#because the moment i have an empty canvas in front of me my mind goes just as empty

[splookiee]

I HAVE SO MANY ART IDEAS BUT NOT THE TIME NOR THE SKILL TO MAKE THEM

AAAAAAAAA

[lu-sn]

#kpweek2022 day 2: reignite

namphueng & chay & porsche, character study, secrets and suspense, 2K

-

“Mae?” Chay says, kneeling in front of her. He’s here alone. “I’m going to visit every Thursday night, okay? I’m going to sit over there. I might bring my homework, or my – my guitar, maybe.”

Namphueng watches him, his dear face. Her baby, all grown up. (Her baby, unrecognizable.)

Chay swallows nervously. “And, if you want to come sit with me, I’ll be right there. But if you don’t, that’s also okay.” He carefully folds her hands inside his own.

She can’t answer. But she can keep looking at him, and maybe he’ll think she can hear him.

Chay searches her face for any sign of understanding. He won’t find anything. (He can’t.) He slumps, disappointed, but the determination doesn’t leave his eyes.

“I’ll see you next week, Mae. I love you.” He rises to his feet, bends down to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. He smiles at her as he pulls away, waves before turning around.

Namphueng allows her gaze to follow him out. She keeps the rest of her face so, so still.

From behind her, Korn hums. “What a good son,” he says.

Namphueng empties her mind, blank as a sheet of fresh paper. She sees nothing, she hears nothing, she understands nothing. She unfolds her hands from her lap, reaches slowly for the paintbrush and turns back to the easel. She continues to layer color onto the canvas, black on black on black.

-

Namphueng has been endlessly dreaming. She can only tell because for the first time in years, she might finally be awake.

She thinks Korn has been drugging her. Well, no. She knows Korn has been drugging her. What she doesn’t know is whether he keeps her drugged to keep her healthy, or to keep her docile.

She doesn’t remember whether she’s sick or not. She should be more worried about the fact that she can’t remember, but she’s been sitting in that uncertainty for too long for it to matter anymore.

There is only one thing that matters, and that is this: everything Korn says could be a lie. It might be, it might not be. This is how it’s always been. And so, for her, everything in her small world is true and false, there and not there, real and unreal. It is paralyzing. Her paralysis keeps her safe. It is okay if she believes no truths, so long as she falls for no lies. She stands immobile, unalive and yet untouchable.

And then Porsche – her son, her dear son, who looks so beautiful and healthy and trapped just like her – crashes into her world. And suddenly, something here is real, and it is him. He brings Chay, her baby, and Chay is real too. Namphueng grips onto them tightly, for they are her anchor.

Her sons are the reason she is alive again, but she is the reason they have been dragged out to sea, and she wants nothing more than for them to be free.

The new thing that matters is this: she needs to remember why she is here.

-

Every Thursday, Chay comes to sit in her room. Every Thursday, she goes to sit with him.

The first few times, she can’t bring herself to do anything other than sit there and watch him. Chay doesn’t seem to mind. Chay smiles sweetly at her for doing nothing.

Later, she brings her sketching pad with her, sketches pages and pages of birds as Chay observes, fascinated. “Mae, you’re so good,” he says, sitting at her knee like he might have done as a child. “Hia always said. I used to look at your sketchbooks all the time, when I was little.”

Namphueng imagines herself smiling, gently patting at Chay’s hair.

“Do you think – do you have more sketchbooks now? Where do you keep your art?” Chay says. He doesn’t sound like he expects her to answer, but he does look around the room as if he might find a hint somewhere.

She doesn’t keep her art. Korn does.

Namphueng deftly adds more fluid lines to the paper, fleshes out a raised wing, smudges it a bit at the edges to give it an air of motion. Then she carefully grabs hold of the paper, slowly tears the page out of the sketchbook.

She looks at it for a moment. Then she hands it to Chay.

“For me?” he says, eyes delighted. He takes the page from her with something like reverence, smooths at the edges with his fingers. “Thank you, Mae.” He beams, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth.

Namphueng looks down again, starts a fresh sketch.

Later, when Chay leaves, Namphueng watches as the guard stationed outside the door motions for the sketch Namphueng gave him, scrutinizes the front and the back, takes a picture of it before letting Chay have it back.

Namphueng lets the rage inside her swirl, for just a brief moment, before it settles.

-

She can’t figure out how Korn gets the drugs into her. Oh, there are the ones she gets handed to her in pill form, the ones she takes every day under a nurse’s watchful eye. But then there are the ones that are in her food. Or her water. Or the air. The ones that keep her head foggy, her thoughts trapped inside a bubble of haze.

She stopped eating once (maybe twice) to see if the haze would fade. Korn had her strapped to a table and intubated within days. “You need to eat, Namphueng,” he said softly, hovering above her.

She has a theory. Most days, Korn keeps her deaf and dumb, a pleasant crystal figurine in his collection. But she does feel the haze lift sometimes. And when this happens, Korn suddenly spends more time with her, invites her to indulge in a glass of bourbon or a game of chess.

She thinks that Korn doesn’t prefer the hollow shell he’s made her into. She thinks that he lightens up on the drugs occasionally to catch a glimpse of who she used to be, before sending her back down under again.

So the next time she finds herself playing chess with him, she reminds herself - no food, for the next few hours. No water, if she can help it. And then maybe she’ll have enough time with her own thoughts, the capacity to order them into something sharp she can remember once she eats again.

She lies on the couch afterwards, stares up at the dim ceiling. She doesn’t remember everything. But she prys at the tangle in her head, pushes through to search for a way forwards.

-

Every Wednesday, she starts working on a miniature. A tiny bird, perched on a branch, sat on a windowsill, pecking at the ground. Black on white only, harsh lines flicking to the edges of the tiny square of paper.

She finishes one every Thursday, and then she gives it to Chay.

Chay always takes them with the most beautiful smile, tucks them away inside his school books. “I’m going to put them up on the wall in my room,” he says. “Just line them up, and then I can look at them every morning.”

Sometimes, on Thursdays, Porsche comes too. The first time he sees her hand one of the birds to Chay, he yelps in mock-offense, smacks at Chay’s shoulder. “Have you been getting one every week? And you didn’t tell me to come?”

Chay raises an eyebrow at him. “Hia, but you’re busy,” he says.

Porsche’s face crumples, just a bit. “I wish I weren’t,” he says. “I want to be here every time.”

Chay reaches over, hugs Porsche to his side. “I know. It’s okay.”

Namphueng is endlessly glad that they had each other. That they weathered the storm together, came out of it intact. It kills her to know that they had to do so without her.

Or without Pat.

She shoves that thought down immediately. It’s worthless now.

“Mae,” Porsche says, pouts. “Can I have one?”

Of course, Namphueng thinks. She draws up a brilliant bird of red and orange, fire and flame. Of course he can have one. Everything she does now is for them.

-

One evening, Chay groggily takes the miniature from her before plopping down on the couch. “Mae,” he says through a yawn, “I’m sorry. I might nap, if that’s okay. I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

Namphueng watches as Chay curls up on the couch, pillow shoved awkwardly under his neck as he dozes off. She waits for him to fall into an uneasy sleep before she fetches a throw blanket for him, tucks it gently under his chin. Then she sinks to the floor between the couch and the table, knees folded to her chest, eyes fixed on Chay’s peaceful face.

Porsche finds them there like that, some time later. He sits down cross-legged on the floor next to her, leans in to press a feather-light kiss against Chay’s forehead, and then takes her hand and puts a second kiss there.

“It’s so good to see you together,” he says in a whisper. “I wish we could have had this all along.”

Porsche often talks to Namphueng as if she’s dead, as if he’s sitting at her gravestone and telling her all the things he never got to say to her. As if she’s not really there. She supposes it’s hard for him – harder than for Chay, for whom she is essentially a new person. And sometimes it’s hard for her to listen to him speak this way. (It’s a reminder that she isn’t really there, after all.) But it also makes it easier for her to say nothing.

“When things get better,” he says, eyes boring into hers, “I’ll have more power. And then I’m going to get you out of here, and we can all live together like we were supposed to.” He looks down at their clasped hands. “I’m going to make it happen.”

She adores him so fiercely, she almost can’t breathe with the intensity of it. He is so loving at his core, so willing to walk through fire for her. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. It will be so much more difficult than it should be. (Korn has to die. Korn has to die.)

It also tells her that, of her two sons, she’s chosen correctly. Porsche is too naive, too free with his words. She prays that Chay will have more restraint.

Porsche puts his head down next to Chay, sighs wearily as he closes his eyes.

She commits the image of the two of them to her memory, heads bent together in sleep. Her family, small and worn. This is what will keep her going.

-

Namphueng sets out an array of supplies on the table in front of Chay, picks up the paint with a brush and swishes out a black flower with a few quick strokes, blowing at it gently to let it dry. Then she picks up a new brush, dips it in the water and swirls it in her palette, coats the hairs in black watercolor pigment - and with sharp flicks of her hand, covers the entire flower up in a mass of black.

Chay peeks over, curious. “What are you doing?” he asks.

Namphueng stares at the paper, waiting for the water on the paper to pool and settle. Then she picks up a cloth and dabs at the painting, lets the cloth soak up the water and the pigment, revealing the flower in stark contrast under the lighter burst of gray left behind from the watercolor.

“Woah,” Chay says.

Namphueng looks at him, continues to look at him until he meets her eyes. My child, she thinks to herself. Do you understand?

Chay looks back, surprised. She doesn’t normally make eye contact with him, so he’s not used to it. But he holds it, doesn’t nod his head or tilt it in confusion or say anything. She can see him thinking – and then he looks away, absently starts on his homework again.

When he leaves, Namphueng gives him the picture of the flower, slightly warped from the water. She breathes out softly, shakily, as she watches the guard take a picture of it. She wills her heartbeat to slow. What’s done is done.

She’s taken the first step. She hopes desperately that it will pay off.

-

(Chay walks back to his room at a normal pace, shuts the door softly behind him and sits down heavily on his bed. Looks at the row of birds on his wall, carefully pinned up in order along a taut string, dimly lit by the sole lamp in the room.

He goes to the bathroom, picking up a paper towel and dampening it, then returns to stand in front of the birds. He plucks the first one off of the line, tells himself that it’s ok if he ruins this one, if this is a useless endeavor. Mae gave him so many more, after all.

Before he can second-guess himself, he puts the miniature down on the table, presses the towel over it for a long moment, then lifts it. He watches the pigment bleed away, revealing a different, darker paint underneath.

Rapidly, he pulls down the rest of the miniatures, taking care to maintain their order. He runs to the bathroom to get more fresh paper towels and a cup full of water. He continues to press them, starts to dry the ones that he’s already pressed, too scared that the inner paint will start bleeding too.

Once he’s done, he thuds down on his desk chair, staring at the miniatures in front of him. The horror settles over him, makes his heart thud in his ears and the edges of his vision blur and darken. His mind is whirring.

Mae is… Mae is awake. Mae can hear them. Mae is trying to talk to them.

The miniatures spell out a message.

IF I SPEAK

I DIE.)

-

day 1 - day 2 - day 3 - day 4 - day 5 - day 6 - day 7

[odetojeons]

No Better Canvas To Paint A Ruined Landscape — Lee Seokmin

request: hii can i request a sub!seokmin x dom fem reader?? you catch him touching himself and then he is super shy about it when you confront him!!<3

tags: soft dom and fem!reader, shy and sub!seokmin, cockring, orgasm control, light bondage, established relationship, praise kink, noona kink, semi-public sex (kind of?), snowballing, unprotected sex, blowjob, fluff at the end if you squint, seokmin being adorable, and potentially killing me with his cuteness

a/n: I’m a whore for sub seokmin. that’s all I have to say. definitely not alive after this. tbh this was my favorite tumblr smut until now all because seokmin. lee seokmin. yeah. bye.

word count: 7202

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Seokmin looks like he might combust into a thousand tiny Seokmins really soon.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You keep staring at him in interest, looking with an amused lifted eyebrow how his red face turns to the side to avoid your eyes like it’s some sort of plague. There’s a lonely drop of sweat running down his left temple, a hand coming to swap at it and freezing in the middle of the act when your eyes find each other, the blush creeping in his cheeks burning with an even darker shade as you watch fascinated the bob of his adam’s apple when Seokmin swallows nervously.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He jumps a little where he’s sitting when you nudge his feet with yours. Seokmin comically widens his eyes at you when you mouth “what’s going on?”, quick to shake his head what it seems like at least fifty times. A frown forms on your brows, your boyfriend being oddly nervous and suspicious is poking on your curiosity, especially when he excuses himself to the bathroom in a hurry.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You stare at his empty seat, the plate of food laying almost untouched on the table. It’s been a while since the both of you hosted a party on your house, so you wanted to make the experience good for your friends — and you know Seokmin does too, but for some reason he’s acting… whatever the way he’s acting —, having even put a lot of effort into dressing up for the occasion. Something must be wrong, so you excuse yourself from the friends who are sitting on the table and go through the little crowd, heading towards the bathroom.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seok-ah?” you ask softly where you stand right in front of the door. No answers. You knock again, this time a little bit louder. Maybe he didn’t listen to you, the music loud enough to shake you all the way to your bones. Again, no answers. Your frown worsens, gripping the handle and turning it just to be met with an empty bathroom. “Seokmin?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He’s not there, and okay, there's definitely something wrong. Seokmin sometimes tends to go through stuff you have no idea about because he keeps thinking he might bother you with his problems, and you just want him to know that you love him so much that it pains you more to see him suffering in silence than hearing him talking about it. Overall, Seokmin is the biggest overthinker ever, your sweet and shy boyfriend, a ball of sunshine despite his little defects you’re so fond of. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You go to the master bedroom, your last hope to where he must be as your house doesn’t have many rooms. Worry settles deep within your stomach thinking that Seokmin might be sick or something.

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He isn’t.

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Quite the opposite, actually. Seokmin is more than healthy.

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You were not even remotely prepared for what you find inside when you open the door of your room. Seokmin is standing in front of the old escritoire you bought from an antique store, one of his sprawled hands supporting the weight of his body on the desk and broad back dressed in a white social shirt, still turned to you as the music overlapped the sound of your arrival — everything normal at first, and you’re about to open your mouth to question if everything is alright with him when your eyes catch a movement.

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Seokmin’s arm is working on something really fast, hand going up and down, tiny, soft noises coming from him, and your mind goes blank when the realization that Seokmin is jerking off sinks deep within your core.

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There’s a shiver rocking on your body, head spinning.

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“Seokmin,” is what you say, monosyllabic and completely flabbergasted.

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Seokmin snaps his head so fast in your direction you think he might have broken his neck for a second, eyes widening right before he closes them very tightly and moans loud enough that makes you want to close the door in fear of someone listening, but you’re too stuck in the fact that Seokmin almost just came to even be able to move from your spot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“F-fuck,” he cries out, the grip he has around the base of his cock almost painful, probably there to hold his orgasm back. You’re stunt into silence as he scrambles desperately to hide his beloved friend back into his pants, struggling with the zipper in the process because the bulge is too big.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seokmin,” you say again, like it’s the only word that remains in your vocabulary. Your mouth goes dry, heat burning on your lower stomach when you look at the notebook in front of Seokmin and sees one of the videos you record to be his fap material when you’re not around, playing on the screen. But you are around. “What are you doing?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

It’s more than obvious what he’s doing. Even so, you still find yourself asking.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin still hasn’t turned around. You know he must be very embarrassed right now — who wouldn’t anyway —, if the blush spreading all the way down to his ears and neck is anything to go by. His body stiffens when a soft moan comes from the notebook speakers, hands reaching to close the video and the screen so fast he knocks some things off of the table and into the ground.

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“Turn around,” you tell him, finally finding enough strength to close the door and lock it. Seokmin flinches at the sound, shoulders tensing, but he remains unmoving. “Now.”

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He flinches again, this time because of the finality in your tone, leaving no spaces for objections. Seokmin then complies, turning his body to you like every movement pains him deep within the bones, hands coming to cover the front of his pants and head hung low in shame.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You take a sweet moment to admire Seokmin’s figure; his shirt is open until the third button, firm and red chest peeking out of it, sweat glistening his skin to a beautiful shade of gold, biceps looking like it would pop out of the sleeves of his social shirt and lips swollen, probably because he must have bitten them really hard. Fuck, your boyfriend is so hot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You lift a finger and crook it a few times towards yourself. He gets the message, coming closer lightning fast and stopping right in front of you, still refusing to look you in the eyes. You had enough of this attitude, spinning him around so his back could be against the door and cradling his chin between your fingers to tilt his head enough to look at you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Aren’t you going to answer?” you question with a pout, voice poisonously sweet. Seokmin’s shiver doesn’t go unnoticed by you, satisfaction licking on your lower stomach.

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“I— I-I’m, I was…” Seokmin mumbles intelligibly, a moan escaping his lips when your nails sink onto his shoulder and the darkness swimming in your eyes leaves his legs weak. He can’t shiver, needs to remain composed or else he might embarrass himself further, if that’s even possible, might make you realize the reason why he’s like this, might make him—

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin shivers.

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“‘M s-sorry.” he offers, hips bucking slightly when he hears your pleased hum.

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“Are you though, sunshine?” bodies pressing closer, you watch Seokmin’s arms twitch, not knowing if he’s allowed to touch you. You smile at that, biting at his lower lip. “You were so desperate to touch yourself you came here all alone and jerked off to one of my videos? You don’t seem very apologetic to me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He whines at your condescending tone, head hitting the door with a soft thud when you tilt his chin back to lick a hot stripe up his neck, pulling it to the previous position once you’re done teasing him a little. There’s a sound threatening to come out of you when you see how much want is written all over his face.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I-it’s because you look—” Seokmin’s sentence gets cut off in the middle when he feels the feather-like trace of your fingers on his hands that were still doing a very poor job of hiding the press of his cock to his pants. It brings tiny goosebumps all over his skin, Seokmin needing to take a deep breath before proceeding. “You look s-so hot with these clothes…”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your touch stills completely, and Seokmin’s heart might jump out of his thoracic cage any time soon, but even so he doesn’t stop talking.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“And, and t-the way you were dancing was just— j-just so fucking sexy,” he mumbles quietly, closing his eyes for a second like he’s remembering how you swayed your hips obscenely to the beat of the music earlier. A flash of a memory runs through your mind, Seokmin sitting on your couch, manspreading as he watches you with one of his legs moving up and down nervously. “Want to f-fuck you so bad.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah?” you tangle a hand on his hair, fisting it so you could pull his head backwards and pleasure yourself with the moan he gives you. Seokmin blinks at the ceiling, like he’s willing himself not to move. “My baby boy got hard watching me dance?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The pet name does something to him. It always does. Seokmin bucks his hips involuntarily, the front of his hands hitting your stomach as he ruts against his palms with such a whiny mewl you could swear you feel a punch to your lower stomach.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yes. So hard.” and his voice, so sweet and beautiful, makes your penties start to soak. His hot breath fans your face, chest heaving with the intensity of it. “I’m so hard for you, fuck.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You slap his hand away. Seokmin turns his head to look at you, eyes big like he has been caught doing something very wrong.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Lost your manners, sunshine?” grabbing at his wrists, you pry them away to take a better look at his bulge, finding endearing how his cheeks immediately go redder at that. It looks painful, the outline of his cock pressing tight against the fabric of his blue pants, and you try not to let the smugness seep through your voice when you notice a wet patch of precum on it. “You’re that desperate you even forgot how to ask?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You trap his hands behind his back; realistically, Seokmin could break free at any time he wants, with him being almost twice as bigger than you, but you know he wouldn’t do it because right now you got this kind of power over him that surrenders Seokmin putty, and it turns you on so much. He looks so good this way, back resting against the door, hips stuck to the front like he wants you to do something, eyes looking down at you with a hunger, a hunger to take what he wants already, but at the same time with an enormous amount of submission.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

And Seokmin is huge, not even just down there but in the rest of his body as well. Huge, thick thighs, huge chest, huge biceps; he is broad enough to tower over you even if the height difference wasn’t so big. And still, he chooses to give in to you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Everything about Lee Seokmin drives you insane.

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“Please…” he says, barely above a whisper. With the door closed, it was more than enough for you to be able to listen even through the loud music going on outside. “P-please.”

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“Please what?” you press further, fingers coming back to make a hot trail on his cock. Seokmin bucks forward a little, whining when you press a thumb on the cockhead.

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“Hmmm,” is all he answers, face burning with shame when he averts his eyes elsewhere. Seokmin knows very well what you want him to call you, it only happens when you’re feeling extra mean and horny, but he’s always so shy about it even if he has called you that more times than you can count.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Adorable.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You sigh, letting go of his cockhead and wrists to cradle his face with your hands, swallowing the frustrated cry he lets out with a kiss. Seokmin takes a few seconds to react, mind in haze with all of the electrifying horniness shocking his body, and then you feel his hands hold on your waist tight enough to leave marks. He moans, as if having your lips on his is the best reward he could ever ask for, and you yelp when Seokmin turns you both around and slams your back against the door. Seokmin kisses you rough, tongue pressing so hard on yours your head ends up hitting the door with a faint noise.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Fisting a hand on his hair, you hold onto it tight enough to make him hiss at the slight, but pleasurable pain. Seokmin is trying to take what he wants and you’re having none of that, using the hold on him to control the pace of the kiss and tilt his head to the place where you want it to go. You suck at his bottom lip, sinking your teeth in the plump flesh just so you could soothe it later with your tongue — and do that again, and again, and again. It doesn’t take long for him to be putty with your ministrations, knees buckling under his weight until he’s kneeling on the floor. You bend down slightly as he does so, kissing his breath away.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Look who’s getting all bold now,” you scoff when you part away, Seokmin’s eyes half lidded and swollen lips open to take big lungfuls of air. “Yeah, that’s right.”

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You stare down at him, the sight of your taller boyfriend on the floor making something evil twist in your belly.

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“Kneel for me like a good boy and I’ll let you fuck me like a bad one.”

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“Please,” Seokmin begs at that, moaning when he closes a hand around his cock. You tsk, grabbing his jaw tightly and squeezing it between your fingers. “Wanna come.”

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“Stop that before I decide to punish you,” you admonish, watching his eyes go wide for what it feels like the hundredth time this night and his hand falls uselessly on the side of his body. “Actually, you know what? Take your clothes off and lay on the bed.”

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Seokmin blinks a few times as if processing the order, walking over to the bed with trembling legs. He looks at you for some seconds, face burning red, and starts to unbutton his social shirt. You keep watching in silence, cooing at the cuteness of your boyfriend, right before the breath is punched right out of your lungs when his toned abs come into view. No matter how many times you see his body, it never fails to make you incredibly horny — the duality between his adorable face and the rest of him leaves you speechless. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You clear your throat when Seokmin covers his chest, embarrassed with being stared so attentively. Not your fault he’s so hot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Come here, sunshine,” you purr, sitting on the other side of the bed and patting on the space beside you. He nods a little as if telling himself to obey, hopping onto your side and laying on his back after he finishes taking off his shoes. “Take your pants off too.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

This time Seokmin complies faster. It must hurt a lot, seeing the big bulge down there, and his fingers fumble to undo the button and the zipper so fast you’re surprised he didn’t hurt himself in the process, taking his pants and boxers completely off and throwing somewhere neither of you care. Seokmin’s hard cock slaps against his belly with a soft sound, smearing precum on his lower stomach. It’s an angry shade of red for being denied for so long, the wet mushroom tip making your mouth water as his hips kick upwards with the sheer need of touching it.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin looks at you with big, expecting eyes.

