaceable to me. There’s nobody as good as you.”

Your eyes widened at the boy's sudden confession. Did Oikawa Tooru really recite back what feelings you thought you had gotten rid of? Just by that sentence alone, past feelings to which you were certain you had managed to contain and bury had come rushing over you clouding your thoughts and completely throwing you off guard.

“That doesn’t sound like something you say to an ex girlfriend.”

He looked back up and locked his longing eyes into your own.

“Well, maybe I don’t want you to be my ex girlfriend anymore.”

You felt as though your heart couldn’t take much more. Your chest felt tight and you knew for a fact your face was turning red as you felt your skin heat up from the volleyballers direct and unfiltered confession. You opened your mouth but were stopped when Oikawa quickly spoke.

“Listen to me Y/N, I’m not playing games. I’m done trying to fill the gap only you can fill. I’ve fucking missed you like crazy and I didn’t want to admit it. I never said anything because I wasn’t sure what you were thinking or feeling but you have my heart Y/N. It’s always been you. No matter what I do I can't stop thoughts about you creeping back on me when they shouldn’t. Tell me I’m crazy Y/N. I should be over you by now but I’m not because no matter what I do or try, I can’t deny the fact I’m still in fucking love with you!”

You didn’t think twice about your next move. Before you could even think of the words to reply to him, instinct took over you and you threw yourself onto the boy and crashed your lips onto his. He took a second to process what was happening but after a second of not reacting his arms snaked around your waist as he kissed you back with an equal amount of passion. With that one kiss, Oikawa knew the feelings were mutual. You could both feel the raw desire and need for each other, the deep feelings and passion that was once locked away, finally free and was poured into the kiss. He pulled you onto his lap properly as one of his hands drew little circles on your waist while the other made its way up your neck as his fingers skillfully weaved through your silky hair. You pressed your body closer to his as your own hands wandered into his slightly damp locks.

Finally pulling away, you both took a second to catch your breath. You looked up and into Oikawa’s twinkling eyes which held nothing but sincerity and genuine love and adoration for you.

“Idiot. You should’ve spoken sooner.”

Nothing could stop the bright smile on Oikawa’s face. His handsome features lightened up as he laughed and caressed your cheek. Small tears gathered in the corners of his eyes threatening to spill at any moment. You leaned forward and wiped them away before they could fall and left a trail of small pecks across his soft skin.

“You have no idea just how happy you’ve made me. I love you so so much I promise I’ll never leave you again Y/N.”

He spoke with such honesty as a big smile broke onto your own face.

“I’ll hold you to that. And Tooru, I love you too.”

He pulled you in close inhaling the scent of you. Sure you were both okay with your close friendship but this to Oikawa felt like home. That once empty gap that could only be filled by you, full once again making his heart flutter.

Things were okay the way they were but this? This is how things were meant to be.