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“Seems like you were so desperate you couldn’t even hold yourself back from jerking off like a horny teenager,” you start, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Seokmin visibly trembles when you pull away, rummaging through your nightstand’s drawer to find what he knows very well it’s a cockring. “So why don’t you do exactly that for me? And maybe, if you put on a good show, I will let you come.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin stares at the golden thing between your fingers and swallows, taking it when you hand it to him. He looks at the ring like it’s a dessert — you know how he loves being edged even if he won’t admit it, enjoys being denied just so the sensation of his orgasm could be bigger later —, closing a fist around his cock and pumping it a few times before slidding the ring down until it fits tightly at the base. Seokmin’s needy moan drowns your own, sounds like music to your ears, hips thrusting into his hand and he can’t possibly hold himself back.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Hgnnn, fuck,” he whines, pace fast where he does up and down movements on his cock. You lick your lips, mouth salivating with the size of Seokmin’s length. He’s so big, the thickness of him being so much it pleasantly hurts to suck him off, and it doesn’t help that he has such beautiful, veiny hands. “F-fuck, feels so, ah, so good.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin’s eyes catch yours looking at him like he’s a whole banquet being served just for you, the want and darkness in your eyes surrendering him into a shy mess. He blushes furiously, arm coming up to hide his face from embarrassment and legs pressing together to try and cover his cock — of course it doesn’t hide, Seokmin is too huge and too hard for that.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Don’t do that, sunshine,” you admonish, cooing when he shakes his head. Fingers closing gently around his wrist, you pry his arm away to take a better look at your shy boyfriend. You smile at him, endeared with his cuteness. “Let me see you being beautiful for me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Y-yeah?” Seokmin murmurs, and you nod at him, fingers teasing on his nipple. His back arches softly, eyes closing and a whimper escaping through his swollen lips.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah,” you echo, too entranced on his noises to possibly think straight. Big breaths; you will your impatience down, wanting to see Seokmin pleasuring himself some more. “Such a big cock. Makes me want to suck you off until my mouth hurts.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The lewd sound Seokmin lets out to that punches a moan straight out of you, fucking up into his own hand as if your words were the ones doing so. He presses a thumb on his cockhead, spreading the precum all over the tip and slipping his fist further down when he concludes it’s wet enough. Seokmin writhes on the bed, unable to contain the hot surge of pleasure coursing through his veins. His free hand flies to his left nipple, pinching it with more strength than you thought he would — it makes his whole body tremble, head sinking back into the soft pillows and fingers letting go of the red bud to squeeze the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Please, ah, p-please, wanna— W-wanna cum so bad,” Seokmin begs, wants your hands on him. Of course it’s smaller than his own, but you know how to flick your wrists just right to make him feel good, and he needs that right now. If they were your fingers, they would warp perfectly around his cock, even if they didn't close all the way around it as you stroke him. Or maybe you’d tease him a little, as you sometimes do to him when you want to be a little mean. It always pulls the sweetest and loudest whines from Seokmin, you saying that his reactions are cute. “Touch me, please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I am touching you,” you tell him with a pout, referring to the caress you’re doing on his biceps. You chuckle when he makes a frustrated groan at your retort, knowing very well how you’re going to be today.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin doesn't say anything else — knows it won’t make you touch him anytime sooner —, breath hitching and hips shuddering with pleasure. He continues to slowly rub his finger over the flushed head of his cock in teasing little pats. There’s a bit of squirming on the bed, Seokmin trying to grasp on his own memory the sensation of your hands on him, playing with his thickness with a tiny smirk on your lips and it’s like you enjoy seeing him writhe around in desperation. Seokmin opens his eyes to find you with that exact same expression, moaning when he fucks up into his hand again after he fists his cock, panting heavily.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin lets out a soft cry of relief, knows he should be more invested in putting on a show for you than concentrating on his own pleasure, but you love anything he does anyway. Also, it’s not like he has enough patience to hold himself back, has been hard for such a long time his balls may even start to turn purple soon.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

So he plants his feet on the bed, hips kicking faster, rougher, moans high and wanton as he fucks his own hand. Seokmin watches you intensely, how you look so good with those clothes, lips swollen from the kissing and dark eyes lusting for him. He thinks about your mouth on his cock, how you look so pretty with the girth inside it and holding his hips down when Seokmin thrashes around, too desperate to cum down your throat to stop himself.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your imagination works on something similar as you enjoy Seokmin falling apart right beside you. What would be his reaction if you pressed your feet on his cock where he sat across the table almost an hour ago? Would Seokmin keep talking with his friends, disguising the way his breath would turn shaky and unsteady? Would he pretend that his girlfriend isn’t rubbing him off right then and there, regardless of who could hear or see the obscene noises of him moaning or the way you move your feet on him?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You would love if I touched you right there under the table, wouldn’t you?” you purr your thoughts out, watching the pad of his fingers play with his nipples. Seokmin has always been sensitive there, and honestly it turns you on so much. He nods fast at your question as he pinches the bud, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. “But instead of telling me, you went to our room and jerked off to one of my videos without asking for permission.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin turns his face away, cheeks burning at what you’ve said. You weren’t exactly talking about the video when you said permission, but rather him touching himself. He knows very well he needs to ask you before doing so.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin is nearly on the cusp, but knows he won’t trip over and orgasm solely because of the cockring. It makes him almost cry from frustration, hand jerking himself off furiously and it’s always like he’s on edge, unable to come but the pleasure high enough to make him think that he will. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I-I didn’t want to, hmmm, ruin y-your party.” Seokmin admits with a small cry, not wanting you to look at his face right now. He struggles to gather words, mind in a haze from neediness. “‘M sorry— s-sorry, please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Awwww, my sweet baby boy. You’re not ruining anything.” you coo, cradling his face between your hands and turning it towards you, his eyes still not meeting yours even so. You caress his blushed cheek with your thumb, pecking his lips one time and noticing how Seokmin shivers beautifully at the pet name, hand still working fast and rough on his cock. “Honestly, watching you fall apart for me is way better than any party.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin is visibly affected by the affirmation, head sinking further into the pillow and hips twitching where they thrust up into his fist.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So beautiful for me, so stunning, my pretty baby boy.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Fuck, and he can’t take it.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Noona,” Seokmin moans out, shame twisting his gut along with pleasure, but it feels so good to see what the name does to you that he suddenly is not so embarrassed anymore. “Please, please t-touch me—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck, Seokmin,” a hand grabs at his jaw, your body trembling with the need sinking deep within your bones. It’s so fast your mind spins and for a moment you think you might pass out with all the blood surging down to your core. “Shit, call me that again, baby. Come on.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“N-Noona— Noona, please, I’ve b-been good,” Seokmin begs, writhing all over the bed, and you think he might start crying very soon if you don’t give him what he wants. “I-I’ve been so good, ah, just— J-just give me what I want, p-please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So fucking good for me,” you moan, getting on top of his thighs and kissing him stupid. Seokmin lies plient underneath you, pace not even faltering. If anything, it became faster, the little kicks of his hips making you bounce on his lap. “Want you inside me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin grabs your waist at that, but you only hold onto his wrists and pin them down beside his head. You move up on his lap until you’re sitting on his hard cock, the wetness of your folds seeping through your panties only serving to remind you how you’re still with your clothes on.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“God, look at you,” there’s a whine, and you’re not sure who lets out, you or him. You move your hips over his cock, like you’re riding it, and the stimulation on your needy cunt makes you squeeze Seokmin’s arms bruisingly tighter. “So desperate… I wanna do really bad things to you.” 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“T-tease me—” Seokmin starts, words being drowned on a choked out moan, and it has you stunt, him saying something like that since he’s usually more quiet in the bedroom. At least when he’s not crying or pleading, of course. “Tease me until I’m begging for it.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The smile you give him is dirty and dark, nearly a sneer, and he throws his head back. If there’s one thing you love about Seokmin is how he enjoys submitting to you. He feels pleasure on letting go as much as you feel taking over, especially knowing that if he wanted to, he could manhandle you right now, push your face on the bed, pull your ass up and fuck you until you cry. But Seokmin won’t. He doesn’t want to. He loves having you on top of him, teasing him, touching him, ordering him around.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah? Fuck, such a dirty baby boy,” you roll your hips to emphasize your point, basking in the way he writhes so beautifully underneath you. So ready to be torn apart and pieced back together later. Seokmin presses back, moving himself obscenely. “Stay still.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Reaching to the nightstand again, you move your hand blindly there until you’re able to pull a soft blue silk from the drawer. Seokmin widens his eyes at it, gulping at the implications behind the fabric.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You’re not obeying me today,” you admonish. To be honest, you would rather get the ropes or the cuffs that are in the wardrobe, but your own impatience and desperation ends up winning and choosing what’s closer. “Touching yourself without my permission, not begging properly, trying to take what you want and now… You can’t even do something as simple as staying still?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“N-Noona, Noona,” is all he’s able to say, body shaking from wanton. Seokmin let’s you pass the silk through his wrists with practiced ease and ties them up together, and then at the headboard. This way his arms are restricted, biceps bulging due to the position. “I’ll be g-good. I’ll be your— y-your good boy, please—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you tell him instead, fisting his hair and yanking his head backwards. You kiss his chin, parting away to finally take your clothes off.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin stares all the way through it, dark eyes drinking the sight of your naked body, the faint sound of the music adding to both of your fuels like a dirty soundtrack.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Like what you see?” you tease with a raised eyebrow, smiling at the way his cheeks turn red.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck yes,” Seokmin answers even so, wrists pulling at the silk trapping them as if he’s trying to break free and touch you. The sincerity in his voice makes you blush softly. “Y-you’re so hot, Noona. Can’t believe I have you all for myself.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s something possessive burning at his eyes that has butterflies dancing on your lower stomach. You suck a deep breath, leaning down to capture his lips on yours. It’s far too messy for your own good but you don’t really care, wanting nothing more than to kiss the breath out of Seokmin’s lungs.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You succeed, pleasure swelling up in your insides when you have him panting, mind in a haze and chest heaving uncontrollably. He lies there, pliant for you as you lick one of his nipples. The reaction is immediate, Seokmin’s hips kicking up and his hard cock consequently slipping between your chest. A shiver rocks all over his body, your teeth biting at the red bud and sucking at it until his voice gets an octave higher and so, so sweet it makes you moan.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You bring your free hand to thumb at the other nipple, tongue doing circles all over it. Seokmin is desperate, thrashing on the bed as if he’s being electrocuted. You bite harder for good measure, snatching at his waist with a firm grip and pining it back down on the mattress.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So sensitive, my cute baby boy” you appreciate with a hum, making sure to press your chest onto his overwhelmed cock. It’s painted in an angry shade of red now, the veins protruding against the length. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s spit obscenely connecting your mouth to his nipple, and the realization coils heat on your blood and pumps arousal all over.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“People might hear you if you don’t keep it down, you know?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

What you’re not expecting is how he tenses at that, muscles contracting, back arching off of the bed and hips stuttering where it fucked his cock between your chest. Seokmin moans, so loud you instinctively put a hand over his mouth to make him quieter. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

When his body falls limp again, the room is full of silence, other than the sound of his labored breath filling the air after you let go of him. You’re completely quiet though, still processing what just happened, head spinning.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You came,” it wasn’t a question, the scene that just unfolded in front of you being enough confirmation to your suspicions. “You just had a dry orgasm.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your tone was full of amusement and unbelievaness. You can’t quite grasp that fact; it’s not the first time he has used a cockring, but it’s the first time Seokmin actually was able to come with it on and also being barely touched. Laughing incredulously, you trail a finger down his still hard cock, watching him squirm violently underneath you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“W-wait, Noona, I—” his words get cut off by his own moan when you take the cockring off, throwing it somewhere in the room as you hurry to fetch yet another thing from your nightstand. “Ah, f-fuck, I j-just came, N-No— Noona—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You close a fist on him after pouring lube on his cock, watching in pure ecstasy the look of bliss turn into one of frustration. You feel Seokmin’s body twitch to the touch of your hand and react heavily as you keep going, with no remorse, slicking his cock up and flicking your wrist faster and faster.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” you tell him. It’s overwhelming, really, but nothing could ever top the sensation of your fingers around him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

It makes Seokmin’s brain fuzzy, and it’s too much, his cock already sensible from his recent orgasm, but at the same time he wants to squirm away, he feels the mind numbing pleasure sink deep within his bones. Seokmin moans louder, pulling at the fabric binding his wrists in place, and shaking violently on the bed.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Ah! Fuck! Noona… f-fuck… ahh—” he pleads, swollen lips trembling, abs contracting and relaxing, the blushing red running all the way down to his chest, and legs kicking when he tries to get out of your grip because it feels so damn torturously good. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You take it all in, the burn of arousal lighting a flame on your lower stomach. All mine. You lick at your bottom lip, letting out a soft whine as Seokmin whimpers high in his throat, his hips moving, back arching, head thrown back — beautiful and yours.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Want me to stop, sunshine? Then say your safeword,” Seokmin groans at your remark, feeling tears well up in his eyes, body writhing out of control. He moans again, shaking his head a no as he humps his hips up into your hand.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“A-ah! Ah! Noona… ah! Hgnnn, Noona, p-please…” he begs, hands trembling and he actually thinks he might go crazy soon.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Dirty boy, had a dry orgasm even with a cockring just from thinking people might hear you,” you say, tone soft and gentle despite your ministrations. “Should have tied you up there, on the chair, and overstimulated you in front of everyone else.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You press a thumb on his cockhead, so hard you see a tear finally run down his cheek. Seokmin looks beautiful like this. So beautiful.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Almost came earlier from being caught jerking off too,” you add, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “My sunshine is a little bit of an exhibitionist, isn’t he?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The fight has already left him, leaving Seokmin a stuttering mess. He only moans and shakes his head and pleads and you actually feel a little bad for the cry he breathes out when you let go of his cock. It’s short livid though, the hurry to rearrange yourself and sit on his lap making you almost fall on him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin doesn’t comment on your desperation though, doesn’t even have the strength to, and watches you line him up against your soaking cunt like you’ll die if you don’t get to ride him until sunset, the party long forgotten.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Need you inside, need you,” you moan as you sink on his cock. Today morning you fucked, Seokmin hugging you and thrusting inside you lazily when he was spooning you just after you woke up, but it still feels almost like too much, the stretch of his cock splitting you open leaving you gaping. “So damn big.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You open your eyes — don’t even know when you closed them — finding the prettiest view you could ever have. Seokmin’s fingers turned white from how hard he’s gripping the fabric around his wrists, and you think for a second that he might break the headboard, if the way he’s pulling at the silk is anything to go bye. The sweat goldens his skin, a gorgeous contrast with the redness tinting his face, neck and the beginning of his chest. And it’s stunning, really, his eyebrows frowned from pleasure, tears in the corner of his eyes and lips swollen from all the rough kissing.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There is no better canvas to paint a ruined landscape than Lee Seokmin.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He gasps, throwing his head back when you lift yourself up until only the tip of his cock is inside, and slam yourself back down, pelvis flush against Seokmin’s. You fall in a comfortable rhythm from there on; riding him like a pro, making sure to clench as tight as you can just to see him sob and plead and beg for whatever it is that you’re in the mood or willing to give him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“G-god— I l-lo—” he tries, struggling to get words out with the way he’s bouncing on the bed with the force of your hips fucking down of his cock. “I love— I love y-you, N-Noona, Noona, fuck—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seokmin,” you moan, holding his face between your hands. It’s barely a kiss when you lean in to smash your lips on his, more like a moment in which your breath mingles with his and you both become one.  “Seok-ah, Seokminnie, sunshine— you sound so, so pretty and sweet, my beautiful baby boy. I love you so much.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“U-untie, please,” Seokmin cries out, pulling harder at the restraints. “Wanna t-tou— ah, touch you, please, I have— h-have been so good—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You’re always good, baby,” you reassure him, reaching out with fumbling fingers to undo the knot on his wrists. “Come on, sunshine. Fuck me as hard as you can.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your brain can’t even process what happens as soon as he’s free; there are big hands on your hips, Seokmin planting his feet on the bed and fucking up inside you so hard you’re not able to support yourself up, body falling limp on top of his. He’s moaning by your ear now, so high and affected, and you think you can actually feel the spit running down from the corner of his mouth and sticking to your shoulder.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“S-shit, shit, Seokmin,” you whimper, louder than you ever had this night, can’t even rock your hips back because Seokmin is holding you tight and pulling you down on his cock, pace brutal and unrelenting. “You’re s-so desperate, fuck.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wanna cum, w-wanna cum,” he keeps saying, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You feel his lips there, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting at it in a weak attempt to muffle his moans. Seokmin has always been the most vocal between the two of you, but you know it’s useless at this point, the people in your house probably know what is going on by now. “P-please, please, Noona, Noona— Want— N-need—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Before you can even answer him, the chant of “Noona, Noona, Noona” leaving his lips like a prayer has your orgasm hitting you suddenly. Your whole body tenses, muscles contracting tightly as the mind numbing sensation washes all over you, and you don’t know how much time you spend coming but when you come back to yourself Seokmin is still fucking you like it’s the last thing he will ever do.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You put a trembling hand on his chest and use the other free one to grab at his wrist, signaling for him to stop. At that, Seokmin starts crying. Like really crying.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“N-no— Let m-me come, let me— L-let me come, please, please, please,” he begs, and you coo at him. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you peck his lips gently, wiping the cascading tears with your thumbs. “I want you to come on my face. Can you do that for me, hm, sunshine?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin stares at you with big wide eyes and you think you might die from how cute he is. He nods what it seems like a hundred times.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Words,” you remind him with a soft, calm voice, and smile when he answers a meek yes, please. “Good boy.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin blushes, sniffing a little and lifting his upper body up to have a better view of your lips descending on his cock. You kiss the tip one time, giving it a kittenish lick, and suckle at it hard enough to prove the salty taste of precum, not wanting to tease him more since he has been so good. Seokmin shivers, hips contorting on the bed, and you feel pride swell inside you when you realize he’s trying to stay still. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You give his thigh a gentle pat, licking at the underside of his cock and bobbing your head a few times. You grab at the base of his length, slaps it on your tongue and look up at Seokmin. A small part of you gets embarrassed with the way he’s watching you so intently, but it’s quickly replaced with a burning need to see him coming.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“G-gonna cum, cum, I-I’m— I’m coming, shit, fuck, hgnnn, N-Noona—” you hum at his cries, the last warning you give him before reaching up and taking one of his nipples between your fingers; you twist it as hard as you can, and then he’s coming.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin moans, more like screams, and he arches forward, fingers flying to grab your hair so hard it hurts a little. There’s cum shooting out of his cock, your hands helping him out as the white ribbons fly across your face. Most of it lands on your mouth, some on your lashes and cheeks, some on his thighs and abs, and some even end up hitting your hair.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The thing is that Seokmin doesn’t stop coming. His hips keep twitching, cock slipping and he thrusts on your face, unable to keep himself still as he rides his orgasm. After what seems like a good few minutes of him coming, Seokmin falls limp on the bed, his eyes closed, chest heaving with his labored breath, and looking completely fucked out.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You’re quick to kiss him, his tongue pushing against yours when he tastes the leftover of his orgasm. His hips kick miserably, a little bit of come sliding down his softening cock.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Holy shit,” is what he says after a few minutes of silence, laughing weekly. You follow Seokmin, laying down beside him as you do so. “I think that was the best orgasm of my life.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I think so too,” you agree, Seokmin moving his body to lay on his side and take a better look at you. He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, his heart eyes making butterflies dance on your stomach. The fact that he’s looking at you like that even so you’re dirty with come, sweat and possibly spit makes you want to marry him. “So, you have an exhibitionism kink.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The affirmation seems to have caught him off guard, his cheeks warming up adorably as he coughs. You giggle when Seokmin tries to turn his back on you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I hate you,” he mumbles with a pout.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Nah, you don’t,” you dismiss, and you’re right, he doesn’t. He could never. “Maybe we should try that out later?”

��� ⠀ ⠀

“Try what?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Me tying you up in a chair and making you come in front of everyo—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Shut up!” Seokmin laughs and yells at the same time, hitting a pillow on you. You just grab it and throw it somewhere in the room. “You’re dirty.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So is you,” you add with a smile. Seokmin turns around and pulls you by the waist.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah,” he admits, hugging you tightly. It should be disgusting considering both of your conditions, but it only feels right. “Only dirty for you.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You scoff, mortified.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Now you shut up,” you swat at his — incredibly big and hot — arm, his giggles making all types of things to your heart. “Fucking sap.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Hmm hmm,” Seokmin hums, and looks at you like that again. Full of love and respect and content, and there’s no better feeling than this. Together. With him. “A complete sap.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

[marsbutterfly]

Hello dear ! Can I request an Imagine where Hanji and her girlfriend get married ? They both decided to get married before the battle of Shiganshina because they were afraid of not coming back alive (they came back alive) . The ceremony is very beautiful and joyful and since reader no longer has a family, Erwin offers to accompany her to the altar.

(I have this personal headcanon that whenever a member of the scouts is getting married, Historia will always be the one who celebrate this union)

(I'm the one who send you a message about a cute imagine with Hanji)

Take care ❤

I Hear A Symphony

Summary: Previous to the mission to retake Shiganshina, you decide to tie the knot with Hanji before it's too late.

Wattpad! | AO3! | |◁ II ▷|

Warnings: None.

As you sit through this meeting, Commander Erwin’s voice goes in through one ear and leaves out the other. Your mind wanders away to the soft hand touching yours underneath the table.

Your heart palpitates as Hanji’s fingertips softly brush against your skin. It’s a feeling you’ve known all too well but still haven’t gotten used to. She traces your veins without taking her eyes off of the whiteboard sitting ahead of you.

Trying to focus on the blonde man’s words, the only sentence you can pay attention to is "The mission to retake Wall Maria will succeed". But the excitement that courses through your veins isn’t from that but rather from the event that will take place later that day.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down but you can feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“That’s all for today.” The tall man standing in front of everyone says, focusing his eyes on the massive pile of papers standing in front of him.

Sadly but quickly, you remove Hanji’s hand from yours, a sad expression taking over her features. Trying to cheer her up, you flash her a bright smile and gently hand her a half-opened book, a small piece of paper marking a specific page.

“I’ll see you later!”

Before she has time to respond, a hand grabs your wrist and drags you towards the other side of the now mostly empty room.

The man standing in front of you seems nervous for the first time since you’ve met him, his hand has a subtle tremble to it and you smirk, looking down at your feet while gathering up the courage to ask him for a favor.

“Commander, would you...” You ask, tilting your head slightly to the right. He raises his hand as a sign of interruption and takes a deep breath while shyly looking around the room, making sure no one can hear him.

“Y/N, would you give me the honor of accompanying you down the aisle today?” He says, taking one of your hands on his. The smile on his face is genuine and you can’t help but smile in return.

“Of course. Other than Hanji, you are the closest thing to family I have left.” You reply and you feel as his long arm wraps around your body. Your head rests on his chest and your arms are wrapped around his shoulders. “We grew up together, Erwin.”

“You used to collect butterflies.” He says, his hand playing with your hair and you snort.

“And you used to wear that stupid vest.” You reply and he laughs, a contagious sound that brings out a laughter of your own.

A knock on the door breaks you away from the moment and you look around to find a very nervous Moblit holding a clipboard close to his chest as if his life depended on it. He looks at the clock resting above the mantle.

“Y/N, you need to come with me so you can start getting ready,” Moblit says, sweat dripping down his forehead as he looks at the clock once again.

Erwin’s arm falls to the side of his body, letting you go in the process. He tilts his head towards the door signaling that it is time for you to leave. You plant one kiss on his cheek as a token of your appreciation and Moblit quickly takes your hand, dragging you out of the room.

“Moblit, you don’t need to grab me so tightly.” You say, trying to get him out of the zone he currently is in, “I won’t run away”

He shakes his head, finally releasing your arm and you gently massage the harmed area. Alongside the nervousness in his eyes, there is now a hint of concern and you can tell his intention was not to hurt you, on your wedding day much less.

“I’m sorry, I just have to make sure everything is perfect today.” He says and before you have time to respond, a soldier walks in between the two of you. His actions show you how apologetic he is so you decide not to say anything.

“Sir, the flowers are ready but Sasha keeps trying to steal the food from the buffet.” The soldier says and Moblit sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose. While he deals with the situation, you feel yet another hand pulling you but in a much gentler manner this time.

You don’t have time to complain. The sweet perfume of the figure ahead of you lets you know exactly who they are and you can’t help but smile. It had been months since the last time you had seen Historia and spending time with her had always been one of your favorite things.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing here?” You ask quietly, not wanting to give away her location in case she had sneaked past her guards yet again. “Shouldn’t you be at the church getting the blessed cloth?”

“It’s all ready for the ceremony!” She says, the excitement in her voice is undeniable but still so quiet. “I just had to come and see how you are doing today.”

“Nervous but in a good way.” You say, a smile on your face, and she giggles, wrapping her small arms around your torso.

“I can’t wait to officiate your wedding!” She exclaims, a few excited jumps following closely behind, “You are the first of my friends to get married. I am so happy for you!”

“I know, I love Hanji and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with her.” You claim, a hint of sadness present in your voice, “Even if it won’t be for much longer.”

“Stop it! You both will come back and Shiganshina will be saved thanks to all of your efforts.” She replies, nuzzling her face against your breasts in a caring manner.

Your conversation is, unfortunately, cut short when a very concerned Levi knocks on the door. He is under the impression that Hanji is the one you are talking to and kicks down the wooden surface, a bath scrub in his hand while a cap covers his hair.

“Where is your fiancee?” He asks, looking at you dead in the eye. A chill travels down your spine and you shrug your shoulders, unable to provide him with an answer. It takes a second but he finally believes you and resumes his search elsewhere.

By the time he is gone, a guard has caught on that Historia is missing and begins to scream her name around the castle causing her to immediately run away giggling, the amusement she feels is undeniable.

You take a deep breath, finally being able to make your way towards the area where your makeup would be applied. The artist awaits for you patiently and you shoot her a smile, silently thanking her for her time.

“Are you ready?” She asks as you are sitting down and so you nod.

The gentleness of the brushes against your skin is nearly enough to lull you to sleep but the anxiety you are feeling is much greater. You close your eyes, allowing her to work on your eyelids with a gentle pink shadow.

Her strokes are precise yet delicate much like the claps of a butterfly’s wings. The artificial blush spreads across your cheek giving your already beautiful skin a much more elegant look.

Once she is ready to apply the lipstick, you open your eyes and finally see yourself in the mirror. You can’t contain the smile that comes out and you gently begin to analyze every feature on your face, delighted with the result.

“And you’re done!” She says and you thank her for her time.

When the makeup artist leaves, another woman enters the room: the hairstylist. When she asks for what you would like, a blank canvas comes to your mind and nothing comes out so instead, you ask her to surprise you.

She decides to not do anything too adventurous so she simply braids your hair, a simple yet elegant hairstyle perfect for your wedding day. And the best part is that the veil would fit perfectly.

You thank her for the time she has spent with you and she exits the room, leaving you all alone with your thoughts.

This is it. The big day you have been dreaming about since you were little and the best part is that, from now on, you will be able to share your life with the person you have loved since you became a part of the Cadet Corps.

Before you have to get into your dress, you make a very important decision.

"I want to go see Hanji!" you say to yourself, glancing out of the window. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you are alone and can come and go as you please. A smile appears on your face as you get out of the chair, excitement rushing through your veins as you hear your shoes touching the floor.

Before you can make it to the room where she is, a pair of hands drags you back to your chamber, “It’s bad luck to see each other so close to the ceremony. I’m sorry but you’ll have to stay here.”

You frown, crossing your arms much like a child throwing a tantrum but all your behavior does is earn an honest laugh from Mikasa. “You’ll see each other in less than an hour, it’s time to put your dress on.”

Tightly, you clutch your hands shut in an attempt to stop them from shaking. Your mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert while the soft cloth of the dress makes its way past your torso, slowly sliding down to its designated place.

The white silk fits you perfectly and you feel like bursting into tears but decide against it when you realize it would ruin your makeup. One glance in the mirror was enough to let you know that this is the dress of your dreams.

“You look perfect!” Sasha says, her mouth stuffed with a potato Moblit gave her to keep her away from the buffet table.

“Now all that is left is the veil,” Eren says, slowly placing it on your head. You smile at them, tears shining brightly in your eyes.

Mikasa hands you a red bouquet, a few of the petals gently fall against your hand towards the ground, forming a path through the places you walk past.

One after the other, the younger soldiers make their way towards Queen Historia before taking their designated spots for the ceremony and that is when your eyes land on her.

She has a white suit on with a red tie matching the flowers in your hands. Her hair is in a high ponytail and it looks clean, giving you the impression that Levi successfully managed to bathe her.

Your heart beats at 100 mph and you feel like it is going to come right up your throat. Your nerves are only soothed when Erwin’s hand touches your shoulder, he presents you his right arm and you happily take it.

It’s time to walk down the aisle.

.

"Do you know what time it is?" you face her with a bright smile hoping she would catch on and realize what you have in mind.

"Around 21:47" She replies and you frown at her, realizing she has not caught on to what you were hoping for. “We have another important day tomorrow, you should go to sleep.”

"Ok first of all, how do you know that, you don't even have a watch." you shake your head at her, making your way towards the chair she's sitting on. Your cold hand touches the warm skin on her chin, her eyes meeting yours as you continue to flash her an even brighter smile,

“Second of all?” She asks.

"Second of all, you should come to bed with me, staying up so late is not good for you, you might run into... Levi." you whisper his name as if it was forbidden, her laugh fills your ears as she puts her papers down.

"You have a point there, Y/N. So, what time is it?"

"It's cuddle time with your wife!” You reply and Hanji nods, picking you up in her arms while taking you towards the bed.

The very next day, the Battle For Shiganshina began. Many lives were lost: Moblit, Erwin, nearly every single recruit. Levi had been stuck in his office since returning, he plans on going back there and recovering Erwin’s remains, hoping to put him to rest next to his father.

Hanji, who barely bathed, has completely stopped taking care of herself. The nightmares have gotten out of hand to the point where she needs to be strapped down to the bed so she won’t be able to move during the night.

You constantly look back at the ceremony, how all of your friends came together to celebrate your decision to join your life with Hanji or how the Queen’s words truly touched every person present.

Being faithful to your vows, you take care of her. Day and night you stay by her side, making sure to let her know you aren’t going anywhere.

[curlynerd]

What He Wants

Happy gift posting day for @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! My gift recipient is @bipridedean! She requested a Destiel, canon-adjacent fic, so here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 2.6K Rating: G Summary: 5 times Dean said "I do" and 1 time he didn’t. Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Destiel wedding

Also read it on AO3!

1.

The first time it happens Sam is the only one to hear it. They’re alone in the bunker, surrounded by months and months of tireless research. But finally, finally, Dean thinks they’ve discovered how to get into the Empty.

Dean wants to push through the night and get a portal up and running as soon as possible. Sam insists they both go to bed, pleading with Dean that he won’t be able to concentrate on the spellwork to maintain it without at least a few hours of sleep.

Dean spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. This time tomorrow, he could have Cas back. This time tomorrow he can--Dean is almost afraid to think it, afraid that giving form to what he wants will somehow curse it and stop it from ever coming true. After all, the thing he wanted most before this was for Cas to love him back, and that didn’t exactly end rosy.

Still, as Dean finally closes his eyes, he allows himself a small, private wish. He hopes this will be the last time he falls asleep alone.

The next morning, they’re both expecting some sort of bump in the road, some rare ingredient or some missing incantation that will set them back even longer, keep Dean from seeing Cas again for God knows how long. But fortune is on their side, and Sam executes the spell flawlessly.

Dean is armed to the teeth with every weapon and protection spell they could collect on short notice. His plan for finding Cas and dragging him back home sits clearly at the front of his mind. His heart pounds in his ears, fast but steady and strong.

“You know, if this doesn’t work, you could get stuck there. I might not be able to open a new portal.” Sam looks at the pulsating mass of black that serves as the portal to the Empty. Worry is etched deeply into his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?”

Dean thinks of Cas’ face, the way he had smiled as he said he loved him. He thinks of how he was so close to having the one thing he really wanted. How Cas had wanted the same.

There’s no peace in loneliness.

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, his jaw set, his eyes determined. He’s ready to get his angel back. “Yeah. I do.”

2.

The second time it happens, it takes Cas by surprise. It’s been a week since Dean heroically pulled the love of his life from the Empty...and also since Dean lost all remaining courage. He choked. His unspoken response to Cas’ confession is a taut tension wire between them, keeping them inches apart, words suffocating in their tightly sealed mouths, both terrified to say anything and risk breaking something that can’t be mended.

Dean hates himself for it. It’s cowardice is what it is. It’s a lifetime of desperately fighting against the things that make him vulnerable. Against wanting things. Against believing anyone could love him. Even with Cas’ confession still crystal clear in his memories, Dean doubts.

He is deep into those self-deprecating thoughts when he finds Cas in the garage, struggling to figure out how to change a flat tire on his truck from a Youtube video.

“Cas? What’re you doing?”

Cas startles and immediately hunches his shoulders in guilt. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. “Dean.” He looks down at the lug wrench in his hand, and Dean can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to concoct a cover story before he shrugs and gives up the truth. “I was trying to fix the truck.”

“You need to go somewhere? Cuz I can just drive you.” Dean’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. Cas wouldn’t need to sneak around for a little errand.

Cas shakes his head and confirms Dean’s fears. “I wanted to have it ready. In case I needed to leave.”

“Leave?” Dean repeats, and his blood goes cold.

Cas deflates a little, resigned and sad. “I assume I’ll need to soon.”

“You can’t leave!” ‘Tell him!’ screams in Dean’s mind, but he can’t. He can’t. What if he’s wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him like that? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all anymore? What if Dean screwed it up by staying silent and Cas realized he deserves to be with someone who can provide a simple answer to “I love you?” What if--

“I don’t want to,” Cas says softly. The pain is evident in his eyes as they flicker to his truck, like he expects to need to book it out of here at any moment. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here after--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he amends.

“Cas, this is your home, same as me and Sam.” Cas doesn’t look so convinced. “C’mon man, you really think we don’t want you around?” Dean leans against the side of Cas’ truck to ground himself. “Cas, I want you here.” ‘I want more than that,’ he thinks, and it would be so easy to say what he really needs to say, but he can’t. He fights viciously with his own self-esteem, ripping at it, begging it to let him say more. “Please don’t leave,” he says, small and helpless, and it’s like moving a mountain to say that much.

Cas’ expression softens into longing. His hand clenches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to Dean, but he smiles a soft, incredulous smile. “I can stay? You really mean it?”

Dean swallows thickly. A hundred words crowd his throat, fighting to get out, but his own fears win this round and keep them down. Instead all he can manage is a choked, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

3.

The third time it happens, it takes them both by surprise. They’d gone on a hunt, just the two of them while Sam was visiting Eileen, and everything had gone sideways. What they thought was just a troublemaking demon turned out to be an extremely powerful witch, one with more than enough experience in Enochian magic to put Cas in serious danger. And of course Cas was reckless in his desire to protect Dean, and only managed to avoid getting killed by quick thinking and, to be honest, a helluva lot of luck.

The fight left Cas injured, and Dean pissed. “What the hell were you thinking!” he scolds at the end of a cold, silent drive back to the bunker.

“I did what I needed,” Cas shoots back with a steely glare.

“No, you didn’t need to go rushing in like that!” Dean’s worry leeches out as anger, the fear of losing Cas yet again clouding his reasoning that Dean himself would have died without Cas’ quick action. “You could have gotten a lot more hurt!”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Cas yells back, and it’s the note of hysterical bitterness darkening his words that makes Dean snap and say what he’s been hiding for far too long.

“Because I love you, you stubborn ass!”

The words freeze in the air between them, sharp and strong, wedging themself right where Dean’s anger was just a moment ago.

“You...love me?” Cas asks, his voice small, his eyes big.

And like that, Dean’s fears seem so foolish. Cas loves him. Cas died because just admitting he loves him was the happiest moment of his life. Cas has already done the hardest, scariest part for him. Dean doesn’t even have to fear Cas not feeling the same.

Silently, Dean takes a single step forward. Cas is frozen on the spot, staring at him like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He takes another step, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug Cas into an embrace.

“Of course,” Dean breathes. He holds Cas close, tucking his chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight, like he never wants to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go. Cas is slower to react, but when his arms finally wind around Dean, he breathes out a soft, sobbing gasp and clings to Dean. Dean turns his head to bury his nose in Cas’ hair. “Of course I do.”

4.

The fourth time it happens, Cas doesn’t even hear it. Cas found out about a nearby crafts fair, and all it took was one particularly soulful look from those big blue eyes of his, and Dean was driving them a full hour and a half away to look at homemade pottery and local honey and overpriced tacky mesh wreaths and pretending that the entire atmosphere of the place wasn’t giving him hives.

Cas is having a blast. Dean is carrying bags and lurking in the shadiest spots he can find away from the summer heat while Cas browses. Cas is having an animated conversation about beekeeping with a honey merchant when Dean ducks into a large tent filled with the kind of flowy, bedazzled, polyester shirts he thinks of as “PTA Chic” because they also happen to have a large fan blowing.

“Lookin’ for something in particular, sugar?” The tent owner saunters over to Dean, her Southern accent thick and her top scandalously low. She’s stunningly pretty, and Dean’s eyes and smile light up out of a lifetime of habit. She responds in kind, dragging her eyes down, then back up Dean’s body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lookin’ for more than clothes.”

Dean chuckles and flashes her his best charming, but chagrined smile. He feels a little guilty for leading her on, and he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Oh sweetheart, if I were single, I’d gladly take you up on that offer, but I’ve already got my special someone.” Dean nods to the honey booth next door.

Her eyes trail over to where Dean gestured, and for a split second her brow furrows in confusion before she laughs just a little, more incredulous than cruel. “You really want someone like that over me?”

Dean looks over at Cas. And, yeah, Dean gets the question. He’s a grown-ass man wearing cargo shorts, carrying a canvas bag with the most obnoxious sunglasses-wearing beach ball Dean has ever seen, and his hair looks like it's been electrocuted. Dean grins, feeling a rush of fondness for his dorky, criminally unfashionable angel.

“Yeah,” he says softly, without an ounce of hesitation. There’s no one else in the world for him but Cas. “Yeah, I do.”

5.

The fifth time Dean says it, Cas is the only other person around for miles. He drags Cas out of bed bright and early one Saturday, forcing him into the car before he’s even fully finished his coffee. Cas allows it, only because he can tell Dean is positively vibrating with nervous energy. Dean brushes off all of his prying questions during the long drive until they finally arrive at a small, peaceful meadow in the middle of nowhere.

He’s packed a lunch, because ostensibly this outing is meant to be a picnic, even though Cas is suspicious on that fact alone. Dean never picnics. It doesn’t really matter though, because Dean is too nervous to even consider eating.

“So why are we really here?” Cas asks after a few minutes of nibbling at his chips. Dean’s sandwich lays untouched on the blanket.

Dean steels his nerve and takes a deep breath. “Do you know where this is?” he asks, fighting the jittery bouncing of his heartbeat to keep his voice steady.

Cas nods. “This is where I returned when Jack resurrected me.” He looks around, smiling down at the flowers surrounding the two of them. The windmill behind him creaks softly in the wind.

“And where I spread your ashes.” Dean’s fidgeting fingers find a frayed edge on the blanket, and he starts picking at it.

Cas nods again and remains silent, patiently waiting for Dean to find the rest of his words.

“And it’s…” Dean pulls a thread out of the blanket and lets it fly away in the wind. “This is where I realized I love you. I’m an idiot who didn’t even realize how much I loved you until after you were gone.”

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean’s knee, warm and reassuring. Dean continues, “At the time I’d thought, ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to live without him.’ Which was stupid because you were already dead. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

Cas squeezes his knee. His eyes are gentle. “We’re both okay now.”

Dean’s heart warms. “Yeah. We are. But you know I...That feeling’s never gone away. You and me? I want us to be forever.” Dean reaches into his pocket. There’s no small velvet box, no shimmering diamonds, just a thick band of practical silver he found at a pawn shop. He looks down at the ring with a tender smile. “Man, never in a million years did I think I’d ever be doing this,” he marvels, and when he looks up, Cas’ eyes are wide with surprise.

“Dean?” His normally steady voice wavers.

Dean reaches for Cas’ face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. He holds up the ring. “What do you say, Cas? Wanna go legit about this?”

Cas’ expression is impossibly soft, eyes overflowing with love and devotion. He swallows thickly around a lump in his throat and takes the ring from Dean. He slides it onto his finger and stares at it like it’s his own personal miracle.

“You’re serious, Dean? You really want to get married?”

Dean smiles as he leans in close. Just before he kisses his new fiance, he whispers, “Of course I do.”

6.

The sun is setting, casting long shadows down the sand. The shifting winds coming from the sea carry a chill, making the little crowd gathered around them draw their jackets close and huddle together, but the smiles on their faces are nothing but warm. There’s no altar. No stage. No decorations. Just Cas and Dean, standing in front of the ocean, wearing their favorite flannels and jeans, two bright yellow black-eyed susans pinned to their shirts--stolen right out of someone’s garden on their way to the beach.

They didn’t even bother trying to put out chairs for the ceremony, not knowing how many of their friends and family would be able to make the long drive to see Dean get hitched to his angel, but in the end it’s a good thing, because damn near everyone came, and they need to crowd in close to hear them over the wind.

It’s completely and utterly perfect.

Dean grins, unable to take his eyes off Cas while Donna, the only member of his overly-emotional family he trusts not to bawl her eyes out through the ceremony, finishes the last of their vows.

“Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your, well, not so lawfully wedded husband?”

There’s a twitter of laughter from the crowd. Cas smiles a sweet, crooked smile and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I do.” His voice is soft, meant for Dean’s ears only, because Dean is the only one his promise matters to.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, FBI’s Most Wanted, thrice dead criminal, and the terribly generous gentleman who will surely be covering our drinks on this celebratory evening, take Castiel to be your husband?”

Dean looks at Cas. Even in the dim light of the setting sun, his eyes are impossibly blue. His smile is so warm Dean knows he’ll never feel cold again, so long as he can see it every day. Dean beams back and proclaims loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear, “Oh hell yes!”

[moon-lixie]

about a letter left to be found and a boy who disappeared into thin air.

word count: 2.046k

genre: slight angst

song: 말할 수 없는 비밀 (Secret Secret) - Stray Kids

I don't think any of you would be able to understand, not even if I sit down and speak all of my truths. Still, I think I owe an explanation.

With trembling hands he gathered his things, the notebooks filled with dreams spilling from the edges of every page, his favourite hoodies, the pair of bright red headphones he had since the beginning of high school.

From the open window a cold breeze came in and ruffled the slightly damp hair of the boy, paying special attention to the ends that were still clamped together due to the dampness.

He wasn't exactly in a hurry, but he still felt nervous and anxious, because even if it was almost impossible, at the back of his mind he was haunted by the idea of someone coming in and stopping him.

Moving quickly he reached down for the towel hanging around his shoulders and ruffled his hair a couple of times more until he felt satisfied.

First of all, I have no idea where I am going but know that I'm fine.

A loud sigh caressed his lips as it escaped, filling the room that he had always called his own, his little world nobody could disrupt because in between the forgotten comics and the piles of clothes sprawled here and there he had felt more at home than he has ever felt anywhere else.

Throwing the towel to the basket of dirty laundry at the end of the hallway, he finally finished everything he had to do, simply being left with staring at himself in the mirror and fixing the wild strands of hair that had been upset by the freshly washed hoodie hugging his torso.

He could barely muster a smile at his reflection, not because he was sad, but because it all felt surreal in a sense that left him wondering if it was still the middle of the night many years ago and the last years had been nothing but the hopeful dreams of his younger self.

Maybe it's a bit selfish of me to simply leave without a warning, but please understand that I want much more than this place could ever offer me.

He closed the front door of his house, locking it with the pair of keys his mother had given him once he turned twelve; they were still held together by the Pororo keychain he had bought one day after school with such an overwhelming excitement that made the memory pull at the corners of his lips.

It felt bizarre to walk away from the entrance of his home knowing that he was never really going to come back, that this was the last time.

Just like the very first time he had arrived there along with a moving truck packed with boxes and furniture, he felt breath leave his lungs at the sight of the white façade. It made him stop for a second and contemplate in utter silence.

Goosebumps coated the length of his arms once he turned around and kept moving forward at a steady pace, leaving his old bike behind as well.

Know that the decision to leave wasn't made in a haste, I've been thinking about it for long and now just seemed like the perfect time.

Mr. Kim lazily waved in his direction, gentle smile and downturned eyes with the familiar brown that reminded Jisung of his grandfather; maybe that's where he would go next, to visit his grandfather.

Without much thought he returned the sweet and familiar greeting, feeling a bit nostalgic when he thought back to all the summers that he had spent working with the man in his garden.

Back then a young Jisung had been happy to make a few bucks while getting to stay out all day in the yard playing with bugs and with the sun kissing the skin of his chubby cheeks and legs that weren't covered by his favourite pair of green shorts.

He couldn't help but wonder where had all that time run to because despite being the one who lived through it, he could barely make sense or when had he ended up where he was.

Time moved too fast and without a warning, it left everyone wondering.

It isn't easy to leave my whole life behind but it feels right, the mere idea makes me feel lighter because who knows who I'll get to be when I get to the end of my journey.

Perhaps I'll be braver, a little bit smarter, more mature, maybe even a couple of centimetres taller.

He could walk the streets with his eyes closed and still know where every bump and crack was in the sidewalk, he could still point where his old school was, where the closest convenience store stepped in his way and as usual tempted him to buy a snack even on those days were his pockets were empty and his tummy full.

From there he knew his way to everywhere else in town, he even knew how long it would take him to get to said places on foot or with his trusty bike.

It all felt too easy and familiar, too comfortable, and those things weren't bad at all but Jisung thought he had had enough of them. He craved discovering himself inside the walls of another place so foreign that every single one of his truths were only known by himself.

Was it silly? That he thought a change of scenery would make him a new person, one much more alike to who he truly was.

Sometimes talking to someone isn't enough, because you don't think they'll understand, you know they won't. That's why I never said anything about the deepest desires looming in my heart or the biggest fears that tied me down for as long as I can remember.

All the interrogations running leaps around his mind made him walk faster, filling him with the same dreadful excitement he felt every first day of school, one that mixed with nervousness and fear.

He wasn't sure if starting fresh would let him be someone whose fears didn't weigh upon his heart so harshly, he wasn't sure if he would get to be the person he had always wished he could be but he could only hope.

Hope had been what drove him this far and today he was giving it full control of where his feet moved to, control over how his next day would look like or where he would wake up the next day.

Never in his life had he felt more ready to wander around by himself.

But I guess, since I'm going, it's only fair that I try to sit down and talk to someone, hoping that they will understand even if my words are scarce and there will be nobody to talk back to at the end of this letter.

On the horizon the sun rushed to slumber, leaving a comforting lilac pooling around the clouds and making them stand out even more.

Night hovered over his shoulders making him breathe with much more ease because if there was something that portrayed hope and tomorrow with an uncanny resemblance and lack of effort, it was the night sky with its endless stars and its shining moon.

In his childhood days he had discovered that there was no better cure for uncertainty and a nostalgic heart than staring up at the night sky; there was something about it that made him feel like time stopped for an instance, that time wasn't quite as unforgiving while the veil of darkness covered everything.

If he could go anywhere he wanted —which he was already doing— he would wish to go to the sky, not the endless and uncertain space, but the idea of the sky that humans have in their ignorance, a canvas that goes no further than our eyes can see.

Ever since I can remember I've felt like there was a place for me somewhere out there, a place I always called home without knowing what it really was.

It wasn't like I didn't feel at home here, there was just a feeling in my chest that told me out there I could feel completely free in the way I've always craved.

For him it had always felt unfair, how everyone got to live and walk around without the things that kept him back. Of course when he grew older he understood that everyone had their own problems but sometimes that was easy to ignore when one's own darkness loomed around their heart.

He had spent many years wishing, praying to whoever was listening, that he could just be himself without the voices in his head and the uncertainties that made every single one of his steps be cautious.

Nobody seemed to have listened as years went by and things got harder, still, he never gave up and even though he could never really say that there was nothing else bothering him he could at least say that he had everything under control.

If time is unforgiving it also is healing, and for him it had healed many wounds that couldn't be seen.

Unknowingly I spent a lot of time wanting to go to that place, craving to find where it was.

Some years ago I understood that it perhaps wasn't a place but a version of myself that could bring such soothing feelings. That's where I'm going to, that's why I have no destination.

He wanted to believe that nothing had been planned, that his savings carefully stuffed at the bottom of his backpack had just been him being responsible about his money and having enough for the impulsiveness that one day had won over reason and had driven him to this adventure.

He wanted to pretend but it was stupid to do now, there was nobody around to judge him or question his motives, so there was no use in not being honest with himself.

Thinking back to all those evenings spent running around the small restaurant in which he had found a job, he could see that perhaps this plan had been many years in the making.

Unconsciously he had always been hoping for a moment like this, a moment of unadulterated freedom.

Hopefully I do get there, hopefully I get to be happy and everyone I left behind does too.

The journey to happiness, to authenticity, to being unapologetically himself, had taken him to the airport, another thing that wasn't as spontaneous as he had tried to make it seem.

Passport in hand and trembling self, the whiteness of the place and the various people walking back and forth made him realise that this was really going on, he was really leaving.

For the first time in his life overthinking had no place in his plans.

I wish to be who I am meant to and disappearing was perhaps the thing I had always been destined to do. A boy who disappeared into thin air, that's who I am, a boy with secrets that weigh down on my heart and that I'm unwilling to carry with me on this journey.

Approaching the desk he was met with a young woman, in her mid twenties or early thirties, sweet but practised smile covering her lips as she recited the words that he must've learned a long time ago when she first started working there.

"I want a ticket for the next flight available," Jisung said, offering a reassuring smile after the confused look the woman gave him.

He looked around as the sounds of typing filled his ears and before he had time to start regretting something the ticket had been placed on his palm and his savings were short by a considerable amount.

I'm afraid that wasn't much of an explanation but it was my truth.

Good luck and see you whenever we're meant to cross paths.

The last thing he saw before falling asleep were the clouds from above and the sky now completely dark like the many nights he had wondered where he belonged.

Now he had an answer, he belonged wherever he felt free and right then in that comfortable plane seat he felt the freest he had ever been.

[merakiclosed]

Princess of the tower

》Pairing: Thief!Jungkook x Princess!reader 》Summary: The thief of the town who goes by the name of JK finds the lost princess but didn’t expect to fall in love with her along the way. 》Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst, Disney!au/Fantasy!au , Strangers to lovers!au, Tangled!au (2010)   》Word count: 7k 》Notes/Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, manipulation, long-haired Kook because that’s a danger in its self. 

Masterlist | All messages and requests are open All rights reserved © Merakiiverse. Do not repost, translate, or claim as your own. I do not own the characters nor the concept, (Tangled 2010). 

The sky looked like a fresh blend of colours brushed onto a canvas. Pomegranate pink and papaya orange teased each other, daring to touch but not completely mixing. You’re tempted to close the shutters and go to bed, tiredness pulling at your being. But you were defiant, what good would tomorrow bring? It would be like any other day; clean up, read, paint, sing, cook.

Pascal sleeps on your shoulder when you look down, unconsciously he matches with the sun, his normal green scales changing golden. Sighing, you move your gaze to watch the silhouette of birds fly past, wishing to be as free as them. Reaching out, you touch the plants that wind around the tower, almost crying out to be touched and held as you caress the soft ridges with your fingers.

Finally, you stand up straight and brush the imaginary dust off your purple dress, the silk smooth on your skin. You can remember vividly the day that you made this with your own hands, sewing and cutting material for hours because you grew out of your previous one. Unfortunately, this was the cheapest material your mother could get you, meaning that all of your dresses looked similar. You were dying to get out of the tower and get some more material, experimenting and trying on different styles and colours. But that would never happen. You weren’t allowed out of the tower. It was mother’s number one rule, not under any circumstances were you to step foot outside of this tower.

Your bare feet echo in the empty room as you descend to your bedroom. Along the staircase you run your hands along the carvings that were like a tale of a story that was long forgotten, remembering the day you spent on the hard work. Were you 15 at the time? Maybe, the days are all forged together.

Carefully, you set Pascal down on one of the pillows as you flop down beside him, trying to not wake him up. Gazing up at the roof, you find the multiple paintings you did, filled with flowers, birds and butterflies, thinking when your life will truly begin.

Your hand moves along the wall, almost like your mind is directing it without you. You never think too much whilst painting, it’s where you see the reflection of your own imagination and mind. Every colour is bold and painted with precise lines, curved yet defined. Small dots of gold contrast with the deep blue of the background, representing the floating lights. The same ones that you know will appear tomorrow night, on your birthday. You could only hope and wish that this year, your mother allows you to go see them.

Faintly, you could hear the familiar echo of shoes on the stairwell causing you to shove the paint palette down and draw the curtains to hide the painting. Quickly, you get down from the fireplace, getting ready to greet her as the chain and lock sound heavy against the door.

“My precious daughter.” she cooes, pinching your cheeks making you wince slightly.

“Mother -”

“Would you let your mother brush your hair whilst you sing dear?” she interrupts you. Instantly you’re moving around, grabbing a chair and the brush, rushing to sit her down.

As soon as she is sat down you put a pillow on the floor to sit on, singing the song as fast as you can. Your hair reached the bottom of your bum, thick and tangled from having a busy day, though you don’t wince or groan when she pulls at a knot, too excited and nervous to ask a question. Behind your closed eyes, you briefly see the glow of your hair along with a Zapp at how fast the magic worked.

“Y/N -” mother begins to scold, but you couldn’t care less.

“Mother, I was thinking about what I want for my birthday. Wou- would I b-be able to go outside. To see the floating lights?” Your once confident voice trails off with uncertainty, “They only appear on my birthday and I need to know what they are” you plead, moving to show her the painting you did today, behind the closed curtains. But your grip quickly loosens when you hear her next words.

“Y/n. You want to go outside? You know why we stay in the tower, trust me mother knows best.” She says firmly, standing up towering over you. Her eyes are as dark as her hair as she looks unimpressed, “there are many bad guys out there, diseases that can wipe you out. You know what they do to bright things in the world. They eat them up.”

“You don’t ever ask to go out of this tower ever again.” she finalises, pulling at your dress harshly, “do you understand?” Her gaze is firm and hard making you nod your head meekly. Though, she wanted more than that as she grabs your chin roughly, tilting your head to look her in the eye, “Yes mother I understand.” She beams at you and kisses your cheek. Grabbing the keys, she heads for the door and with another kiss to your head along with a quick I love you, she’s gone again.

Not soon after you could hear laboured breathing coming from the door, the person bangs against the door, followed by a groan. Frantically, you look at Pascal who also has wide eyes, who then points to the frying pan, “Pascal you’re a genius” you whisper. You run behind the door, continuously hearing the stranger try and break the door, making it rattle and echo throughout the room. Any moment now and he’ll end up-

The door breaks off its hinges, the chain now scraping across the ground. It’s silent for a moment as you watch the man look around, failing to look behind him. “OW.SHIT” He shouts when you hit him in the leg with the frying pan, he whips around to look at you. Your mother’s voice sounds in your head of the hideous men with sharp teeth and ill intentions. But this man in front of you was nothing like that. His white shirt was dirty and rolled up to his elbows as underneath was a blue vest, wheat-like string buttoning it together. Brown pants are tucked into brown, leather boots that have clearly been worn for a long time as they are scuffed with mud splattered on them. When your eyes finally land on the satchel in his hand, he moves it closer to himself protectively, interesting.

Like deja vu, you hear another step of footsteps and instantly you know who it is. You and the strange man look at each other wide-eyed and shove him under the stairs, where the kitchen is and hide him behind the curtain. The man stumbles from your push as you take the opportunity to take the satchel out of his hands. Luckily, your mother only gets halfway before she decides to shout, “Y/n, did you want me to get the paint from the beach?” you know that she is doing this so that you don’t talk about going out of the tower, “Yes, mother.” And she’s gone, once again, thankful that you didn’t have to explain why the door was broken.

Cautiously, you creep towards the kitchen, coming face to face with the man, frying pan at the ready in one hand, the satchel in the other. You both looked at each other, he was young, possibly around your age judging by his face. His eyes were deer-like, sparkling with a hint of mischievousness in them, slightly round cheeks but sharp jaw and eyebrows as his black hair slightly hung in front of his eyes, obvious that he hasn’t had it cut in a while. His eyes scan your figure, wanting to roll his eyes, you look innocent and scared. It was obvious that if he shouted at you right now, you would cower. However, he notices the satchel in your hand, “that’s mine, give it back.”

Shaking your head, you hold it closer to you, “No. why are you here?” you foreign confidence when in reality you could feel your erratic heartbeat in your chest. He wasn’t threatened as his face showed confusion, making his nose scrunch up, “Is that all of your hair?”

Your mind starts to connect the dots, “Do you want my hair, is that why you are here? How did you find me?” you accuse, trying to sound threatening.

“I don’t want your hair, I want to get out of here. Now, give me my satchel.” You were shocked by his firm and deep voice as he hardened his gaze on you. Neither of you said anything, his ice-cold stare not wavering as you came up with an idea.

“No. I won’t give you the satchel until you take me to see the floating lights tomorrow night. You will take me there and in return, you’ll get your satchel.”

“That’s it? You want to see the lanterns?” he sounds bored. Well, he shouldn’t have broken your door! You unconsciously pout and nod, “Yes.”

“So, is this a deal then?” he says, cocking his eyebrow. This will be easy.

“Yes.”  

“Well let’s get going then”

The words make you pause, you’ll be leaving the tower. Without your mother’s permission. It was against the rules. What if she comes back early. No, you can’t think of that. You either leave the tower now or stay and never be able to see the outside world, “well what are you doing just standing there princess, let’s get moving.”

Feet firmly planted, you look up to the sky that is bright but soft all at once, it looks bigger from down here, reminding you how small you are in a big world. Looking back, you see the plants that have grown thick on the tower, stone of grey peeking out as rigid pieces crumble to the floor. The grass is soft on your feet as you timidly take a step forward, the bottom of your dress soaking up the morning dew as you bend down to pick out a flower. The petals are vibrant and proud as you softly brush your finger along the soft texture. Your hair flows behind you in the grass, but you don’t care. Pascal takes in a big, deep breath of the fresh air, peering over at the young man. He doesn’t trust him.

The man looks at you unimpressed, but in reality, he finds it quite endearing as you look around. The scenery was normal to him, but watching you appreciate all of the little details makes him think more about taking things for granted. But he can’t think like that. He needs to leave you - somewhere safe of course- and run. All he has to do is steal the satchel from you when you sleep and then he will be on his way. He strolls up to you and plucks the flower out of your hand, causing you to pout, but soon turns into a shy smile once he places it in your hair, next to your ear. Firstly, he has to gain your trust.  

Walking away, he hears your feet pad on the ground before you walk next to him, “So, princess what’s your name?”

“Y/n.” You say softly, looking up at him, he mulls over what to say before talking, “Mine’s Jk.”

Now fully in the forest, you take it all in. Trees that you once looked over, towered over you causing you to smile like a kid in the candy store, they were bigger than you imagined. You gasped at the sight of a bunny, running over to it, the motion causing it to squeak and hop away. Subconsciously you frown with a pout prominent on your face, you only wanted to pet it, the fur looked so soft! JK looks over at you, cocking his head to the side. How strange and innocent you were, shrugging it off he walks off, wanting to get this over and done with.

“Hey - wait up.”

The woman trudges up the stairs, huffing with every step, her shoes clacking against the stone. She can sense that something is wrong, the echoing doesn’t sound as harsh to her eardrums as before. Thoughts of something getting to her precious prize, causing her to fasten her steps before she abruptly stops, two steps before the top. The wooden door lays on the floor, pieces of wood aloof. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, adrenaline rushing through her as she shouts out, trying to find her. Pots and pans on the floor, material is thrown all over. Nothing.

As she lays on the cold, hardwood floor, she thinks about all of the possibilities of what could have happened. She can’t lay around all day, she has to do something. Standing up, she pulls her black cloak over her head as her blood-red dress dances against the door, her boots crushing the debris. She will do whatever it takes to get her back.

You walked until it was dark, the atmosphere between you both was awkward for the full day, asking him questions but only getting either one-word responses or gestures of yes or no. Goosebumps appear on your arms from the evening chill as crickets start to sing in the swaying grass.

“I’ll get some firewood, stay here.” He commands, not waiting for an answer as he walks off into the woods. The green canopy almost looks black, drained of colour almost like it was muted under the artist’s hand. Every noise and russell from the bushes makes you jump, you’ve practically been alone for most of your life, but you were surrounded by the tower walls. You’re vulnerable under the moon that shines in the night. It was a weird experience, you’ve seen the nightfall and the sunrise, yet witnessing it outside was so much more magical. You only wish that your companion would be better, but at least Pascal is with you, though he isn’t much help as you look over to find him knocked out on the edge of the branch that you’re sat on. The familiar crunch of boots makes you gaze up at the man, his biceps bulging in the shirt that he wears.

The fire crackles as soon as he has light it, you watch him silently as he tears a bit of his shirt off to stop the bleeding of a scrape on his arm. Maybe, you can get him to talk if you become closer. Wordlessly, you scoot over to him and reach out softly to stop him, he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows wondering what you were doing. Winding some hair around the cut, he hisses as your small hands press harder onto his forearm, with a cautious gaze you look up at him, “Please don’t be scared.” The vulnerability in your voice is evident as he looks at you skeptically.

“Flower gleam and glow” Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine”

Jungkook watches you as if you were crazy, but confusion knocks into him once he feels a tingle in his arm, looking as your hair starts to glow. Staring at your face, the light illuminating your face. Your eyes are closed firmly, he observes the silent features on your face that draws him closer to you, you look so young, yet so worn out. Watching as delicate lips sing the song.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the fate’s design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine What once was mine.”

What and why were you in that tower?

Opening your eyes, he’s taken out of his thoughts, clearing his throat. Meekly, you look up at him as you unwrap your hair from his arm, the cut no longer there. You wait anxiously at what he will do next. You haven’t shown anyone other than your mother that.

“H-how long has your -uh. Magical Uhm. Hair been doing that?” He coughs when his voice cracks, not wanting to show how scared he actually feels.

“Forever. Something like this” You gesture to your hair, “has to be protected, that’s why my mother - why I never left the tower.” Your voice trails off at the end, still uncertain about what he is thinking.

His thoughts are running wild. He’s sitting there, in the middle of the night, with a girl who has magical hair. Is this a dream? Something like this doesn’t happen, maybe he’s going crazy. Maybe the guards have already taken him and this is all some sort of hallucination. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you twiddle your thumbs, waiting anxiously. He had a perfect plan for tonight, wait until you fall asleep, take the satchel and run. He knew you wouldn’t be able to stay awake for long, yet he doesn’t think he can do it. If someone gets to you, you’re a goner. And for some reason, it makes his gut twist at the thought of you in danger, especially after you showed him your little trick. People like him, eat people like you for dinner. He yearns to know everything about you already, but he doesn’t think he can bring himself to do it. He’s not a good person and you don’t deserve that.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh?” You look up at him quizzically.

“My name is Jeon Jungkook.”

You gaze up into his deep, marble eyes where you could see tales - most likely fascinating, secrets and stories that he’s held up in his head for years. He was far more interesting than you, that’s for sure.

“How did you find the tower?” You questioned, averting your eyes to pascal as he sleeps peacefully.

“I ran, I didn’t plan the journey to the tower, I just ended up there.” He says with a humourless laugh, thinking about how he had run away from the guards at the palace, then proceeding to ditch the two others. His eyes unconsciously flicking to the satchel around your shoulder. Was all of this worth it?

You nod at him, not knowing what to say, you want to know what he was running from, why he never gave you his real name from the start, why he was so desperate to get the satchel. You had so many questions for people outside of the tower, but now sitting in front of him, Jungkook, your mind runs blank. Yawning, you rub your eyes, but you’re fearful of sleeping outside. Will someone attack you? Will it rain? What if a giant creature comes and gets you?

“Easy there, princess. I can see your head about to blow smoke from how hard you’re thinking.” Jungkook said in a small voice, presumably not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night. Laying down, pieces of wood stabbed your side, but it would have to do if you want to get to the lanterns tomorrow. Your head lays gently on the bark, the constellations that have witnessed centuries watch over you both in this small moment before you finally close your eyes drifting off to sleep.

Jungkook looks over when he hears your breathing slowing down, to see you knocked out like a light. Chuckling to himself, he can imagine how hard today was compared to being in that tiny room in the tower. He sits on the grass, leaning against the log you’re asleep on, looking at your figure. He was so curious to know you, he never heard anything about a girl being locked up in a tower, and surprisingly, he felt bad for you. So youthful and full of wonder, and he was youthful but full of danger.

Luckily, the town wasn’t far from where you slept, only a couple of hours in the morning and you finally saw the opening to the village. Even from afar, you could feel the energy that the people emit, vibrant clothing shining in the sunlight as people dance to the music. They move around each other like pebbles in the water, flowing around one another, as they fill each other with adrenaline-pumping happiness. You only see joyful faces as they bring the village to life. Chatter between sellers and buyers as if they were old friends. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Mother was wrong, there are good people in the world. Pascal looks in wonder, as he hides in the pocket of your dress, he’s never seen something like this in his life. If he thought your paintings were colourful, this was on a whole other level as they whizzed past him. 

Purple seemed to be the main colour as it is splashed onto every bit of material you see, as you get closer you see a group of young girls that paint a mural on the floor, a star in the middle of purple paint. A picture of, who you presume are the king and queen with a young daughter in their arms, was in front of the painting.

Jungkook watches you silently as you smile widely, your eyes darting in every which way to take everything in. He gently grabs at your sleeve and tugs you towards one of the stands who does hair, sitting you in the chair. You look up at him questioningly, as the woman starts to braid your hair, making sure not to hurt you. She doesn’t question the twigs and leaves she finds, simply plucking them out. You sit in wonder, trying not to dart your head around to see more.

Your hair feels lighter and is easier to manage as you walk past the stalls. Briefly, you smell something sweet as you get closer to a particular one, your face lighting up at the sweetness. You pause your steps, taking a closer look at what it was.

Jungkook turns around to find that you’re not following him anymore, sending him into a panic as all he can see is a crowd of people. He’s familiar with his heart racing, normally from running away, but as he looks around he feels a different type of adrenaline, but all he has to do is breathe before calming down. His eyes are quick to find you, your purple dress matching perfectly with the theme as your hair flows down your back, flowers intertwined in certain strands. Walking towards you, he laughs when he sees your nose practically smudged against the glass that holds the doughnuts. You stare at him in shock, forgetting that you were supposed to follow him, causing heat to rise in your body.

“Do you want one?” He asks softly, nodding towards the sweet treat. You nod enthusiastically, causing another chuckle to rise from his throat as he hands the man behind the glass some money. You whisper a thank you as you take it from him, “what is this called?”

“It’s a doughnut.” He’s careful in calling you princess in the village, knowing it’s a sensitive topic and he doesn’t need to be at the center of attention right now, especially with all of the guards that he has seen. Tentatively, he watches you take your first bite, a giggle passes your lips once you’ve eaten it, taking another bite, clearly enjoying it as your cheeks fill like chipmunks. He watched fondly, before catching himself. No, he can’t fall for you. In a flash, he turns serious, cocking an eyebrow at you. Humiliation falls over you, at your obvious display of enjoyment. You’re not sure what you’ve done, but you still feel it as he looks at you with his sharp gaze. Lowering the doughnut, you avoid eye contact before nodding at him to continue with where you were walking to, giving the last of it to pascal. 

However, you get distracted once again at a group of people dancing, their bodies speaking for how they feel. You have danced before, in the comfort of the walls you call home, but here where you see young girls skipping and weaving past the seas of people, smiling as if nothing bad ever happened, you realise that you’ve never truly danced. Forgetting about the moment earlier, you grab Jungkook’s hand and dance with him. His larger hands encased in yours as you follow the rhythm, being carefree of everything, feeling freedom run in your bones. You know that after tonight, life goes on as normal, so today you will be free of all of your worries.

Smiling and giggling you look up to find him mirroring your expression. His laugh is beautiful as you finally get to see him enjoy himself, maybe he has realised that he can also be carefree. Your feet pad against the stone floor, you know you’ll have to make up an excuse as to why your feet are battered and bruised when you get home, but right now you don’t care.

But you’re soon thrown out of this dream when his eyes widen, looking at something behind you. You go to look back when he softly puts your head in his chest, holding you close, your breath hitches at the contact of your bodies pressed together. The feeling of having someone so close was bizarre, even your mother didn’t hold you like this especially as long as this. Suddenly, he pulls away, holding your hand in his as he runs, shouting of guards impales your ears, clattering of boots and metal follow behind you as each step is calculated. Not used to the exertion of energy your breathing starts to get laboured as you both rush past people, it’s all a blur as your steps start to falter, Jungkook’s grip on your hand getting tighter. Your bare feet sting as they slap against the moss-laden rock, each stride of his were worth at least two of yours, his long legs and previous endeavours made this easy, barely breaking a sweat. With a good distance between you and the guards, Jungkook drags you around another corner and into a darker and smaller passageway. Abruptly he shoves you against the wall, causing you to wince, his body once again up against yours. In your pocket, you barely realise that Pascal is shaking, clinging onto your dress for dear life. But all you can do is look at his face, tight-lipped and his gaze is sharp as he listens for the guards, your breath hot against his hand that is against your lips, keeping you quiet. His own breathing is steady but slightly offbeat as for the first in a while, he is scared of being caught. He’s been running away from guards the whole of his life, but he couldn’t get you in trouble because of his actions. You can hear the guards getting closer, footsteps matching in beat with each other, trained to perfection as they rush past you both.

A sigh of relief from him as you smile up towards him, “that was an adventure” you laugh. The adrenaline that pumped through you was certainly a new experience, though your feet are paying the price as you look down at them. Jungkook copies you and looks at how red and bruised your feet are making him grimace. He opens his pouch in his pocket and hands you some coins and points to one of the stalls, “I’ll stay here, are you alright buying your own shoes?”

Looking around you don’t see any of the guards and nod at him, slightly uncertain. You’ve only socialised with two people, but you can do this! You can totally do this! Hesitantly, you walk up to the stall before looking back to Jungkook to find him standing with a smile and two thumbs up. Briefly, you look down to Pascal who nods at you, a small smile on his face. You nod your head again and continue forward, with timid steps before looking around at the shoes on show before finding a pair of loafers, white with a golden pattern on the front, matching perfectly with your dress. The woman that owns the stall laughs at you before guiding you to try them on. You smile widely at her before giving her the coins, to which she accepts with a small smile, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons. Putting them on your feet, you wiggle your toes before skipping back to Jungkook. He smiles at you watching your eyes brighten up, talking animatedly about how you think they’re pretty and soft. Again, he can feel his heart skip a beat. But once more he ignores it. He’s not meant for you.

Unknown to both of you Pascal notices the looks he gives you and tilts his head, maybe he isn’t as bad as he thought. 

As the sun descends and an ashen moon rises into the darkness he walks you along the beach, where a river lies in front of the castle. A small rowing boat sits upon the pale yellow of the sand, still against the calm waves. Jungkook unwinds the rope from the wooden pole and throws it into the boat. Holding out a hand he helps you get in as he pushes it off into the ocean, jumping in after, making the boat rock. You yelp and hold on to the side, crouching into a ball as you can feel it rock beneath you. You hear him laugh as he sits down, not bothered by the sway of the waves. He grabs the paddles and starts to row, you watch as his face contorts into concentration, his tongue bulges against his cheek, his once injured hand gripping the paddle with a tough grip, veins run along his forearm. A foreign feeling surges through you as you watch him, butterflies invading your stomach.

Soon enough you’re in the middle of the river, as he stops rowing, wiping off the sweat that formulated on his forehead with the back of his hand. Swiftly, Pascal crawls to the side of the boat and seats himself on the wood, waiting for the lights to warm up the sky. One particular question has been nagging in the back of your head ever since you saw the lanterns, “why do they send them off every year on my birthday?”

“The lanterns?” You nod.

“The daughter of the King and Queen was taken on this day and was never seen again. They hope by sending these lanterns off that she will find her way back.” He sighs, running his fingers through his already unruly hair. You know that he is hiding something as he avoids your eyes, looking out in the water. Before you can say anything a singular light floats up into the sky followed by thousands more. Gasping, you jump to the edge of the boat, trying to get a closer look, ignoring the tilt of the boat in your excitement. Lanterns illuminated like stars against the inky black night, the water merged the reflection of those in the sky, an autumn orange. Inside each lantern holds a small candle, lit with a prayer, calling out for the lost daughter. The pale silk hand-painted with the same star you saw earlier.

A cough from behind you causes you to look back, to find Jungkook sat with two lanterns in his hand and a sheepish smile on his face. Gasping, you reach forward to grasp one, and softly it floats between your fingers and into the sky, circling around Jungkook’s. The world feels like it’s shifted, warm and bright even in the crisp night. Turning around, you thrust the satchel in his hands, ���You took me to the lanterns. This is my end of the deal.”

Shaking his head, he pushes it away, “I don’t want it.”

Tilting your head in confusion, he continues to look in your eyes, his eyes uncharacteristically soft, leaning closer to you, “I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve changed me. You made me question everything that I’ve done if only I had met you sooner.” you can feel his breath on your face, his gaze wavering to look down at your lips as you unconsciously lick your lips. Your heart is hammering in your chest as you scoot closer to him, resting your hands on his knees. Your lips centimetres apart before the boat rocked, but it wasn’t due to the waves. A dark shadow cast over the both of you, laughter of three people getting closer to the boat, “well, look what we have here.” A rough voice calls out.

Looking up, you find your mother standing next to two men who are easily 6 foot in height, scars all over their bodies. Slamming their boat into yours, you go to topple over the edge beforehand reaches out and pulls you into them, “My sweet, precious daughter.” Her familiar scent engulfs your senses, her bony frame hugging you in a death grip. Jungkook heaves in a breath as his wet form is slung into the boat, coughing up water. The two men hold him in a vice grip, hauling him up by his arms as his body shivers from the cold.

Struggling to get out of your mother’s grip, Jungkook looks up at you and shakes his head, telling you to stop. Ignoring him, you continue, “Let him go.”

“Oh no, sweetheart. He took you from me, we can’t have that can we?” her patronising voice sings in your ear. One of the men punches him in the gut, as the other kicks his back legs causing him to fall to his knees, the wood digging into his skin from the impact. “And these lovely boys helped me, aren’t they sweet,” she says, grabbing your chin and harshly tugging it to make you look at them. An uppercut to head and he spits out blood, “Mother. Stop.” your voice is filled with panic, watching helplessly as they repeatedly punch him and kick him. Your mind goes wild, why isn’t he fighting back? Pascal watches on with wide eyes, knowing that he can’t do anything, feeling useless. 

The pain that he feels is excruciating but he doesn’t do anything other than let it happen. He hears your blood-curdling screams but it comes in and out like waves, his sight becoming blurry as they continue. He deserves this. The stealing, the robbing, the slowly falling in love with you. He doesn’t deserve to be in your life. He screams as he’s cut in the shoulder, the knife shortly ripped out of him to be plunged into his left side. His blood is hot as it pours out, burning his cold figure. Looking up, he finds your face covered in tears, eyes bloodshot as you kick and scream for your mother to stop. You were one of a kind. He didn’t know how you did it, but you made him want to change for the better. He didn’t want the crown. He didn’t want wealth. He wanted you. But fate had a cruel way of showing him that he couldn’t have you. Another stab, another scream. Not from him, but you. He smiles weakly at you as he can feel himself about to pass out, his skin turning paler by the second.

“Mother, please,” you beg, tears cascading down your face like lava.

“Boys.” She says simply, both of them stopping and holding a bruising grip on his arms. His head sags, not having the energy to look up at you anymore.

“P-please. Please… Let me heal him and then you can take me. I’ll l-live with you forever. You and me. I’ll never go outside, I’ll do everything you ask of me. Just let me heal him and let him go.” You sniffle and choke on your words, breathless from screaming. Your mother cocks her head to the side before looking back to the two men, “Shoo. Take the crown and go.” A sick, twisted smile coats their faces as they both look at each other before jumping into the boat you came on, picking up the satchel and rowing away. Jungkook slumps to the floor, weakly holding onto his side.

Her grip on you disappears and you throw yourself to the floor, “Jungkook.” You frantically try and stop the blood, but too much has already been lost, “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” you whisper, pushing down on one his wounds causing him to wince.

“Y/n.” you ignore him, grabbing your hair in your hands to wrap around him, before pale hands grip yours, “I can’t let you do this.” A single tear makes its way down his face, his hands are cold against yours signifying that you don’t have much time left.

“Please, please let me do this or you’ll die.” you softly caress his cheek, moving some hair out of his face, “If I let you do this, you’ll die.” he whispers, eyes blinking rapidly to try and stay awake. His breathing is heavy as he wheezes. Gently, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into him as your body shakes, “I love you.” With all of the energy that he can muster he snatches the knife from the floor before grabbing your hair and cutting it in one swipe. Jagged lines of hair fall to the ground, as you gaze at him with wide eyes.

A piercing screech comes from your mother, “what have you done?” she shouts, pulling her cloak over her, as she stammers around the boat before reaching the edge. It was like it was in slow motion as she topples over the edge and into the water, her arms flaring, struggling to keep afloat before her body slowly sank, as her body ages before you. 

Jungkook’s grip around you becomes weaker, his breathing getting slower. Your heart sinks to your stomach, as you watch him take his last breath. “No, no, no, no, no” you whisper, choking as a sob threatens to tear at your throat. Pascal climbs on top of him, eyes sad as he watches the both of you, beneath him he can feel Jungkook’s breathing slowing down. Your hands shake as you watch blood ooze from his wounds, and you burst like a dam. Salty tears run down your face, racking with sobs. This was your fault, he didn’t deserve this. If only you would have stayed in the tower. If only you didn’t fall in love with him. 

“Flower gleam and glow” Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt Change the fate’s design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine What once was m-mine.”

Your voice cracking continuously as you breathed the song. It was a bittersweet moment as the lanterns around you continued to float around you, full of life, burning into the ever glowing night sky, almost like they were mocking you. Light beamed around you, a golden hue spiraled around the both of you like it was dancing to a song before bursting, like a firework, into the star that has been engraved into your memory since this morning. 

A wave of dizziness crashes over you, making you lose balance, your hands scraping against the wood. Flashes of memories burst through your mind. A small hand touching bigger ones. Chubby legs that look like they’re learning to walk for the first time. A mobile hanging from above the crib. And a star. The same star that you painted on your ceiling. The same star that’s been in front of your very eyes this entire day. Another flash and you see a man and a woman. The parents of the lost daughter.

Gasping, you see Jungkook getting up and holding his head in his hands, his body feeling sore. Throwing yourself at him once again, you swallow thickly holding back another sob. Gradually, he lifts himself up whilst keeping his arms around you, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“J-Jungkook. I-”

“It’s fine, I know,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head as he manoeuvres your body to sit in his lap. “Y-you know what I am?” you sniffle, looking up at him, watching as he nods. “There was no way that you weren’t the missing princess. A girl that was kept in a tower, magical powers and the fact you looked identical to the picture painted on the wall in the middle of the village? I put it together fairly fast”

Leaning up, you kiss him softly on the lips but soon gets broken as you both start smiling uncontrollably, “Let’s get you home, princess.”

The balcony stood over the village, the open porch in front of you was held with detailed pillars, painted in a brilliant white. The architecture fitting perfectly with the village buildings, get standing out in the most ostentatiously way as the castle stood the tallest. Guards surrounded the both of you, causing Jungkook to be on his toes. If this all goes wrong you’ll both be jailed for life. The white stone of the castle glistened in the summer sun as you both wait anxiously. 

Heels clack on the polished floor, steps full of purpose as you clutch Jungkook’s hand tighter. Two people; a man and women step out. A gasp escapes them both as your eyesight gets blurry. Your parents. Your mother runs towards you and embraces you, knocking the wind out of you as she storks your cheek as if you were made of glass, her bloodshot eyes smiling at you with love, “y/n.”

“Mother, father.” you smile at them taking a hand each in your own.

“This is Jungkook. He helped me get here.” You say as you turn around to face him. Your dad walks towards him, boot heavy on the ground as he embraces him, “thank you for bringing my daughter home.”

Smiling at the sight, you pull Jungkook towards you and squeeze him tight, “thank you.” you whisper into his chest, feeling the rumble of his chest as he laughs, “anything for you princess.”

Pascal squeaks from Jungkook’s shoulder before turning blue, when all of the attention is on him from his celebration of joy, making you all laugh and coo at him. The princess of the tower was finally free. 

Please comment and reblog, tell me what you think!! It took me around 2 weeks to write this and I’m sorry if the ending isn’t as good :(( But I still hope you enjoyed 

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 14 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.1 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (13)

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{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

The Truth Always Finds A Way

“It's absolutely beautiful. I love it.” Laura says as you walk with her back to the living room. You just showed her Liam's bedroom, which is finally ready.

It's your fault it took so long though because there were a lot of things you couldn't decide on. But now it's ready, right on time thankfully, because it's the beginning of week 39, and you and Keanu are on full alert because it can happen anytime.

“Thanks. We have everything in place.” Gesturing at the door, Laura easily spots the bag lying on the floor. “That's the bag with everything I'll need in case we have to run.”

“So Keanu convinced you on a natural labor then.”

“Google convinced me.” Slowly, you drop to the couch, sighing. “Sweetie, you're making mommy so heavy.” You whisper to the baby, putting your feet up on the coffee table.

“You're almost here, little one.” Laura lowers her head near your belly. “Aunt Laura will spoil you so bad your mom will hate me.” She fell into his aunt role, but you don't mind. Since you don't have any siblings, you're happy Liam will have an aunt on Laura. “We'll pair up to prank your parents, right?”

“God help me.” You dramatically moan, eyes rolling.

“Planning on having more kids?” She asks, a hand caressing your belly.

“Yes. We have spoken about it and we'll have at least one more.” Smiling, you play with the tips of your hair. “Maybe Sophie will come, but if it's another boy it'll be Ethan.”

“I like it.” She says. “Oh, I have to ask. What was it yesterday? Lucia came over?”

“Yes, she did.” Not even on the last days of your pregnancy that woman leaves you alone. “It was fine until Keanu kissed me. Then it became a fight again. She just can't accept Keanu and I are fine. I don't remember him, but I fell for him again. I don't get what's the big deal.” When you look up at Laura, she has a weird expression on her face. “What is it?”

“N-nothing. Nothing.” She stutters, clearing her throat. “That's odd.”

“It is...” Furrowing your eyebrows, you're just about to say something when her phone starts ringing. “That's my alarm. I'll have to go.” She gets up, offering you a hand to pull you up. “But I can call later if you want to talk.”

“Sure, thank you.” Hugging her the best you can, you walk her to the front door, locking it after she leaves.

There isn't much going on today, so you head upstairs to your bedroom, smiling to hear the shower on. Tiptoeing into the bathroom, you see Keanu inside the box, so you silently take your clothes off before sliding the glass open.

That's when he notices you, turning around and smiling. “Is Laura gone?”

“Yeah.” Holding onto his arm, you step inside, feeling the warm water on your skin. “Heard the shower and thought I could join you.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him, slow and passionately. In moments like this, the whole world disappears. New York is gone, the busy streets and its people... There's nobody else, no worries, just you and him.

“You know we can't...” He whispers, pulling away from a little.

“I know. I just wanna shower, I promise.” You didn't have any ideas, but now you do. But still, you have to stick with showering only. “Help me, Ke.”

“You're such a teaser.” But despite the dramatic eye roll, Keanu grabs the body wash and starts rubbing it through your body.

Much to your dismay, Keanu has become a master of self-control, and once you're done, you have no choice but to leave, dry, and dress yourself as you wait for him. Back in the bedroom, his phone starts beeping, as many messages come through.

“Ke, your phone is beeping like crazy.” You tell him, raising your voice a little as you finish brushing your hair.

“Can you check if it's Robert?”

“Sure.” Walking around the bed, you sit down as you take his phone, your eyes taking in the notifications.

But it isn't Robert, it's Lucia. Pinching your eyebrows together, you start getting angry. Whatever reasons she's texting Keanu, it's probably not good. Unlocking his phone, you quickly find the messages app, opening it, and reading the texts.

‘You can't possibly think this will go on after the birth.’

‘I will tell her myself.’

‘You're disgusting. Lying to her like that, while she's vulnerable.’

Your heart starts beating so fast it drums in your ears. Her words are a mystery, and you're struggling to bring sense into it.

‘(Y/N) has the right to know about Daniel.’

‘My son. My dead son, her true husband.’

The messages keep coming and you start crying, a hand on your mouth to cover the sobs.

This can't be right. What is she saying? There's a sudden, pounding pain on your head, as your eyes go through the new texts.

‘You can tell yourself whatever you want, but this is all on you.’

‘You're lucky I'm not the type of person to expose celebrities, or else I'm sure your career would be over.’

‘You can't just keep lying to (Y/N) like this, it's not fair to her.’

‘This child isn't yours, it will never be.’

‘You can say this is for her own good, but I don't believe this bullshit.’

Standing up to your feet, you throw the phone away, further into the bed, too far for you to reach. You can't read it anymore. Is she lying?

No. Lucia mentioned Daniel as if he meant something to you. Michael did the same. He didn't seem to understand how you were with Keanu, since you were with Daniel...

Too many things come flooding back. Keanu's first distance, some weird expressions you couldn't read when you made certain questions... But still, you can't bring yourself to believe it. Maybe Lucia just wants to ruin your marriage.

When you hear the bathroom door closing, you turn around, not even trying to hide your tears. Keanu gets worried the moment he looks at you.

“(Y/N)? What happened?”

“Why is Lucia saying Daniel was my true husband?” You burst out, both hands clenched into fists. “That this kid isn't yours, that you're lying to me.” Pointing at the phone, you wipe off some tears. “It was her, not Robert.”

Keanu's face drops, and his whole posture changes. That's how you know it. That's when you realize Lucia is telling the truth.

“No...” You mutter, heart breaking as you bring both hands to cover your face. This can't be real, but his silence, his inability to answer proves your otherwise. “Please, Keanu, say something!” You yell, bending over a little when a sharp pain spreads through your hips. With a hand on the bed, you sustain your weight, standing up straight again.

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I–”

“My God.” Cutting him off, you pace around, a lump in your throat. You can only feel, and watch, as your whole world comes crashing down. It feels like you're in a nightmare, under torture, with a knife being put through your heart. “How could you...” It comes out a whisper, so you repeat, yelling this time. “How could you do that?!”

“(Y/N), please listen–” He comes forward, making his way around the bed, but you step back, hands raised.

“I don't wanna listen!” You snap, eager to put some distance between you and him. “I don't wanna listen! We... We slept together!” The memory comes back like a wrecking ball, and you feel violated, betrayed. “I–... I gave myself to you because I thought you were my husband. I–” The wave of pain cuts you short again, and you gasp, using the wall to sustain your weight.

“(Y/N), what are you–”

“Stay away from me!” Shouting, you find the closet door, rushing inside and locking yourself inside.

You're moving even before you notice, grabbing the first baggage you find and searching for your clothes, messily shoving it inside the box. Keanu is saying something, knocking, pleading, but you don't want to hear.

He was everything, and now, you just want him to be nothing.

Your head feels like it could explode as you remember all the moments you shared since you first saw him, in the hospital room. Like an idiot, you felt secure back then to know there was someone to look after you, to guide you in a life you didn't know anything about. When he told you about the pregnancy, you thanked the heavens for having a husband by your side. You were scared, terrified, empty... Just as you are now.

Keanu is nothing to you. The happy, wonderful marriage is just a lie. Your life, the man you love... “Go away!” You shout at him, making a damn mess on his closet, but you don't care. You don't want to love him, not anymore.

With whatever is left of your strength and dignity, you close the baggage and leave, pushing Keanu out of your way, sight blurry with tears. “Siri, call me a cab.” You tell as you walk past Keanu's phone, the change of lighting on the screen showing you it got your command.

“(Y/N), please don't leave.”

“Do you really expect me to stay?” Struggling on the stairs with the baggage and your huge belly, you hold tightly on the railing until you're safe on the floor. “A-after you... Damn it! I don't even know why you did this!” You're yelling again, moving to the front door, hoping the cab will get here soon. “What kind of man are you? What kind of person does this?”

“Let me explain, please. I found you after you crashed the car and–”

“And you decided to take me?! Is that it? You thought I was pretty, and I was in the perfect position for you to take me and play couple?!” A horn makes you sigh, and part of you is relieved that you'll go away from the man, the part that's burning with anger.

But there's another side, probably your heart, that hurts, aches for him. This is what's making you cry, and it yells for you to stay. To listen.

But despite his begging, you leave, pulling the door open and running to the cab.

Keanu isn't the one to cry often. He does feel sad, but tears are something rare.

But today, they come rolling down, like a flood.

How could it be any different? After everything he has done, how could he expect this to have a different end? This is what he deserves.

Pacing around the house, lost, he finds himself in the kitchen. Looking at the table, he sees her there, in her pale blue sweater, beautiful, smiling, putting a strand of hair behind her ear. He can't even count how many meals they had here, instead of using the dining room, because (Y/N) felt it was more intimate. Averting his eyes, he stares at the fridge, and there she is again, in her pink lace gown pajamas, stretching out on her swollen belly, marking down the weeks.

(Y/N) will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Slamming his hands on the island, he takes the small flower pot and throws it across the room, giving vent to his anger. Anger at himself for doing this. He could've said no. He could've told her he truth, that he found her, and that he would stand by her side for as long as she needed him.

But he decided on the lie.

Making his way upstairs, his phone's screen is on. Taking it from the bed, he finds the app tracking where the cab is going. Where she is going... But he closes it, going to the gallery instead, where he starts skipping through the photos they took.

Keanu is heartbroken for the first time in his life. On every photo, it hurts more and more, until he can't take it anymore. The tears are blinding him, so he lies down on his back, eyes on the ceiling. The house feels empty already, cold... But that's good. Because it suits him perfectly, that's exactly how he feels.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[strawberri-blonde]

Body Art - Spencer Reid

Summary: The reader did the tik tok challenge where she painted her body and made a nude painting for Reid’s study. Major fluff.

Warnings: Curse words and mentions of nudity.

Ever since you saw that tik tok with girls painting their bodies and putting them on canvases for their boyfriends or just to boost their confidence, you’ve been dying to make one for Reid. So that’s how you ended up in your shared bathroom with Garcia painting the back of your legs with a light grey color. “You know he’s going to freak.” You couldn’t help but laugh in agreement as you stared down at the navy blue that resembled most of his sweaters. Feeling the cool paint against your butt caused you to giggle from the sensation. “Be still.” The blonde giggled making you squirm.

“I can’t! It’s cold.”

“Okay,” Garcia laughed out at your protests. “I’m done. Now sit.” Leaning back carefully you formed this weird crab position before sitting on the canvas. Lifting up your right foot you painted on the grey and pressed it against the dry navy blue paint; wiggling a bit to make sure the paint stuck. “You think you got it.”

Shrugging your shoulders you pressed your hands on the canvas. “I hope so.” Slowly you stood with Garica’s help.

“Damn girl.” Looking back at your master piece you couldn’t help but smile. It looked so good. There was some rough edges here and there but you’ll fix it once the existing outline drys.

“I feel so sexy right now.” The grin couldn’t be wiped off and it made you want to call Spencer now but you knew it’d be better to wait. Especially since the case he was in involved children and everyone knew how he got after seeing those poor kids being put in those horrible situations.

“You totally should I told you how empowering it felt when I did mine.” Shaking your head in agreement you remembered seeings Garcia perfect pink booty painting that Kevin helped her make. “Goes to show, you should always listen to Penelope Garcia.”

“You know you’re always right, P.” The both of you laughed as you tipped toe towards the shower and stripped in their while her phone ring.

“Well if it isn’t my sweet dark chocolate.” Covering your mouth to suppressed your noise you then started to wash your body. “I’m on my break right now,” you both looked at each other and winked. “But I’ll be right on it.” Garcia turned to you. “Hotch needs a background check so I have to go.”

Sticking half of your body out of the shower you pouted. “Okay, just be careful driving back and if you talk with Spencer tell him I love him.” Garcia gave you a warm smile because she loved how caring you were and understanding that Spencer can’t talk to you on most cases so the pair uses her as a telephone and she truly doesn’t mind.

“Bye girly.”

“Bye P!” As the grey paint washed down the drain your face broke out into a smile because you really couldn’t wait to surprise your man.

Later that night you took a blow dryer to the canvas to help speed up the process. Once it seemed to be dry enough you took a smaller brush and started to clean up the edges. With gentle strokes the painting started to come together. Initialing the bottom corner, you blew dried it some more than once it was semi dry, you let it sit to really dry out then in the moring you would set it in mod podge.

The next morning was filled with anticipation seeing as you got a text from Spencer saying that they had caught the killer and they were about to get on the jet to go home. You hung the masterpiece on an empty wall in his study then cozied up on the couch with a book in hand to try and make the time pass. As the time passed so did your patience. You let out a huff and set the book down on the coffee table and shut your eyes hoping that resting your eyes would do something to relieve your body from this stress as to what was taking him so long. You took in deep breathes feeling your nerves ease as the dark welcomes you.

-

“Sweetie?” Feeling a pair of hands gently shake your shoulder, it didn’t take you long to be in the land of the consciousness. Wiping away the sleep, your eyes met with a pair of rich brown that always seemed to trap you in. “Hey.” His soft smile warmed your heart and his gentle hands helped you up to engulfed you into his arms. You snuggled into Spencer’s chest taking in his vanilla scent with a hint of coffee. He must’ve had some on the plane. You wrapped her arms around his waist and slowly scratched down his back, reminding him that he was home. Reid pressed a kiss towards your hairline making you look up at him wanting a real kiss.

Seeing your sneaky grin, Spencer let out a soft chuckle then leaned down to capture you soft lips into his. Comfort washed over the both of you, happy to have each other again, even if it’s only been a week. You still missed each other. You let out a sigh as you pulled away but you stilled had your arms around one another. “I’ve missed you.” Spencer laughed at himself as his hand played with the ends of your hand.

“I think I missed you more.” You shook you head and kissed him again.

“I made you something.” Hearing this Reid furrowed his eyebrows for a moment then widen his eyes.

“You didn’t have to get me anything sweetie.”

“I know.” You shyly looked down then meet his dark-honey eyes. “But I know how you get when you work a case that involves kids.” Spencer leaned down to kiss your forehead. “So I wanted to cheer you up.” Moving your hands up towards his biceps, you backed up moving them down until they reached his hands. With a goofy grin, Spencer willingly let you drag him across the room, towards his office. “Close your eyes.” Without hesitation the lanky giant shut his eyes and you opened the door and slowly pulled him in, making sure his eyes were still shut. You pulled him in front of the painting and moved yourself behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaned over so you could see partial of his face. “Okay, you can look now.”

Once his eyes had opened it took him a few seconds to progress in that brilliant brain of his what he was looking it and once he did, his mouth parted and he slowly turned his head your way but kept his eyes on the painting. “Do you like it?” Moving his eyes away from the painting Spencer looked down at you in pure amazement.

The disbelief in his eyes caused you to giggle and squeeze him harder. A goofy grin began to form as he turn away from you and started to walk closer towards the painting to get a better look. “It’s the most amazing piece of artwork I’ve ever seen.” Hearing his words, you smiled brighter and observed from a distance as Spencer traced the outline of your body ever so gently.

“I figured it’s something you can look at to help get your mind off things when I’m not home.” The smile on his face had your heart soaring, especially when he brought you into his arms and pecked your lips. However, your hands flew in his hair wanting more. Reid being more of a giver, didn’t hesitate as he brought his lips towards yours once more. Kissing him back, you felt his muscle relax and worries melt away. Biting your lip, Spencer pulled back making you want more. He’s such a tease.

“I truly don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I hope I keep on doing it because I can’t imagine my life without you.” Getting on your tippy goes, you pressed a hard kiss onto his lips sending the both of you in this need to be skin to skin. However you composed yourself for one last time to you get your words across.

“Well Dr. Reid, as long as I’m alive I’ll always be right by your side.” Smiling at those words, Spencer grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you up off the floor. A squeal left your lips as you tightened your grip around his shoulders. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to our room to remind you how much I love you.” You could help the giggle that escaped as you pressed kisses all over Spencer’s face and he didn’t mind them at all.

[theravencawsatmidnight]

Pink Chains

Pt 8. Ending

Kyotani owns a grunge /punk apparel shop after leaving the Sendai Frogs after a incident with the Black Jackals. He designs his own clothes and hires Oikawa & Iwaizumi as his employees. Everything goes smoothly for awhile, till you walk in; pink dress, big smile , and bubbly personality. His whole life stops in that moment. 

Nsfw. Virgin reader. Vanilla

Tags. @galagcica @haikyuu-but-low-iq @kozushiki @mocha-babes @kayisweird @lunebabie @zopzoop @derpeedoo

You were sitting on Kyos lap facing him holding his cheeks kissing him all over his face. Kyo had his hands on your rear trying his best not to tug at your panties and just kiss you . He was still thinking about what happened earlier , and you could tell. His kissing was getting sloppy .

You pulled away to sit on his fingers and lap giving him a shy pouty look. “Kyo…”

“Im sorry sweetie.. its just.”

You kissed him on the lips. “Just nothing. Wanna feel good… wanna feel good with Kyo..”

He sighed kissing you back giving you the ‘ok’. You could feel his fingers along your slit travelign up and down lightly in slow strokes. He chuckled at the little whimpers you made no matter how hard you tried to hide them from him.

“Can i have my hand back sweetie?”

“No..”

He smiled, kissing you again and again while his fingers worked on getting you wet for him. You leaned into him sighing lightly at the feeling, holding his sleeve, kissing it and rubbing against his fingers whining every time they slipped over your clit. Kyo kissed at your neck pulling you closer to him.

“Sweetie.. Lift up for a second”

You held him tight moving up so he could help you out of your panties and sit you on his lap again. You just had his old jersey on now but he quickly got rid of that too, tossing it with the other garments.

“K-kyo.”

“My pretty girl” he pulled you to him, slipping another hand under you again to slip a finger in you just to be stopped short. “Sweetie? Are you a virgin?”

“Yes i uhm..i still want to , just be gentle please..”

Kyotani did not know how to process this for a minute, every girl who threw themselves at him was always some slut. He's never been asked to take it slow before. “Okay sweetie, if at any point you wanna stop, tell me.” he kissed you and slipped another finger in you. The rings hit your flesh creating goosebumps.

You squeezed him tight getting used to the new feeling, eventually he got you to slowly grind against his fingers and helped you reach your first orgasm helping you through it. You pawed at his lap watching his erection get bigger each time.

“ i think.. Im ready”

“Your sure?” he asked , removing his fingers from you to see your juices dripping off of them. He bit his lip and before he could say anything you were taking his erection out and rubbing it.

“Swee!!..-”

You leaned into him giving him big eyes. “Im sure Kyo..”

He kissed you as he gripped your rear lifting you up. “Okay sweetie. Tell me if you want to stop okay?”

“I will Kyo..”

Kyotnai had nails dug into his sleeves while he lowered you down on him. He was hurting you , he stopped a couple times to ask if you were okay and you always nodded between shaking breaths assuring him you were fine and to keep going. It took him a few minutes to sit you back down on his lap. You cried when he broke through. Biting his shoulder drawing blood. He held your body close coaching you through it just like he did for the tattoo. It helped.. It really really helped.

It started out with you on his lap and ended with you on his bed and Kyo on top of you finishing on your stomach. He squeezed you panting hard trying not to put his weight on you too much. You giggled kissing his head and he laughed too. He never wanted to leave you, not ever.

Kyo helped you clean up and asked if he could get you anything to help make you more comfortable. You jokingly asked for a stuffed animal expecting him to not have one but he did in fact have one. A old wolf plush and a Sendai Frogs plush he pulled outta his closet. Kyotani helped you get dressed in his boxers and one of his shirts before putting you to bed. He kissed your head watching you drift off.

“Night sweetie”

“Night kyo..”

Kyotani left to get dressed and to throw your clothes in the wash. He sat on the dryer just listening to the washer for a minute. So much has happened over a few days for him. Multiple times he thought he was going to lose you , he still had no idea how you stayed with him. He was grateful to have you, grateful Yahaba made up with him, grateful his business was working and was hopeful for the future. He returned to you soon after the clothes finished to place them next to the bed, he got in behind you wrapping his arms around you trying to fall asleep. He was not looking forward to the morning,

*

You woke up first because of your alarm and the sound of excited dogs. Your body was sore but you did not mind too much. Kyo squeezed you in his sleep and you giggled kissing his arm all over.

“Kyooo…gotta get up..”

“Skip sweetie..” he nuzzled his face into your neck sighing heavy

“I gotta.. Draw my entry for the Gallery though, and what will i do if i skip?”

“Hang out at my job with me of course. “ he teased nipping your neck.

You sighed turning over and kissed his chest.

“What gallery?”

“My school is participating in this gallery at the local art building in town. My teacher asked if i would join in, im hoping.. I get picked up.”

“Picked up?” he asked you, moving your hair from your face.

“I want to graduate with a job already lined up, im hoping someone will like my designs enough to want to partner with me to sell them on clothes.” you nuzzled into his chest. “But im nervous too cuz.. Business people just see money”

“Where is this gallery again Sweetie?”

“Up the street from Mattsuns shop” you rubbed your eyes and Kyo got a grin on his face.

“Can i come?”

“Of course!” you hugged him tight and he kissed your head.

“Dress code?”

“I think so but.. I dont think its mandatory”

Ho ho ho…

Your phone buzzed again and you whined loud. “Kyoooo let em up…”

He just laid down on top of you . “five more minutes”

*

You played with the dogs for a bit petting each one and giving them kisses on the nose, you even shared your breakfast with them when Iwaizumi was not looking. Kyo had washed your clothes but you wanted to wear his, the pants were too long so you made them into shorts and picked out a random band tee you tied under your chest and found your shoes in the living room. God you were so cute in hi clothes what the fuck.

He couldn't stay long though. Kyotani was greeted with several texts and calls from Yahaba ordering him to get to his place immediately. He gave you a kiss and promised he would be at the show for you and left. Iwaizumi brought you to school and he left for work to see Oikawa had opened with no problems.

Kyotani made it too Yahabas house to be greeted by him in the door, arms folded and foot tapping. Kyotani rolled his eyes, noticing the extra car parked out front. Bokuto was already here. He walked into the house past Yahaba to see Bokuoto sitting at the table trying not to look at Kyotani. He sat down across from him and Yahaba met in the middle between them.

“So explain… what happened.” he said, rubbing the irritation in his face.

“Well., i was out getting somethings and i saw Mad Dog, and i just i dont know. Got upset, all i could think about what the Tourney and the accident.” Bokuto rubbed his eyes and ran hid hands through his hair. “I hit him first Yahaba”

“And you?” Yahaba looked over to Kyo.

“I hit him back” he took in a deep breath sitting back in the chair to rub his sleeve.

Yahaba rubbed between his eyes. “At least no one saw it…”

“y/n was with me”

“.....what?”

“Its true…” Bokuto added

“SO YOU JUST FOUGHT IN FRONT OF HER!”

“I almost punched her Yahab jesus christ, i still feel awful about it”

“She stayed with you?”

“Yes, she did, i dont know how but can we please fix this . i need to go to work and catch y/n’s art show”

“Is she okay Kyotani”

“She is now.” he looked away rubbIng his head. “I fucking hate myself.”

“Kyotani…” Bokuto said. “Im sorry, i let my emotions get the better of me and i should have more control than that. Akaashi gave me one hell of a lecture when i got home. I don't want to fight again.”

“I dont either”

Yahaba was still hung up on you putting yourself between these two and coming out without a scratch. Fuck you really were special.

“So can we agree to move on.” he finally asked them.

“Yes”

“Mhm”

“Good. shake hands and get out of my house.”

The two got up shaking hands and they both felt a wave of relief wash over them. Finally.

*

Back at the college everyone was eyeing your outfit but you did not give one fuck. Yuki and Kii paid you no mind and you spent most of the day in the art room with a towel of crumbled up sketches in a trash bag neck to you. Why was this so hard? You signed in to your arm looking at the empty canvas, lightly tracing over your red panda tattoo.

“Mmm……”You traced some more getting an idea. It was different, new, and stood out. Two opposites.

At The Dog House Kyotani had finally gotten there to see Oikawa running the front and Iwaizumi putting clothes out. He told them everything was fine now and about the gallery show you were in. both men were excited to go and Kyo even texted Mattsun about it.

“Are you gonna wear a suit for once ?” Kawa asked Kyo

“Uhm no, no im not.”

“Why not!!!”

“Because i want to stand out when i tell y/n i want her to partner with me at the shop”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa both got very big smiles and Kyo rolled his eyes, he couldn't help but smile too . he was so ready for tonight, to see your face and your reaction. He was going to tell you he loved you too.

*

It was time for the Gallery and you were already inside setting up your space. You had to change clothes and put on a black dress with boots. Kyotanis clothes neatly tucked away in your bag. You were so happy with the finished sketch you loved it so much, you hoped Kyo did too , you also hoped someone would want to buy it ..

People were starting to come in and you quickly set everything up when your teacher came over.

“y/n, its going to be lovely, this is such a fancy high established place i have no doubt someone will want to pick you up”

“Thank you.. Heh.. i hope soo….”

Things were going good. People loved your piece and you got compliments on it, not many people understood its meaning or how you came to the conclusion to draw these two things together but you loved it. No one made offers though, unfortunately. You just wanted to see Kyo .. where was he?

“You look ridiculous Kawa” Mattsun said.

“The invite said SUITS!” he yelled at them as he parked his car.

“It also said not mandatory” Iwaizumi said getting out with his friends

Kyo got out stretching giving all these fancy people a smirk as they passed, hands on their chest gasping at the sight of him and his friends.

Everyone had regular clothes on, Oikawa was in a suit.

Kyotani was in ripped jeans, black boots and his shops shirt.

Oikawa was in a fancy black suit.

Mattsun was in skater clothes showing off his many tattoos

Iwaizumi was in jeans and a punk rock shirt.

“Ready ?” he asked his friends as he cracked his knuckles.

Everyone said yes and Kyotani could not wait to get inside this fancy place.

You were sitting by your art staring at all the people, everyone had stopped coming over to ask about it. No one was interested. You wanted to leave but you were required to stay till the night was done. You sighed checking your phone when you heard a very loud gasp.

“Oh my god…”

“You must have the wrong place…”

“This place is not for you lot”

“Ouch, im just here to see my girlfriend”

You got the biggest smile jumping out of your seat. “Kyoooo!!!”

People looked back and you waved. Kyotani pushed his way through and Oikawa apologized awkwardly to everyone as him and his friends past through. Kyo picked you up hugging you tight kissing your chest and setting you back down.

“Hows my happy girl”

“Super good now!” you squeezed him and said hello to everyone.

Mattsun checked on his tattoo on you and Iwai and Kawa said hello.

“Sweetie anybody pick you up yet?”

“No.. i .. i dont think people like it”

“Where is it ?”

You took his hand taking him and his friends back over to your space. His heart thumped when he saw it. Holy fuck. It was a very large drawing of a wolf and a happy red panda. The wolf was standing and looking straight on and the red panda was between its front legs with its front paws up looking very happy.

You leaned on Kyo hugging his sleeve waiting for him to say something. Mattsun knew instantly you were inspired by his style, he even saw his name next to yours for credits/ inspiration. Oikawa was speechless for once in his life and Iwaizumi was watching his friend with a big smile. Good for you Mad Dog.

“Sweetie…. “

“Do you like it ? its … it us heh.”

“I fuckin love it”

“Really?!”

“Sweetie” he picked you up again and kissed your lips not caring who was staring. “ i love you y/n. I want you to partner with me in my shop. I want to spend my life with you.”

“KYO!!!” you wiggled in his grip till he put you down. You whined grabbing his face to kiss him all over. “ i love you too!! Yes yes!!!”

“And ill buy this art y/n” Mattsun told you.

You looked over and he smiled taking out his checkbook. “Thank you for putting my name on it, im touched.”

Everything was working out for you, nothing could be better.

The years went on, you agreed to move in with Kyo after you finished up school and used Mattsuns money to start up your designs with Kyo in his shop. He put your name on the brand making it yours as well. You made cute hoodies with ears and dresses along with cute animal bags. Kyotani still made his punk clothes and he still had his friends working with him. Mattsun had your art up in his shop and Bokuto visited regularly to ask how you were and so did Yahaba. Everything was perfect. Well. almost perfect.

Kyo was at his register going over inventory. It was after hours and no one was there but him and you. You skipped over sitting on the register giggling.

“Im almost done sweetie”

“It will only take a second!!!!”

He sighed looking up to see you holding a sketch book with three tiny garments on them, two looked to be boys clothes and the last one a girl.

“So you wanna sell kids clothes?” he asked, taking the book and standing up looking it over.

“Well … i was hoping we could use them for our kids”

“Sweetie we dont ha-........................................” he dropped the sketchbook looking at you,

You giggled, rubbing your stomach. “We do now!!!!”

*

Stick around for the sequel!!! 

Thank you for enjoying this story with me ❤️ i love this fic the very most it has a special place in my heart. Thank you for reading .

[gukyi]

tattoos together | kth

summary: you aren’t necessarily terribly particular when it comes to tattoos, and when you arrive at your favorite tattoo parlor one day in search of a new addition, one in particular catches your eye, but more importantly, so does the artist behind its creation. and slowly, you come to realize that art does not need sentimental value to be meaningful—it just needs to be loved.

{tattoo artist!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff word count: 5k warnings: mention of tattoo needles a/n: a huge huge huge thank you to @guksflavor for commissioning me for this piece, and thank you for contributing to the blm movement !!!! for anyone wondering--this was commissioned prior to my drabble commissions post, which is why it’s longer. hope that you enjoy!!!! 

When you go to a new city, your favorite thing to do is explore. 

Unpacking has never really been your forte, because it takes forever and it’s not as if any of the packages contain a surprise. You already know what’s in every single cardboard box strewn around your apartment, from the old clothes you never wear to the single set of nice dinnerware that you never use because you don’t ever have guests fancy enough to require usage of them. 

The beauty of the world is that it has so many hidden corners. So many hole-in-the-wall stores and secret alleyways shielded from street lights. Secrets unknown to even some of the locals. 

So yes, the boxes against the barren walls of your apartment can wait. 

They have been for the past couple of years, at least. What’s one more day?

Besides, if you hadn’t prioritized exploring over unpacking, you never would have found that little tattoo shop on the corner of South and Brooks, the one that looks more like a cottage-turned-overgrown-flower shop than a place where you go to get permanently inked. The walls are a pastel neutral shade, accented by exposed brick near the back and lined with drawings after drawings, new designs tacked over old ones, pages curling in on themselves after years of being hung up. 

From the inside or the outside, it doesn’t at all read like a stereotypical tattoo parlor. No black walls, no leather, no gothic lettering on the door. 

And that’s really the beauty of it all. That you would never know of this place if you hadn’t gone wandering, hadn’t decided that your unpacking of boxes could wait another couple of days (and maybe months, too). That there are secrets blanketing the city, and that you can learn them all, if only you keep your eyes peeled. 

Also, the tattoo parlor is right next to what you happily designate as the best bakery in the entire town, but that’s just a bonus. 

Still, Jungkook doesn’t ever seem to mind when you show up to a session with two coffees and a bag with two muffins inside of it. 

The bell above the door rings when you open it, stepping onto the beige welcome mat onto the tile. It’s been raining the past couple of days, and you can make out damp spots on the fabric where people have wiped their shoes. It’s busier than normal, today, several of the artists fielding requests and questions from eager clients, pointing at the designs on the wall or handing them their own sketches. 

But as always, Jungkook is free, loitering in the back corner with his hands tucked into the pockets of the dark jeans he’s wearing, as if he’d been expecting you all afternoon. 

Considering you are pretty much confidants after so many years of seeing him, you suppose that he’s picked up on your predictability—if only just a little. 

“What, don’t you have a job to be doing?” You ask instead of a hello, catching Jungkook’s attention immediately as you walk in, a bag of two scones in your hand. 

“Don’t have a job if you’re not here,” he quips back, strolling over casually and happily taking the napkin-wrapped baked good from your hand. He eats approximately half of it in a single bite as you settle down by his station, a vintage vanity that Jungkook says that the owner found at a thrift store. It’s awfully beat up as is, but looks more at home inside here, little succulents sitting, pressed up against the wall, and ink stains covering the countertop. 

“Touché,” you concede with a nod. 

“What are you here for today?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of scone. “You got an actual design in mind or just want me to wing it?” 

“Am I not allowed to just say hello to one of my favorite people in the city?” You tease. 

Jungkook frowns. “‘One of’? Who else is there?” 

“Me, of course,” you tell him happily. “You got any new designs I can take a peek at?”

“See for yourself,” Jungkook says, motioning to the wall beside him as you giddily skirt over to take a look. You’re in here so often that Jungkook’s long foregone showing you which ones were recently added—deigning to sit at his table while you pick out the new ones from the old, which sketches weren’t tacked to the wall the last time you were in. 

There’s a couple of ones that you don’t recognize taped along the wall, or peeking out of the open binders that they have spread out on spare shelves and countertops, new designs of birds and flowers and snakes. But the one that really catches your eye is a small one, drawn on a piece of paper the size of a Post-it note. You almost miss it, half-hidden behind a much bigger sketch of an old grandfather clock, lines dark and heavy. It’s a simple line drawing, really, of the sun rising or setting along the horizon, its reflection shakily echoed in the water it stands above. It could almost be straight out of a scrapbook, a Polaroid of a real moment in time, a real sight someone saw. 

“This one’s new,” you say, fingers reaching up to page at the edges. 

Jungkook gets up to see what all of the fuss is about. “Oh, yeah, just added yesterday. You like it?”

“It’s pretty,” you say, unable to tear your eyes away from it. It’s so simple, so modest. Like a doodle that someone would draw in the margins of a textbook, like the start of a flipbook design in an old library book. “Looks almost like it was printed from offline.”

“You know everything in here is usually hand-drawn,” Jungkook chides. 

“Reminds me of a photograph,” you say as Jungkook reaches out with his hands to take the design down. “You know, like some really picturesque scene on a beach. With the sun reflected against the water.”

“Can’t tell if it’s rising or setting,” Jungkook comments, holding it out in front of him. 

“I think that’s the point.”

“So, where do you want it?” Jungkook asks. “And don’t say the bottom of your foot. I know you’re joking.”

You laugh, reminded of the time you had teasingly told him that you wanted a flock of birds tattooed beneath your feet, and he almost believed you before you burst into a fit of giggles. Pausing, you think. Where would you want something like that? Not your back, surely. To you, the whole point of a tattoo is to be able to see it. And not on your torso, either. You’ve grown rather accustomed to the feeling of a needle on skin, so the pain isn’t the issue, but a drawing like that isn’t meant to be kept secret. Not supposed to be hidden by your clothes. 

You can’t say that you’ve ever kept tattoos particularly serious, plotting out exactly what you’ll get inked and which part of your body will make it the most meaningful. Tattoos are but another art form, one that uses the skin as its canvas, and not all art is supposed to be perfect and purposeful and mean something. Art is in the eye of the beholder. It is, above all, supposed to make you happy. 

You love every single thing that Jungkook has drawn on your skin, and every single thing that was drawn before you met him. But this one is special. 

“Here,” you say, pulling up the sleeve of your shirt so it rests on your shoulders, tapping the empty space on your upper left arm. It’s surrounded with tattoos, with flowers and words and pictures, but there has always been an open space. One that you were saving for something extraordinary. 

“You sure? You know I can’t undo this as fast as I can do it,” Jungkook says, not to mock you but to make sure you aren’t making a mistake. 

Perhaps it’s your impulsive nature, the part of you that doesn’t really care about making mistakes so long as you can recognize that they happened, that makes you shrug. That isn’t terribly particular over where Jungkook places the needle. Tattoos are for fun. Taking everything serious is boring, anyway. 

“I’m sure,” you tell him, and Jungkook nods. He goes to transfer the design to a tattoo stencil as you wait, finishing up your scone. It’s a little harder now that you’ve waited a bit to eat it, not as soft as it was when Jungkook tore through his, but it’s delicious nonetheless. 

As you’re waiting, you hear the bell above the door ring. You turn around to look at the latest patron out of habit, that instinctual people-watching urge that bubbles up inside of you. 

You don’t recognize him. 

Which isn’t a first, per se, but you are in here rather often and have come to know most of the regulars, at least on a first-name basis. You wonder if he had just wandered in after strolling down the street, noticed the flowerpots hanging from the ceiling or the walls littered with designs or the cracking white paint that makes this place look like an old-timey ice cream store. His eyes, dark and brown and mysterious, go straight to the designs on the wall beside you, as if he knows exactly what he’s looking for. 

He looks down at you and the two of you meet eyes, his partially hidden by his caramel brown hair, yours looking up at him because it feels like you can’t turn away. There is something about him that makes you want to ask him to come here more often. Just so you can see him again. 

“Oh, Taehyung!” 

You turn back to see Jungkook returning with the design on a stencil, toothy smile widening when he sees the boy in question, a wave of familiarity rushing over his features. 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, and the two of them greet each other the way that all men do, with that unspoken hand grab-turned-back pat. “Was in this part of the city and thought I’d stop by. See how my favorite skin artist is doing.”

“Ugh,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, “I hate when you call me that. It’s weird and makes me sound like I make art with skin.”

“Don’t you?” Taehyung poses teasingly, making Jungkook shove him playfully. 

“Shut up,” Jungkook responds, heading over to where you’re seated and placing the stencil down on the table. “Y/N here is getting one of your designs on her arm.”

That has you engaged. 

“You drew this?” You ask, picking the stencil back up and holding it out to him. 

Taehyung takes a couple of steps forward and reaches a hand out to look at the drawing in closer detail, before nodding. “Sketched it a couple of days ago. Jungkook said that it might make a nice tattoo.”

“Jungkook has terribly good judgement,” you agree. “I didn’t know you drew for Jungkook.”

“Eh, it’s not a job or anything,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like doodling things on the side. Jungkook being a tattoo artist is just a bonus.”

“I’ll say,” Jungkook says with a forced cough. “Y/N’s got a couple of your drawings actually, Tae. That one of the cherry blossoms, and the one with the teddy bear.”

“You did those, too?” You ask, getting more and more pleasantly surprised with every minute that passes. 

“You kidding?” Jungkook scoffs. “Taehyung’s art is all over this place. My boss is actually getting kind of annoyed with how much real estate his drawings take up, but clients seem to really like them, so they stay.”

“So you’re saying it’s not my infectious personality?” Taehyung quips, making you laugh. He and Jungkook seem to go well together. 

Jungkook sighs, a smile tugging loosely at his lips. “Get out of here, I’ve got a client,” he says fondly, motioning to you. 

“Kicking me out after five minutes? I think that’s a new record,” Taehyung says, peering at the old clock on the wall. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Jungkook says, even though it’s obvious that the both of them already are. Jungkook’s too kind, too sweet, too wonderful to ever turn away a friend. Even if he does have a client. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a tip of an imaginary hat. His smile makes the blood rush to your cheeks, charming and for some reason, irresistible. “Hope that we see each other again soon. I’d love to see your tattoos.”

“I hope so too,” you say, positively enchanted, as he exits, the bell ringing on his way out. 

You wonder why you hadn’t met him before. You suppose that you just always missed each other. 

You sort of hope that, after this, you never do.

You run into Taehyung a couple of days afterwards in the bakery next door to the tattoo parlor. You’re standing by the coffee counter, chatting to one of the baristas who always teases you for buying two of everything whenever you’re there, when you spot him wandering in, the same curious look on his face. He doesn’t notice you at first but you see him straight away, recognize him instantly. It looks like he just accidentally stumbled upon this place, like he had been walking and walking and walking and when he looked up, he was inside. 

You wonder if Taehyung comes here as often as you do. Wonder if he makes an effort to always stop in since he drops by the parlor on a regular basis. Wonder how long you’ve gone, cruelly so, just missing each other. 

“Y/N?”

You look up to see him gazing at you, a lopsided smile tugging at his features. Next to you, the barista hands you your bag of baked goods, two as always, and winks before getting back to work. 

“Hey, I didn’t see you come in,” you lie, hoping that he didn’t catch you ogling him as he walked inside. “You stop by often?”

“Whenever I get the chance to,” Taehyung says back. “I like carbs and coffee.”

“Then I suppose you’ve found the perfect place to be,” you say. And then, in a blaze of courage, you ask, “Are you just popping in, or do you want to sit down for a little?”

Taehyung smiles, warm and wonderful. “I’d be happy to.”

You snag a table in the corner, facing away from the barista who keeps sending you nonsensical and exaggerated facial expressions and gestures, because this is not a movie, and he is not your beautiful love interest who waltzes into your life and sweeps you off your feet. Even if he is rather beautiful. 

“I got two pastries,” you say, tugging them out of the bag, still wrapped in napkins. “Want one?”

Taehyung chuckles as you hand one to him. “Do you always get two of what you order?”

“Hey, I like carbs too,” you tell him defensively, making Taehyung nod in agreement. Seeing as you bought them just a few minutes ago, they’re still warm, soft between your fingers as you pull apart the dough and slowly take a bite. It tastes even sweeter than usual. 

“Do you come here often?” Taehyung poses. 

“Anytime I drop by the parlor,” you add cheerfully. “And sometimes even when I don’t.”

“We seem to always be missing each other, then,” Taehyung muses. 

“Hopefully that will change,” you add with a grin. “Jungkook finished my tattoo a couple of days ago. Do you want to see?”

“The one of my drawing?” Taehyung asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

“What else would there be?” You say, pulling up the sleeve of your shirt to reveal the design. It’s only been a few days, so the tattoo hasn’t had nearly enough time to fully heal, but the sketch is just as prominent as it was when it was first pressed into your skin. It fits perfectly in the empty space that was there before, the lines filling out the blanks between the other pictures. Almost as if that spot had been waiting for the right thing to fill it. Almost as if it had always belonged there. 

Taehyung’s mouth opens in awe as you show him, the skin still raised where the needle had pressed against it. You have to say you don’t really mind showing off your tattoos to others, especially when they bring you so much joy yourself, and people are usually more appreciative than disapproving, but watching the way Taehyung’s face lights up when he sees his design, his sketch, his art on your skin makes your heart beat something terribly fierce. 

The beauty of tattoos is that it is permanent art. Art on the wall of a museum will need to be constantly restored, will be moved from place to place as people bid hundreds of thousands of dollars on owning it. But tattoos follow you wherever you go, will keep you company no matter what the circumstances are. It is art that is permanent, because it will never leave you. 

It seems that Taehyung has realized that as well. 

“Wow, I—” Taehyung says, rubbing at the bottom of his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the dark ink decorating your body. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll let Jungkook know that you really like it,” you say, pleased. “He did an excellent job, as always.”

“Why?” Taehyung asks, the simple question being the only word he’s able to form, the only thing he’s able to think. 

“‘Why?’” You repeat, an eyebrow raised. “Why did I get it?”

“Why did you get that one?” Taehyung says for emphasis, pointing to the design laced along your upper arm. “Out of the millions of possibilities, why choose mine?”

“Oh,” you say, at a loss for words. It’s difficult to pinpoint why. It doesn’t have a terribly sentimental meaning to you. No long-lasting symbolism that has followed you throughout your life. You chose it because it was simple and easy and beautiful. Because you thought that it would be the perfect fit. “Well, I don’t have a great reason.”

“It’s permanent ink on your body,” Taehyung says. “You must have thought it meant something.”

“I just liked the way it looked,” you say. “It was so plain and modest, but it looks like a scene out of a movie. Like a moment captured in time. I don’t know—” you shrug, “—it sort of reminds me of a Polaroid picture. The sun halfway above the horizon. Its reflection on the water.”

Taehyung is speechless, a soft grin slowly inching its way across his face. He looks fond, looks grateful and honored. Like what you told him was the perfect answer. 

“Is the sun rising or setting, Taehyung?” You ask, curious. You suppose that no matter what he chooses, it’ll be the right answer. That the sun can either be rising or setting, so long as you know that it will always return. If it’s rising, it is but a reminder that there is a whole day ahead of you. That you have so much to do and so much to look forward to. And if it’s setting, it’s to let you know that you made it another day, another twenty-four hours. The sun may be saying goodbye, but you can never lose faith that it will come back to say hello. 

Taehyung seems to ponder for a moment, eyes tilting upwards as he thinks, lets the question weigh on his heart. And then he turns to you, a glint in his eye, and he says, “You think it’s the sun?”

And truth be told, you had never considered that it might be the moon. 

In the stark black-and-white of a single-color tattoo, it could be anything you wanted. It could be a massive planet in another galaxy, could be a sweet chocolate ball sinking into a warm cup of milk. But Taehyung thinks it’s the moon. He sees the absent sky as dark, sees the circle in the center as the one that watches over you when you sleep. 

The sun and the moon are the only two constants in everybody’s life. One will never be without the other. And they will always chase after each other, circling the sky every day and every night, eternally unable to stay together. 

Perhaps it is the moon. Or the sun. Perhaps it is rising, or setting. 

And perhaps that is why you chose this design. Because of its ambiguity. Because it can mean so much despite being so little, which is what art is for, isn’t it? To see something and make it beautiful in your eyes? To always look at the world through rose-colored glasses?

No matter what it is, it will remind you that you are never alone. No, even when you have nothing left, the sun and the moon will always stand by you, watch over you. They will light up the path in front of you and guard you on your journey. 

“Well,” you ask Taehyung, smiling. You wonder briefly if that was the whole point of his design. For it to represent whatever the viewer wanted it to. And then you realize that of course that was the point. That Taehyung drew it like this on purpose. Tattoos will follow you for the rest of your days. So will the sun and the moon.“What do you think it is?”

You don’t see Taehyung for a while after that. 

Not that you had been expecting to inexplicably bump into him on the street, or anything, but you were secretly hoping that your luck had changed. That you were slowly beginning to make up for all of the moments you missed each other, all of the times you were just five minutes away from meeting, always just a little too early or a little too late. 

Still, you wish that you could see him more, or at least more often than you currently do, which is never. You know so little about him and yet there is something that draws you closer, makes you want to sift through the layers of dust between his bones, find out what makes his brain tick and his heart beat.

Ever since he walked into the tattoo parlor that day, strolling in with his hands on his pockets and witty comeback on the tip of his tongue, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. About how his art is etched onto your skin eternally. About how he does everything with purpose. 

Meeting him was no accident. 

Is it possible that you were always meant to know each other?

After a month, you return to the parlor, half in search of another design to add to the collection and half hoping that maybe your luck will change and you’ll be able to see him again. And if not, at least there’s always Jungkook to keep you company. 

You drop by the bakery and pick up a very optimistic three scones, just on the off chance that Taehyung may be there when you arrive. Besides, you can’t imagine Jungkook complaining about free food, let alone extra of it. 

But when you arrive, you’re shocked to see that Jungkook is busy working on someone. 

“Taehyung?” You ask, his name the first word to come out of your mouth when you enter. He’s sitting at the same stained white vanity sleeve rolled up as Jungkook presses the needle against his skin. He’s wincing, in that way that people who are getting their first tattoo do, not necessarily from pain but simply from the feeling. 

Jungkook pulls the needle away from Taehyung’s arm before the two of them both turn to look at you, equally as shocked by your presence. 

“Y/N,” Taehyung says back, almost as if your very existence has taken his breath away. 

“You weren’t supposed to come for another hour or so,” Jungkook says, checking the clock on the wall. 

“Are you complaining to the person who brings you free baked goods?” You ask, making Jungkook shake his head in a guilty no. You saunter over to the table to pull out the scones, giddy about having rightly purchased a third, when you notice the design slowly being imprinted onto Taehyung’s skin. 

It’s the same one you have. 

“Hey, what’s this?” You ask, not necessarily looking for an actual response so much as wondering aloud. Taehyung’s getting it in the same place as yours, the upper arm, a single drawing of ink on bare, untouched skin. It must mean something rather special to be his first. “Is that—?”

“Don’t be mad at me for copying you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “The more I thought about it the more I liked it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell him. 

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says with a sigh as Jungkook motions towards the needle, a silent question to see if Taehyung’s still alright with him continuing. Taehyung nods, letting only his eyes drift upwards to yours as Jungkook goes back in. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of impulsive, isn’t it? Getting a tattoo after seeing what it looked like on someone else. But when we were talking about it, I just thought about how detailed it really was. How it said so much despite being so little.”

“That’s what I thought about it, too,” you say with a grin. “It’s special. I mean, every tattoo is special, but this one is because it can mean whatever you want it to mean. Whether it’s the sun or the moon, rising or setting. And the beauty of it is that you can change your mind about it, too.” 

If one day, you would rather the moon watch over you, keep the waves calm on a quiet night, where your thoughts are loud and heavy, then it will. But if, the next day, you want some light to shine down upon the field of daisies and wildflowers in your heart, then the sun will come out. No matter which it is, it will stand guard over you, protect you from what the rest of the world will try to throw at you. 

“What do you think it is, Jungkook?” Taehyung asks, making Jungkook stop. 

Jungkook looks down at the drawing, at what he is pressing into Taehyung’s skin, and he says, “I think it’s the rising sun. Telling all of us to look forward to a brand new day.”

You smile. “And what do you think it is, Taehyung?”

Taehyung doesn’t skip a beat. “I think it can be all four all at once—the sun rising, the sun setting, the moon rising, the moon setting. It just depends on what you want it to be.”

“You know,” you say with a grin. “We’re going to have matching tattoos now.”

“Oh, are we?” Taehyung asks cheekily, even though nothing he ever does is accidental. Not the sketch, not the tattoo, and certainly not its placement. 

“We are,” you say, pulling up your sleeve for good measure. “They could be buddies. Hang out and take pictures together.”

“What about us?” Taehyung asks. “Can we hang out and take pictures together too?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You pose, even though you already know the answer. 

“That depends,” Taehyung quips back. “Are you saying yes to one?”

“I think I am,” you say, pleased smiles lacing their way across your faces. Taehyung is beaming, the discomfort of a needle barely even registering, as he grins at you, charming and brilliant and bright. “And I look forward to it.”

“Me too.” Taehyung nods. 

“I’m here to hopefully get another tattoo,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows. “If you want, you can stick around and maybe we can get tattoos together.”

“Isn’t that a bit impulsive?” Taehyung smirks. 

“Aren’t you?”

And you think that, even though the universe kept you apart for so long—separated by minutes, perhaps even seconds—it sort of always knows what it’s doing. You were never not going to meet. It was just a matter of when. 

And the sun and moon will never not protect you. It is just a matter of which. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[waiting4inspiration]

Darkness before Dawn VI: A Friend?

Summary: You meet the ghost that doesn’t seem to want to harm you and she tells you what she wants. Geralt confronts Jaskier on his motives for introducing him to you, only to let on that he has some kind of feelings for you. 

Warnings: fluff, angst, strong language, slight horror themes, mentions of infidelity, ghosts

Word Count: 2,458

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

You’re not jealous of your sister for having to take these lessons on how to be a queen and how to rule a country. You’d rather be in your room, painting, instead of being asking the histories of the continent and having your sister glaring at the protective circle you sit-in along with the Witcher bodyguard behind you. 

Geralt knows you’d rather be in your room too. He can sense it in you. He doesn’t mind Charlotte staring at him. Being a Witcher, he’s gotten used to the lingering eyes of people. But he can see in your body that you don’t like your sister’s stares. 

Returning to your chambers, you breathe out a long sigh of relief and drop a stance that Geralt hadn’t noticed you had been keeping up since leaving the library. Running your hands through your hair, Geralt spots that bandage around your forearm and notices that it needs to be changed. 

When he steps forward and clears his throat, you turn around to face him and drop your arms to your side. “Your wounds…” he trails off, nodding down to your injured arm.

Your head drops to look at your forearm that you touch lightly. Ida cast a spell to take the pain away and to help it heal, knowing just from looking at it that it wouldn’t heal without any scarring and that it’s causing you some pain. Taking away the pain ended up taking away the memory that you had the injury. 

And you can see that the bandages need to be changed too. “Oh,” you whisper, moving to sit on the chair closest to you as he turns to get the ointment and bandages that have taken up space on top of the fireplace before he pulls a chair forward to sit in front of you. 

You watch him slowly undo the bandage around your arm and bite your lip to see the claw marks again. “You still haven’t told me about that spirit you saw before your aunt walked in yesterday,” he mentions, slightly reminding you of your promise to tell him everything so he knows more about what he’s dealing with. 

“I saw…” You take in a breath just to breathe it out again. “I saw a woman who looks like she had been strangled,” you say, your eyes never leaving his hands as he wraps the fresh bandage around your arm. You find that you’ve been staring at his hands a lot recently. For reasons, you’re not quite sure of.

He hums, breaking your gaze from his hands to look up at him. “She tried to hurt you?”

“No,” you quickly reply, his eyes flickering up to you for a moment before returning to his work on the bandage. “No. It was like she was asking for my permission to touch me. Is that a thing for spirits to do?” you ask, tilting your head to the side when he pulls away after finishing with your bandage. 

Lifting his gaze up to you as he shifts back into his seat, he breathes out a sigh and drops his gaze again to the floor beneath his feet. “I wish I had an answer for you. But truth be told, I don’t really know,” he sadly says. You nod your head, bite your lower lip and glance down at your hands. 

“Do you think I should talk to her?” you question with a small tone of fright on your voice. Something that Geralt picks up on. 

He stares at you for a moment, trying to recall that moment yesterday. He remembers how you didn’t seem scared like the times he’s seen with the other spirit. The main spirit. “If that is what you want to do,” he mutters. But you give him a look to give you a straight answer. A look that, for some reason, makes him chuckle to himself. “Perhaps, having someone in the spirit realm can help us find out more,” he states.

“Find out more about him?” you ask, your eyes falling to your wrapped up arm and your fingers lightly stroking the bandaged. Geralt hums in confirmation, making your head nod and your lip to be pulled in by your teeth. 

Then, you shake your head and breathe out a small sigh. “I didn’t want any of this,” you say in a small whisper, lifting your head up to Geralt, your eyes meeting his and your heart to skip a small beat. “I didn’t want to be the heir to the throne of Eronia. I didn’t want to be above Charlotte. I didn’t want to be taught how to be queen. I was happy just being…” you trail off, dropping your head between your shoulders as you sigh again. “I was happy being who I was. The second-born princess kept out of the public eye.”

“Why?” he asks, not even giving you a moment to breathe before he asks the question. You look back up at him, a frown grows on your face as you shake your head, not understanding his question. “Why do you want to live your life alone? Unknown to the people out there. Your people,” he questions, holding out his hand to the window and your gaze follows his gesture. 

“Because if I don’t have the responsibility the crown brings, I can be myself,” you mention, staring at the window for longer than you expected. “I don’t have to be all-knowing, all-powerful, regal. I don’t have to be perfect. Striving for perfection, that’s not me,” you say, looking back at Geralt as you give a small shoulder shrug. “That’s Charlotte. Being queen, that’s Charlotte’s thing. Not mine.”

Geralt stares at you, a small smile growing on his face ends up making you smile in return. “And what is your thing?” he asks, leaning back in his seat, his smile fading the moment you drop yours. 

Standing from your seat, your walk across the room to stand in front of your unfinished canvas. You don’t speak. When you bring a hand up to touch the dried paint, tracing the incomplete shapes, Geralt stands and walks over to you. 

You hear his footsteps coming closer to you. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet,” you whisper, your eyes falling to your resting paintbrush as your fingers start to reach for it. “But I do know that I want to see what’s out there.” You turn your gaze out of the window beside you and turn to stand in front of it. “I want to know what lies beyond the castle walls. What I’ve been kept from. If I am to be queen, I want to know what I’m protecting my people from,” you say, holding the paintbrush gently in your hands as you stare at the hills in the distance, remembering the color of their green grass so you might replicate it later.

“Nothing good lies out there, (Y/n),” he states. By calling you by your name, something he hasn’t done before, he makes you turn around. He knows what he did. But he doesn’t regret calling you by your name. Not if it has made you smile so brightly. Which it has.

Your cheeks turn slightly red as you smile at him. “Well, I hope then that you’ll protect me then?”

Your words make his face fall. And you realize that you might have said the wrong thing. Your face goes red with embarrassment and you turn to face the canvas as Geralt shifts on his feet and clears his throat. He takes a step back and glances over his shoulder. “I should find Jaskier. Make sure he’s not getting himself in trouble,” he mentions.

Looking back up to him, you nod your head and force a smile. “I think that’s a good idea,” you softly say, dropping your head to look at your hands. 

Geralt starts to walk away, but stops and looks back at you, making your head lift up to look at him with slightly wide eyes. “Will you be fine-”

“I’ll stay in the circle,” you cut him off, pointing to the markings on the ground around you. 

He nods his head and abruptly turns around to walk away, leaving you alone and letting you breathe out a long sigh. That was awkward. Why? You’re not sure. 

As for Geralt, he walks through the corridors of the castle, looking for any sign of Jaskier. Even though he knows the bard's intentions of bringing him here was to meet you, he knows Jaskier. And he has a feeling his intention goes way farther than just an acquaintanceship with you. 

Deciding to add more to the painting, you get your paints out and place them in a strategic manner beside you. You need to forget your embarrassment you felt just before Geralt left. And you can do that with your paintings. 

It’s easy finding where you left off, your paintbrush almost leading your hand instead of it being the opposite. Every now and then, your eyes flicker over to the view you have from the window. To see that you’re getting the image right. To make sure you have the colors right. And you only have so much time before the sun sets and changes that color. 

The last time you painted this picture, before leaving it when you had to attend Charlotte’s birthday feast, there had been sheep on the hills. And you added those. Now, the hills are empty. Which means that you have to use a bit of your imagination when it comes to that. 

You don’t mind a bit of imagination. You once painted what you thought Cintra looks like just from Jaskier’s stories alone. Whether or not it’s accurate, you hope to find that out sometime. 

“Princess,” a voice says behind you. A female voice you mistake for your handmaiden in the headspace you’re in. 

Humming as you turn your head over your shoulder, you gasp when you see the ghost. The woman beside the fireplace. The one that wanted permission to touch you. 

She stands on the edge of the circle, her hand folded in front of her and a comforting smile on her face. You turn around after placing your paintbrush down and step closer. “Please,” she whispers, holding her hands up as she takes a step back. “It’s best if you stay in that circle,” she mentions with a small laugh, looking down at the slightly illuminating markings on the ground before she looks up at you again. 

You freeze in your spot and blink at her. “Who are you?” you ask, her smile falling as she gives a small sigh. 

“I was Malla of Rinde,” she states, forcing a smile again as she steps around the circle to try and get slightly closer to you. “Until I died, of course.”

“You were murdered,” you bluntly say. Realizing your word, you close your eyes and sigh out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s okay,” she stops you, holding up her hands in defeat as she chuckles. “When you’re dead for as long I’ve been, well…” She shrugs and sighs. “You get used to it. You have enough time to think about it,” she adds, smiling at you again as you take a step forward. 

Your eyes fall to her neck, the bruises making a bit more sense now and cause you to take a sharp breath. “You wanted my permission yesterday. My permission for what?” you question. 

Malla licks her lips, takes a deep breath, and steps forward into the circle, closer to you. “To manifest.”

Geralt finds Jaskier flirting with a handmaiden, making her blush as he tells her stories of his travels; Geralt thinks they are untrue. It’s easy to pull him away by the scruff of his tunic as he walks past and ignores the protests being whined out by the bard. 

Jaskier tries to wriggle out of Geralt’s hold, trying to turn so that he can follow easily and without stumbling backward all the time. But it isn’t after a few turns that he finally is let go and allowed to turn around to face the Witcher. 

“What was that for?” he questions, fixing his shirt as he frowns up at Geralt. “You know, I was having a very lovely conversation with her until you rudely interrupted-”

“Why do you leave me alone with her so much, Jaskier?” Geralt cuts him off, narrowing his eyes at him to stop any other kind of protest about how he broke his flirtation with the handmaiden. “She’s your friend, not mine,” he adds, taking a step forward that makes Jaskier take one back away from him. 

Jaskier sees what this is about, a proud smile growing on his face as he shifts on his feet. “You’re starting to like her, aren’t you, Geralt?” he questions, earning an eye roll from the Witcher who groans and attempts to turn around. “I know that it wasn’t true that Witchers don’t feel human emotions. But you like her.” Jaskier quickly rounds him, moving in front of him to stop him from walking away from the conversation. He did, after all, start this. “The only question is, do you like her as a friend or as something possibly more?”

“Neither. I don’t get attached to people.”

“Like how you got attached to Yennefer?” Jaskier question makes Geralt go stiff and his eyes to grow wide. It’s been a long time since they had an encounter with Yennefer, the last not going so great. But Jaskier knows. And he notices something in Geralt now at that mention. “Do you feel the same way about (Y/n) as you did about Yennefer?” 

Geralt stays silent for a moment, thinks about those words and swiftly shakes his head. “No. I don’t.” He doesn’t. With you, it’s different. You’re different from the Mage. Your company is different. And dare he say, more pleasant. No, what he feels when he’s with you, it’s not how he felt when he was with Yennefer. But it’s not a feeling he’s dwelt too much on in the past. 

Then he realizes he’s left you alone. Even though he knows you’re in the circle, anything could happen. And he has a job to do. “Fuck,” he mutters, turning around on his heel and storming off. 

Jaskier smirks to himself, folds his arms over his chest, and watches a frustrated Geralt walk away for a moment before following. So, his plan of leaving you two together seems to be paying off. The big, mean Witcher is starting to like you. 

Just as Jaskier hoped he would. Now, he just has to see how far those feelings will go.

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[etoileholland]

La vie en rose

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: while at a museum in Paris, you meet Tom, a boy so beautiful that the masterpieces pale in comparison to him.

A/N: This was originally a series that I made for @scarletxwidow​ back in 2017 (long before I ever had this blog), but I recently found it and decided to give it a new life. I have another part to this story written out, would anyone care to read the rest? Let me know! And as always, please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

(The photo is not mine; all credit goes to its respective owners)

Wow, it’s even more beautiful up close. You thought, admiring the Monet painting that encompassed the entire wall. Her eyes traced the swift veridian brushstrokes, appreciating the tranquility of the water surfaces encapsulated onto the expansive canvas.

After university you had booked a plane to Paris to experience the art and the culture firsthand. One of your first stops was to the Musée de L’Orangerie, to see Monet’s “waterlillies” painting. You had worked different odd jobs and saved money to afford a plane ticket, but it seemed well worth it.

It was a particularly rainy Tuesday night and the museum was practically empty. There were a few people around, but the rain was so bad that it seemed like everyone had stayed home. The museum had a dreamlike feel to it, with the beautiful paintings adorning the walls, and the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; it was surreal to say the least.

Your ears perked up when you heard a tour guide explaining a painting to a couple at the other end of the room. Looking over at the elderly couple, you noticed that they walked hand in hand; something that had warmed your heart instantly. It was rare to see love that has stood the test of time, but then again, it made sense in a city that’s known for love. The tour guide quickly finished reciting the history of the painting, motioning to the couple to follow him to another section of the museum, leaving the hall silent again.

Sitting down at the bench that was in front of the waterlilies painting, you set your bag down next to you and pulled out a well loved book that you had purchased at a used bookstore back home. The book, titled ‘guide de visite’, was slightly outdated, but went into great depth of the paintings here at the museum. You had immediately fallen in with the book, having read it many a time, each time vowing to yourself that you would see these paintings in person. Flipping through the delicate pages of the book, you stopped when you found the descriptions for the waterlillies painting, becoming entranced with the printed text.

Face buried in the book, you hadn’t noticed the figure standing behind you until he had moved into your peripheral vision. Shifting your gaze slightly upwards, you saw that the person was looking over at you. You observed him curiously, noticing his curly brown hair that was lightly tousled, and his long black and white tweed overcoat. He seemed around your age, and had a certain allure about him. He smiled when your eyes met, but instead of smiling back you averted your gaze back to the painting.

“Excuse me love,” his soft voice lightly echoing through the empty room, “would you mind if I sat next to you?” He asked, standing there as he awaited your answer.

Nodding your head yes, you carefully picked up your bag and set it gently on your lap. He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, his sneaky side glances not going unnoticed by you. You could feel yourself blushing as you tried to keep your focus on the painting instead of the handsome boy sat right next to you, which proved to be quite difficult.

Nervously touching the watch on his wrist, he cleared his throat, before saying, “I was admiring the Monet, but it was taking away from your beauty.” His cheeks were pink as he smiled, as he was scanning your features to make sure that he didn’t weird you out with that comment.

Flustered, you brought the book up to your face so that he wouldn’t see you blush, and you uttered out a small “Oh, um thank you.”

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He said, smiling as he waited for you to say your name, which you did.

“Enchanté.” He said as he continued to admire your features. You didn’t know why this very good looking guy was paying attention to you, let alone admiring you, and the thought of that alone left you feeling flustered.

The two of you sat there for a while, taking in the painting, but him sitting so close to you made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You cleared your throat as you stuffed your book in your bag and stood up.

“Wait, hold on a second.” He pleaded, “I just need to know one thing.” He asked while you nodded, sitting back down next to him.“You’ve been looking at the painting for a while, is it your favorite?”

“Definitely. It’s just do beautiful, you know? The colours blending together beautifully, and the brushstrokes are just pleasing to the eyes.” You let out a small laugh, and all Tom did was smile.

“Do you know a lot about the other paintings here?” He asked, his voice soft, along with his gaze.

“Yes, actually. Years ago I purchased this,” you motioned to the book on your lap, “and it tells of a lot of the paintings here. Although, some of the pieces aren’t here anymore but it’s nice to have a little piece of history, I guess.” You smiled nervously, mentally telling yourself to not sound so nerdy. Tom smiled softly at you, enjoying how passionate you were about art.

“So you’ve probably memorised the whole book then if you read that on a long flight.” He responded in an effort to keep the conversation up.

“Yeah, maybe so.”

He smiled again, and his smile was so adorable that in turn, made you smile too. Maybe he was the real masterpiece here, you thought. The masterpieces in this room don’t compare to his beauty.

“Well then,” he paused, nervously looking down at hands, “maybe do you mind being my tour guide? My brother Sam brought me here but then ditched me to get coffee with some American girl, can you believe it? It was his idea to drag me here but then left me the first chance he got. Typical.” He let out a small laugh, and you mentally thanked whoever Sam was, because if he didn’t leave Tom, then you probably wouldn’t be talking to him right now.

“So I’ve been wandering around, admiring the art, but it would be nice to be with someone who really understands art.” He hinted, his eyes twinkling under the museum lighting. You didn’t realise that he was closer to you than before, but you didn’t mind.

“Well you could have gone with the tour guide, I’m sure they know more than I do.”

“True, but the guide isn’t nearly as beautiful as you, darling.” He responded, the ‘darling’ rolling off his tongue like caramel. Thank god you were sitting, because if you were standing you would have melted into the floor.

“Well, alright then, follow me.” You said, gathering your belongings, while Tom held out his hand for you to grab so you could get up. His hands were soft yet firm, and as you stood up you let go of his hand immediately. He frowned when you let go of his hand too quickly for his liking, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed right behind you, as you began your tour.

You two made your way around the museum, admiring the Picasso’s and the Matisse’s. You had your book open as you showed him the pages, reading the description from the book to him as you two admired the paintings. You often caught him staring at you instead of the art, and you playfully pushed him. “Oi mate, pay more attention to the artwork.” You exclaimed as you mimicked his accent.

He laughed, throwing his hands up like he was surrendering. “I can’t help but stare at how beautiful you are, and how adorable your accent is. The artists would understand that I’m basking in the beauty of the real artwork here.” You two blushed as you uttered out a small “thank you,” and continued the tour.

At that moment, one of the museum workers came up to you and Tom and spoke. “Excuse-moi mademoiselle et monsieur, le musée ferme ses portes dans quinze minutes. Merci beaucoup.” He left as swiftly as he came, leaving you both as Tom stood there puzzled.

“What did he say?” Tom asked as he looked over at you, and you replied, “The museum is closing its doors in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Tom said as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down so that you wouldn’t see his visible frown.

“Mmhmm.” You added, clearing your throat.

You were sad in knowing that your nice afternoon with Tom was coming to an end. You were enjoying his company, and it seemed that he was enjoying yours as well. The workers were ushering you two closer to the entrance, turning off the lights in the back part of the museum to signify that it was closing.

“Darling, thank you so much for the lovely day, and for being such a good tour guide. I should probably call Sam to make sure he’s alright, and to see if he needs saving or not.” He laughed, although there was a hint of sadness laced in his voice.

“Thank you as well, I had a really nice day. And thank you for letting me ramble on about the art pieces.” You laughed, and Tom just looked at you and smiled.

“Of course, I could listen to you talk about art all day.” He said, and you felt that you were blushing again. You played with your hands nervously as you two walked towards the front entrance of the museum.

You made your way outside, noticing that it was still pouring, so you and Tom stood underneath the awning so that you wouldn’t get drenched. You were about to speak when someone interrupted you.

“Do you need a taxi ride home, mademoiselle?” The doorman asked you.

“Yes please.” You responded. He nodded and went to the curb to hail you a taxi.

You were hoping that he would have a hard time hailing a taxi so that you and Tom could speak some more.

“Do you need a ride back home?” You asked Tom as he nodded his head no.

“Not yet, Sam said he was going to a café right next to the museum, and I think it may be that one right there.” He pointed at a quaint café right down the street. “I should call him and make sure.” He said glumly, realistically knowing that this may be your last encounter together.

Tom contemplated asking for your number, and as he worked up the courage to do so, the doorman ran back with an umbrella in hand. He opened it and motioned for you to get underneath it.

“The taxi is here for you, mademoiselle. Have a safe travel.”

“Okay, one second please.” You turned to Tom and placed a small kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for everything, hopefully we’ll see each other soon.” You said, as you handed him your museum book. “You can have this to remember me by.” You waved to him, being led away by the doorman, towards the taxi.

Tom admired the book, knowing that it was one of your favourite things. He looked at you one last time as you turned around and waved goodbye. He waved too and stood there, holding the book close to his chest. He sighed as he watched the taxi drive away, knowing that he would probably never see you again.

——

The next day was bright and sunny, and you decided to go shopping at the Champs-Élysées. It was a famous street lined with expensive stores, and although you couldn’t afford much, you wanted to walk around and at least pretend you could. You also needed a distraction from Tom, knowing that you may never see him again. Paris is a large city, and for all you know, he could’ve flown back home. And even if he was still here, the chances of running into him again are quite slim.

You took a taxi from your hotel and made your way to the eighth arrondissement, staring out the window to take the whole city in. To say it was breathtaking was an understatement; words couldn’t describe the beauty of Paris.

After a short taxi ride, you first went to Ladurée to try some of their famous macarons, as well as to have a cup of coffee. You walked into the small café and was immediately hit with the aromatic smells of macarons and desserts. You found a small table to sit at, and ordered an espresso and an assorted plate of macarons.

You pulled out the Great Gastby from your bag, and made yourself comfortable. You imagined how F. Scott Fitzgerald must have felt back in the 1920s in France, and wondered if he had sat where you are now, writing little pieces of stories on a napkin and enjoying the ambiance. From outside, you could hear that a street performer was playing “la vie en rose” on a violin, and in this exact moment, everything was perfect.

You basked in the sunshine and listened to the conversations around you. There was more English spoken here than at the museum, which made sense, since this was a tourist hotspot. One thing you didn’t notice, however, was a familiar voice of someone a few tables away.

“You know, I never thought I would say this, but I’m glad you ditched me at the museum.” Tom said, grinning.

“Hey I’m glad I ditched you too, the American girl was cute. Her company’s much better than yours anyway.” Sam laughed as Tom tossed a piece of macaron at him.

“I mean it though, it was seriously perfect yesterday. Well, almost, at least until the doorman whisked her away into a taxi. I didn’t even get to ask for her number.” He said, flipping through the pages of your book. He carried it around with him, in hopes that he would run into you again.

“I know, you gushed about her all day yesterday. I get it, she’s like your soulmate or whatever.” He scoffed as Tom flicked another piece of macaron at him.

“I’m serious though, she was perfect. The masterpieces paled to her beauty in comparison. I think even the Mona Lisa would be jealous of her.” He sighed, sinking dramatically down into his chair.

“God I wish I had asked for her number sooner, like right when I first met her.”

After hearing that, Sam shook his head. “No because then she would have thought you were a creep or something, and you know, she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.” He laughed as Tom shot him a glare. He slumped backwards into his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he placed his arms over his face.

“God you’re dramatic.” Sam stated, staring at Tom, who let out a small groan. People sitting around them were staring, and Sam poked Tom in the stomach, causing him to shoot back up in his chair.

“I hate you, you know that?” Tom retorted.

“No you don’t, you love me.” Sam grinned as Tom rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll try to be more help to you. What did she look like?” Sam asked, looking over at Tom who now had a smile on his face.

Tom described in great detail your height, hair color and what you were wearing. He described how your hair was up in a ponytail, with little strands of hair framing your face, and how there were light flecks in your eyes. He gushed about the freckles on the bridge of your nose and how when you laughed, your eyes crinkled. He mentioned how you loved to read and that you loved art, and that you weren’t from France.

He rambled on as Sam looked around the café to see if anyone met his description. He saw you sitting in the corner, reading your book and eating your macarons, and Sam had a feeling that may be you. You matched the description, but he also noticed that your bookmark was the admittance ticket from the museum they went to yesterday.

“So basically the girl sitting over there?” Sam smirked, and Tom quickly turned his head to see who he was referring to. He snapped his head around so quickly that he practically gave himself whiplash.

“Yes exactly!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, and the the older ladies sitting by them glanced at him disapprovingly. He jumped up, nearly running into the server as he made his way to your table. You didn’t even notice Tom standing in front of you, until he slightly cleared his throat.

“Oh, hello.” You said shyly while grinning at him. You motioned for him to sit down across from you, and he didn’t hesitate to do so.

“Hey.” He answered as he tried to keep his composure. “Must be fate, huh darling?” He added, popping one of your macarons into his mouth.

——

Mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow​ @sunflowerhollands​ @fangirlwithasweettooth​ @musicalkeys​ @lmaotshollandd​ @taciturnspidey​ @graceluvsyouu​

[bangtiddies]

Phantom

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Heavy Angst, Parent AU, Bittersweet Fluff Rating: PG15 Words: 3.9k Warnings: major character death, hospitals, mentions of a road accident, mentions of blood, trauma, emotional turmoil, lots and lots of hurt i’m sorry

Summary: "It’s your papa and mama’s song.”

Note: Inspired by SEKAI NO OWARI’s 幻の命 (Maboroshi no Inochi/Life of Phantom)

Tagging my support team @mygsii​​ and @starlightseoks​​ who gave me validation when I needed. Love you! ❤️❤️❤️ Part of @bangtanscenery​‘s April Showers Bring May Flowers Collab

You’re in a field filled with yellow and orange flowers. Bunny shaped clouds fill the sky on a beautiful blue canvas. You see a small child – your child – a few metres in front of you, picking the flowers and squealing in glee. Yoongi is crouching next to Sunmi, gummy smile present as she hands him flower after flower.

This is a dream, you think to yourself, it has to be.

With each step you take toward the two most important people in your life, the scene changes. The sky turns darker, the flowers turn fake, Yoongi’s smile disappears into a frown. You’re afraid of what’s about to happen next. You run toward Sunmi, reaching out to her. You try so hard to grasp her, to give her the biggest hug you can.

Sunmi’s screams fill your ears.

And before you can wrap your arms around her, she disappears.

You wake up suddenly, sweat running down your forehead, feeling like you want to scream.

Yoongi isn’t on the other side of the bed next to you.

There’s a moment in your life you hold dear to your heart. One you never want to let go.

Laughter and singing fills the kitchen, you’re stirring dinner and singing along to the song playing from speakers. The vase of fresh yellow and orange flowers sitting on the kitchen counter, a reminder of Yoongi’s love for you. As the old jazz tune continues, Sunmi giggles at Yoongi’s weird impromptu dance from her seat in the high chair. She makes grabby hands at him and he lifts her into his arms, swaying with her to dance. You smile fondly at the two, still singing to the melody. Yoongi joins in with the singing.

Little girl, You’re the one girl for me, Little girl.

The memory is filtered with golden rays of the evening sun, the distinct smell of the macaroni cheese that Sunmi loved, the sound of Yoongi’s laughter and Sunmi’s giggles. A happy moment of flowers, songs, and gummy smiles.

Yellow and orange that you’ll never see, a moment that could never happen again. The love in the air that was once there is no more, yellow and orange turned into blue and red. The moment is one you hold onto like it’s a lifeline, to keep you moving, to keep you going on. To remind you of the love that there once was, the love that you can no longer hold, the love that you miss, the love that will never be remade, no matter how hard you try.

The memories feel like a dream. Life, now, feels like a nightmare. A nightmare you can’t wake up from.

“Y/N,” a voice tries, reaching into your darkness and looking for the light you once had.

“Yeah?” you whisper, not looking at him. The voice sighs.

"Please," he begs. "Look at me."

You reject the voice, the light he tries to bring. The darkness swallowing you up, suffocating you. You're not sure if you want out.

"No," you whisper, turning yourself away from him, away from his light. "I can't. Not after what I've done."

The voice stays in your room. Dejected sighs and sobs that you pretended not to hear plaguing your mind. He wants to pull you out of the darkness, to embrace you.

"Please," the voice tries again. The desperation in his voice moves you to look at him. His concerned face, his yearning for your attention bringing tears to your eyes. Looking at his face, your guilt rises to your throat. This is why you didn't want to look. He smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Your guilt feels heavier.

"I'm sorry," you blurt, guilt escaping through your lips.

He smiles. It's sad. So, so sad. Why is he smiling if he's sad?

"It's not your fault."

The white corridors of the hospital are daunting, flashes of blue and red circling your vision.

You run down the endless halls, not knowing where you’re going, but you continue to run and run, looking, searching for any hint of yellow and orange. The corridor repeats itself, empty white halls with flashes of blue and red, red, red.

The corridor turns into the field of yellow and orange flowers, bunny shaped clouds in the sky. Sunmi is picking flowers with Yoongi.

You try running to Sunmi but the storm comes again and she disappears just before you can hold her in your arms.

You wake up, sweating.

The trace of Yoongi in your bed feels like it’s disappearing, the comfort you used to have dissolving into an empty feeling.

The red lights from an ambulance and the blue and red from the police cars plague your mind. Blue, red, red, red. Blue, red, red, red. The colours flash in your vision as thoughts repeat in your head. It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault, it’s all my fault.

Yoongi’s worried face comes into view. He looks upset, panic-stricken, eyes looking between you and the doctors tending him. Scratches cover his face, blood, red, so much red. You look at yourself, a few scratches but barely any injuries, then to Yoongi, at his arm, at his hands, his livelihood, his career, all gone in an instant.

It’s all my fault.

It was an argument over something so stupid, so minuscule. You wouldn't let it go, so stupidly angry at the situation, making sure that Yoongi heard every single word you said. You should have let it go. The main focus should have been on the road, not the argument.

The accident happened too fast for you even to realise what had happened until you're sitting in an ambulance, barely scratched, very scarred. Yoongi, beautiful and kind, holds your hand in the ambulance as tightly as he can with the strength he has. Darkness plagues your mind.

It's all my fault.

You look at Yoongi, heart constricting, throat dry, realising the situation. Realising where you are, in A&E at the closest hospital. Realising about the one person you didn't want to leave when they had to be whisked away for immediate care as soon as the ambulance arrived.

Sunmi.

Her small body so fragile, almost lifeless, fighting for her life. The paramedics trying to calm your panic at the sight of her, assuring you that they're going to try their best to save her.

You don't want to think the worst. You really don't. But after what happened, you can't help yourself.

It's all my fault.

Panicked eyes meet concerned, teary-eyed ones. You feel numb, mind shutting down, shock getting to your system. You want to cry, to feel pain somewhere, to scream out all the stress that resides in your spine. Yoongi softly mutters your name, good hand reaching out to hold your hand, but you hear nothing but muffled sounds, feel nothing but phantom hands.

And when your whole world comes crashing down from a sombre expression on a stranger’s face, you feel nothing, no pain, no tears. All you feel now is guilt.

It's all my fault.

“Your fault?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, staring at you as if you’d grown two heads.

“Yes, it’s all my fault, Yoongi,” you say, voice cracking. “I initiated the fight in the car. You’ve said before that my nagging might get us killed, and now look what I’ve done.” You take a deep breath, hiding your face into your hands, not wanting to look at Yoongi, at your husband who loved you with all his heart, fearing that he would look at you with such judgement, such disappointment, such hatred.

"Y/N," he whispers, good hand reaching out, reminding you of the cast that his other arm is in, feeding your guilt, feeding your pain. His career, ruined. All because of a fight that you caused. You flinch away from him.

"It's all my fault," you whisper.

"Y/N, please, look at me."

You refuse to do so, moving yourself away from him, turning away from where he is. "Sunmi. She's--"

"I know," Yoongi interrupts. "But we can't take her back. No matter how much we want her."

"It should've been me."

"Do you realise what you're saying?" Yoongi asks, breath shaking. "We lost our daughter, Y/N. Why does it feel like I'm losing you too?"

Yoongi's hurt hurts you more than your own.

You’re back in the white hospital corridor. The bench you’re sitting on is uncomfortable. What is this room you’re sitting outside of? Where do the doors lead to?

No.

You don’t want to be here anymore. You want to be away from these doors. You run down to where you think the exit is, the white hospital halls endless. And then, the flashes of lights. Blue, red, red, red. Blue, red, red, red. The hospital corridor repeats itself, constant white with flashes of blue and red.

Until you’re in the field of yellow and orange flowers again, with bunny shaped clouds in the sky. Yoongi and Sunmi are picking flowers together, about ten metres from where you’re standing.

You try calling out their names, but they don't hear you. You take a step toward them. The flowers below your feet start to wilt.

The more steps you take, the more the scenes start to darken. The flowers in Sunmi and Yoongi's hands wilt, looking sad and brown. Yoongi notices the storm starting above them and he stands up, taking Sunmi's hands into his, before walking away from you.

Afraid of losing sight of them, you run. Calling their names desperately, you run toward them. The sky goes grey, clouds darkening with every step you take. Thunder and rain looms above you, as you continue running. And when you're about an arm's length from them, Yoongi and Sunmi disappear into the storm.

When you wake up, Yoongi's empty side of the bed feels colder than it ever did before.

You hardly see Yoongi in your small flat anymore. The rift between the two of you increasing as the days and months go by, as you push him away to avoid seeing the hurt on his face whenever he talks to you. The flat feels colder without the presence of your husband but you never dwelt on that feeling. You only focused on numbing that pain in your chest.

Now, you're alone and afraid. Yoongi's presence used to be warmth, and the lack of it suddenly hits you harder than the hurt looks he would give you. The flat is cold, empty, dull – endless nights of grief and guilt stripping away the liveliness that was once there.

The kitchen that used to be filled with laughter, now silent and blue. The vase of wilted flowers reminding you of the love that was once there, had you not pushed it all away. You want to scream at the vase, throw it to the ground and let the memories shatter into pieces. But your love for the person who gave you those flowers stops you from doing so.

Fear stops you from reaching for your phone calling the one person you need right now. Fear of his reaction. Fear of the likelihood of his love for you gone. Fear of hearing his voice differently to how you remember.

Instead, you stare at the wilted flowers on the kitchen bench, heart mourning for the child you lost, and the love you let go.

You noticed that somehow, you always had enough food in your fridge and pantry, despite never going outside your own room for anything other than work. A small part of you had hoped that Yoongi was the one bringing the food in, until you find Seokjin putting things into your fridge from a supermarket bag one morning. The look of shock on his face when he sees you is enough to show you how long it’s been since you last acted like a functioning human being.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, voice cracking a little. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you try to smile.

Seokjin smiles. “That’s good to hear.”

He stares at you, block of cheese in hand forgotten. You can understand his reaction, having hardly seen anyone since the last time you spoke to Yoongi. Jimin had popped in once, but you had completely ignored him. Yet here you are, freshly out of the shower and clothes on ready for work, attempting to smile and talk to someone.

“Thanks, by the way,” you say to Seokjin. “For the food.”

“Ah, it’s all Yoongi. He couldn’t come today cause he had some last minute work to do.”

The hope comes back in flutters of cherry blossom petals, pink tinting the grey in your heart. Then, a small amount of fear, of the thought that you’ll have to face Yoongi soon. You’re afraid you might push him away from you further.

But the digital clock on your stove reminds you of the time, and you need to rush out of the door soon or else you’ll be late for work. You look back at Seokjin, try to smile again but it feels odd.

“I have to go to work, but thank you for, um, today. Can you tell Yoongi that I said thank you?”

Seokjin shrugs. “I mean, I can, but I think he’d rather hear it face to face.”

You take a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to face him,” you tell Seokjin honestly.

“I know of a way,” Seokjin says with a smile, and although you want to ask him for it, your time is running out. Giving him a thankful nod, you bid a quick goodbye and leave the flat for work.

And hours later, Seokjin’s knowing smile etched into your mind, you come home to Yoongi sitting on the couch.

The white hospital corridor leads to the field of yellow and orange flowers again. The bunny shaped clouds look softer, like a storm isn't going to come. Sunmi and Yoongi are picking flowers, far away from you. You want to run toward them, but you remember what happens when you do that. Instead, you decide to sit down in the field and watch them from afar.

Only a few minutes pass before Sunmi notices you sitting there and points a finger at where you are, turning Yoongi's attention toward you. His gummy smile now a concerned frown.

This time, instead of you running to Sunmi, she runs to you. Yellow and orange flowers in her small hands, she holds them out to you as her little legs brings her closer to you. At about a metre away from where you're sitting, she stops.

"Mummy, look!" She waves the flowers at you, gummy smile bright and wide. You want reach out, wrap your arms around her, but you're afraid she'll disappear again. Instead, you try to smile back at her. But you probably fail, because Sunmi frowns, and extends flowers out toward you and waves them in front of your face.

"Here, this is for you, mummy," Sunmi says, smile appearing again. "So you can be happy!"

Your heart hurts. Even if this is a dream, you want to be happy for Dream Sunmi. If only you can. Trying another smile, you reach out to receive the flowers from her.

You wake up to your alarm for work.

The warmth in your bed tells you that Yoongi was sleeping beside you last night.

The air is awkward. But seeing Yoongi looking at you with some hope and adoration, the red fear you had about his feelings filters away into pink hope. His hands are wrapped around a mug of coffee, steam drifting up and swirling in the air.

He shifts a little on the couch, placing the mug down on the coffee table before breaking the awkward silence between the two of you. "Do you want a cup of coffee or something?"

"Tea please," you say quietly, voice cracking a little, how easy it is to lose words in his presence.

Yoongi makes his way to the kitchen to prepare your cup of tea, and you find yourself following him, not wanting him to leave your line of sight. You try to gather some words, apologies sitting in your mind but finding it difficult to bring them to your tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, wincing a little at how odd it felt, and Yoongi freezes, sighing at the cup of tea in front of him before turning to face you.

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“I pushed you away,” you admit in a whisper. “I hurt you.”

“We were grieving,” Yoongi says with a sad smile. “I had views on how we should’ve been coping. I got upset because it didn’t work. You didn’t hurt me.”

You sigh a shaky sigh. No. You did hurt him. Even if it was unintentional and he doesn’t blame you, your shutting him out of your life had hurt him. You know him well enough – you’ve been married for years. You’re worried that he’s tip-toeing on eggshells around you, because of the way you were coping with grief until now.

“Then why,” you ask. “Why is there this awkward tension between us?”

Yoongi’s smile drops, and you notice his breathing, how he’s trying to hold back tears. “I think we’re afraid. Afraid of going back to the way we used to be. Without Sunmi.”

Sunmi’s absence is like a hole in your heart, but you strangely don’t miss her. You don’t tell Yoongi about your dreams, and you don’t remind him that you haven’t cried since her death. Going back to normal without your daughter is terrifying, but you realise that you miss Yoongi more. You want to feel his warmth in your bed again. You’re yearning for him, his love, his kindness.

You hold his hand, a gesture that you would always use to comfort each other. Yoongi looks at you, eyes teary and breath hitching. You try to smile, hoping that your eyes tell him your thoughts. That you’ll fix what was broken, that you’ll find a way through the darkness.

Together.

“I’ve been at the studio with Namjoon,” Yoongi says one day, sitting across from you in the small cafe close to your flat, having decided to spend the day together. The tension between the two of you is starting to fade away, yet you still find it difficult to bring yourself in his arms. Still, you’re taking yourself out of the dark greys, spending more time with Yoongi, the love and support he gives you each day bringing colour into your life. You hope that you’re giving back too, with the same love and support.

“Is there a new project coming up,” you ask.

“No, I mean,” he takes a deep breath. “That’s why I wasn’t around much. I’d work hours in the studio until I passed out on my keyboard.”

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry if I drove you to work hard.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yoongi says quickly, before cocking his head to the side in thought. “Actually, you were the reason. Kind of. I was writing a song for you. For us.”

You almost want to laugh, Yoongi bringing shy feelings to your chest. “I… I’m sure I’ve told you that you don’t need to be writing me songs.”

“Trust me,” Yoongi says with a smile, reaching out to hold your hand. “You’ll want to listen to this song.”

Cups of coffee finished, Yoongi leads you to his studio. The fogged glass door sort of intimidating as you stand in front of it, bracing yourself for what you might see in there. It’s been such a long time since you were here, those times when Yoongi would invite you over, telling you that he’s seeking inspiration, sweet whispers for his muse.

Door opens, and you’re met with a room that hasn’t changed. The only thing that’s different, is the black cover over the upright piano that’s tucked away in the corner of the room. From the dust that’s scattered on the cover, you can tell that the piano hasn’t been touched in a long time.

“Come,” Yoongi whispers, holding your hand and guiding you to the seat by the computer. He hands you a pair of headphones, and you put them over your ears as he clicks on an audio file named Sunmi_05.

The song starts with a low hum, before it bleeds into a piano melody. You can’t help but glance over to Yoongi’s hands, left hand damaged. You wonder how difficult and frustrating it must’ve been for him to play. Guilt rises in your chest, but you try to focus on appreciating the song. The melody is beautiful, yet melancholic. You feel a sense of reminiscence, bittersweet, yearning, reaching. All in a soft melody that Yoongi probably spent a long time working on.

And then, it bleeds into the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

A giggle.

Sunmi’s giggle.

You gasp, wide eyes turning to Yoongi’s that are brimmed with tears. He smiles at you, and nods, knowing exactly where you are in the song. You don’t take your eyes off Yoongi as you continue to listen, hearing the melody of the piano smooth out into Sunmi’s voice. The sounds she’d make when she’s eating macaroni cheese and wants to tell you she’s loving it by humming. The made-up songs she’d sing to her teddy bears. The gibberish into the microphone from the times she’d visit Yoongi’s studio. Collections of audio files from home videos and studio recordings, all compiled together to create a song over a beautiful piano melody.

The piano melody slows, Sunmi’s humming fades out, and you’re about to open your mouth to say something before you hear a different voice in your ears.

“Sunmi, do you love mummy?”

It’s your voice. You remember this day, when Sunmi was just starting to learn how to form sentences, and you wanted to film every moment. This is the audio from your favourite video.

“I love mummy!” Sunmi replies enthusiastically, struggling a little with the word ‘love’, but sounding so proud of herself.

Next, comes Yoongi’s voice, low and raspy, but filled with such love and adoration. “Do you love daddy?”

“I love daddy!”

“Do you love Sunmi,” your voice asks. You can almost hear Sunmi’s smile brighten up, and you can’t help but smile at the audio too.

“I love Sunmi!”

The song ends.

And for the first time since Sunmi’s death, you feel tears running down your cheeks. Yoongi takes you in his arms, warmth embracing you in such a comforting way, and you let yourself cry into his arms.

“Thank you,” you sob to him, pulling away so you can look at him in the eyes. “I love you. So much.”

Yoongi smiles, tears threatening to spill. “I love you too.”

Yellow and orange flowers surround you, Sunmi and Yoongi sitting beside you. The sun sets, painting pinks and oranges in the sky. The bunny shaped clouds look like they’re bouncing in their own field of flowers.

“Are you happy, mummy?” Sunmi asks you, handing you flowers with a bright gummy smile.

“No,” you answer honestly, but you find yourself smiling at your daughter, who looks at you with wide and curious eyes. You turn to Yoongi, who looks at you with care and love, the way he always looks at you. You’re in love. So in love. But you won’t deny that you’re hurting too.

“Will you be happy one day?” Sunmi asks. You chuckle a little, reaching out and hugging her, letting out a breath of relief when she doesn’t disappear in your arms.

“Yes,” you say to her, reaching out to hold Yoongi’s hand while still holding Sunmi in your arms. “One day, I’ll be happy.”

Yoongi’s arms are wrapped around your waist when you wake up.

[ad1thi]

just friends (?) P3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 

- just out of curiosity, how does everyone feel about a kofi goal dedicated to a companion piece from tony’s perspective??

//

There’s moments in Steve’s life - where time feels like it's come to a standstill. Where nobody moves, nobody even breathes - they’re just suspended. 

This moment, when he looks up to see Tony staring back at him, this is one of those moments. The entire coffee shop dulls around him, faint background noise compared to the pounding of his heart - and all Steve can see is Tony. 

He wants to move, to get out of his seat and walk over to Tony, to talk to him, to touch him, to explain - but he’s stuck to his seat; immobile under the sheer weight of Tony’s gaze. 

He’s imagined this moment for months, it's not beneath him to admit that he frequents this coffee shop with this very scenario in mind; but now that it's actually happening - Steve has no idea what to do. 

There’s small mercy in the fact that Tony seems to be the same - stuck, unmoving, that is of course until the old gentleman standing behind him in line prods him none too gently with his walking stick and complains that Tony’s holding up the line. 

Tony shifts his gaze to look at the man standing behind him, and it's like the spell is lifted, and the world starts spinning ‘round again. He desperately wants to look up at Tony again, but instead he keeps his eyes strictly on his sketchbook. Steve isn’t an idiot, he knows that Tony didn’t mean to come to the coffee shop that he frequents, that this is nothing more than a chance encounter, and so Steve won’t do Tony the disservice of looking back up and forcing Tony to acknowledge his presence. 

He’d reconciled himself to the idea that he might never see Tony again, so even just getting to see Tony from across a coffee shop is more than he could’ve hoped for. It was going to happen eventually, he reasons, pencil idly spinning in his hand, we were going to run into each other eventually. After everything, the least that Steve can do is give Tony the option to gracefully make an exit.

“Is this seat taken?” says a voice near him and Steve opens his mouth to say no, because he doesn’t want company right now but the words get stuck in his mouth - because Tony is hovering near the empty chair.

“Steve?” Tony says again, furrowing his brows, “Are you waiting on someone?” 

“No!” Steve half-yells, suddenly terrified that Tony will walk away. Tony raises an eyebrow and he clears his throat, “I mean no, not it's not taken.”

“So I can sit down I presume?” Tony asks teasingly, and Steve replies “Anytime.” He means it to come out flippant, to match the tone that Tony is obviously trying to set, but from the way Tony’s face twists - it must come out as honest instead.

Still, Tony doesn’t call him out on it, just smoothly settles in the chair opposite him. Steve’s heart is beating so hard that he can hear it roaring inside him, but then Tony flashes him a soft smile - and it's like everything inside him settles. 

--

Things get better after that. 

Steve had assumed that the meeting at the coffee shop was a fluke, hoarding the stilted bits of small talk close to his chest like a dragon hoards gold - but Tony shows up at the coffee shop every Wednesday morning like clockwork; grabbing a coffee and settling down in front of Steve for light conversation while he sips his drink. 

They fall into a tentative friendship. It isn’t as easy or as smooth as what they used to have, but Steve can recognise that it's far more than he thought he would have a month ago - and when it comes to Tony, he’ll take what he can get.

That, at least is familiar. 

They talk about everything they’ve missed in each other’s lives over the last six months - from Steve’s degree (he graduated last month and is sending out portfolios to galleries), to SI (Tony just got back from a two week event in Tokyo) and everything in between.

Once, Steve tried to bring up Bucky, but Tony held up his hand and said in a pained tone, “Don’t. I’m not ready for that, not yet.”

Steve had nodded, “Until you are ready, just please know how terribly sorry I am,” and that had been the end of it. 

It isn’t good, there’s periods of silence, and times when Steve can see Tony pulling away from him, building up walls so that he doesn't get hurt again, so that Steve doesn’t hurt him again - but then Steve will say something and Tony will smile, wide and unabashed - and it’s worth it. 

Tony has always been worth it. 

--

He knows that he has to bring it up with Bucky, but that doesn’t mean that Steve’s looking forward to it. Or that it’s going to be an easy conversation. 

Hence why Steve is currently cooking for the first time in almost two weeks, and he’s pulling out all the stops. He’s just about to put the lasagna in the oven when there’s a knock at the door, and he cranes his neck back to yell “It’s open!!”

A couple of seconds later, Bucky shows up in his line of sight, and whistles lowly when he sees the mess in the kitchen. “Aw shucks Stevie you didn’t need to do all this for little ol’ me, what’s the occasion?” he says in an exaggerated tone, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t a fella cook his best pal a lasagna without getting the second degree?” he tries for a joking tone, but from the way Bucky’s eyebrows arch - it obviously falls flat. 

“A fella can,” Bucky starts cautiously, “but somehow I don’t think that’s what's going on here.” So much for weaselling out of this, Steve thinks, patting his hands against his apron and turning to Bucky. 

“I have to tell you something, but I don’t think you’re going to like it very much,” Steve stuffs his fists in the pockets of his jeans, “just - just wait until I’m done before you say anything?”

“Stevie, you didn’t kill someone did you?” Bucky chuckles nervously, “because I have to be upfront with you, these shoes aren’t made for mud and I don’t have a shovel on me.” 

“No it's not that don’t be a punk,” Steve licks his lips, heart beating erratically against his chest, “I’m uhh - I’ve been seeing Tony for the past couple of months.”

Bucky goes unnaturally still and Steve rushes to explain, “Not in the way you’re thinking of! I’m not like stepping out with him or nothing, he’s just - you know the coffee shop round the corner from SI? I go there sometimes when I’m stuck for inspiration or need a change in scenery and for the past couple of weeks, Tony’s been showing up too. It’s honestly nothing, he just hangs around long enough to get through a coffee and then he’s off but I wanted you to know.”

Steve rubs the back of his head and says firmly, “I fucked up with both of you once and I’m not about to do it again. There’s nothing going on I swear on my Ma, but I am seeing him again.”

Bucky stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, before he says in a very quiet tone, “Do you still love him?”

“I think I might love him until I die,” Steve says back, equally soft, and Bucky nods once. He pulls out a chair and sits down. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but the oven pings; and he’s forced to grab oven mitts and pull out the lasagna before it burns. 

When he sets the carousel down on the table, Bucky starts up conversation like everything’s normal, like Steve didn’t just admit to being in love with his ex-fiance - and while Steve isn’t naive enough to think that that’s the end of it, the knot that’s been building in his stomach ever since Tony sat down across him in the coffee shop a month ago slowly loosens. 

-- 

“So,” Sam says, apropos of nothing, “Are you gonna tell him?”. Steve jerks in surprise, almost dropping the tub of paint in his hand onto the easel he’s been staring out for the last 10 minutes. He turns to face Sam with a glare, hoping it conveys all of his complex emotions, but Sam just stares back, unrepentant.

“Well?” Sam asks again when Steve isn’t forthcoming, “Are you?”. Sam’s gaze shifts to the canvas that Steve was previously staring at, and Steve doesn’t need to look behind him to know that the half done face of Tony Stark is going to be staring back at him. 

“No,” Steve says mulishly, “I’m not. I just got Tony and Bucky back in my life again, I’m not going to fuck that up a second time.” 

“Because keeping this,” his hands gesture vaguely at the canvas, “keeping this from him is exactly what fucked things up the first time. But no, I can see your point about how doing the exact same thing is a good idea. What’s that quote from Einstein? Something about how a fool does the same thing over and over and expects a new outcome?” 

“Fuck off,” Steve says, throwing a rag that Sam expertly dodges, but its half hearted. He knows that Sam’s right, but he’s just reached a good place with Tony, and he knows in his bones that telling Tony about his feelings will just fuck that up again. He can’t do it, he won’t do it. He won’t live through losing Tony a second time. 

“Steve I’m serious, what’s your game plan here? Are you just going to pine uselessly for the rest of your life? He’s going to move on from Bucky eventually you know, what happens then? Are you just going to watch him fall for other people all over again? I don’t get your angle here.”

“There is no angle!” Steve says loudly, before clearing his throat and bringing his voice back to normal, “There is no angle, there is no game plan there’s just - keeping Tony in my life.” He looks up at Sam with wide eyes, “I can’t go through that again Sam, and if that means just keeping him part-time, then that’s enough for me.”

There must be something in Steve’s voice, because he knows that Sam came here with the intent of fighting him but he just deflates, padding over to pull Steve in for a hug. He rests his chin against the top of Steve’s head, running his fingers through his hair, and Steve lets himself lean against Sam’s chest. 

“I won’t push it anymore,” Sam murmurs after a fashion, “but I think you should tell him Rogers. His answer might surprise you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of, Steve thinks to himself, but says nothing - just hums in reply. 

tbc

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[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Jewel of the Sea: Chapter 6: The Castle

Chapter 5

JotS Taglist: @5-falsehoods-phonated, @vindicatedvirgil, @starlocked01, @viva-la-pluto-dam-you, @pan-immortal-jefferson-starships, @acetatertot, @silvarraven, @logan-positivity, @virgil-positivity, @luella-the-homosexual, @positivitykitty

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01 @spoopy-turtle @lizluvscupcakes @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo

Word Count: 2,435

Virgil woke to the sound of knocking on the door. Sitting up, he swept his hair out of his eyes. “Come in.”

Patton’s head peeked in, light from the outside making it seem like he was glowing. “Sorry to wake you, Virgil. I was sent to let you know that it’s half an hour ‘til dinner.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll be out as soon as I’ve changed.” Patton smiled and shut the door. 

He stood from the too different bed, head pounding from the crash of adrenaline as well as the lack of proper sleep from the last few weeks. His eyes were already adjusted to the dark so he had no trouble finding the dresser and the clothes that lay atop it. 

He picked up the pile, the fabric different from what he was used to. He dressed quickly, almost falling over as he tried to put the leg coverings on but he managed to do it. The shirt was a soft plaid the color of a purple sunset over the ocean. The pants were a deep blue that made Virgil think of the ocean floor. 

A knock sounded at the door again and Patton’s head returned. “Are you ready?”

Virgil nodded, exchanging the dark room for the brightly lit hallway. He turned to Patton, arms out slightly as he spun slowly. “Do I look presentable?”

Patton frowned. “Your hair is a mess.”

Virgil reached up to feel it. “I have no idea what it’s supposed to look like.”

Patton moved back into the room Virgil had vacated and gestured for the mer to follow him. Virgil sat on the side of the bed, curious as to what the manservant was planning. Patton opened the dresser and picked up an object that resembled a sea urchin attached to a stick. He turned around and held it up. “Do you mind if I brush your hair for you?”

Virgil shrugged. “If that is what is presentable.”

Patton smiled and came to sit behind Virgil. The mer felt fingers tangling with his locks, quickly followed by the urchin like part of the object. It was a strange sensation but not an unpleasant one. Patton was quick and efficient. Soon, his hands stilled and retreated, leaving Virgil’s hair feeling smoother.

Virgil stood, making his way to the looking glass set in the corner of the room. His hair was lying flat against his skin, not wild and flowing like it was in the water. He turned back around to face the manservant, who now stood by the door. “Does it look better?” He had no way of gauging human beauty standards so trusted Patton’s judgement. 

Patton smiled. “You look great!” He led the way back down the hallway and to the first floor, moving through other hallways with barely any hesitation, completely at ease in this large building. They quickly made their way to a large dining room that already had the table set. 

Patton stepped  off to the side and Virgil noticed that, even though the head of the table remained empty, other seats were filled out with Logan and two other people, a place next to Logan left over for Virgil. He sat, once again curling his legs around a chair leg, not exactly sure what to do with them.

The other adult at the table, who Virgil guessed to be Thomas, caught his eye with a smile. “So, Virgil, was it?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Logan tells me you were captured by pirates.”

The small child sitting next to him, who could be no older than ten, lit up at the sound of that. “Pirates?! Really?”

Virgil nodded, smiling slightly at the enthusiasm. “Yes, the farthest back my memory currently goes is to waking on the pirate ship and running for my life.”

The child almost stood from his seat but Thomas pushed his shoulder back down gently. “Real pirates? Oh, boy!”

Thomas sighed. “Roman, please just eat your soup.”

Virgil looked down at his place setting to find a round, shallow dish filled with a liquid. To his right was a utensil that seemed to be designed to carry the liquid, the soup. Glancing at the child, he observed how he was scooping the soup into the utensil and bringing it to his mouth, blowing gently on it before eating. Virgil copied him to the best of his ability, having never encountered either soup before.

The table conversation went on, Thomas interrogating Virgil while trying to contain the rambunctious ten year old. Whenever Thomas wasn’t questioning Virgil, Logan was trying to see how bad his amnesia was. That was difficult as Virgil was unsure how similar their societies were or how much Virgil would have to bluff. It seemed that they were similar enough that Virgil was able to at least pass the childhood aspect of the test, failing the rest of the test as he tried to keep up the amnesia façade.

Over the course of the meal, Logan and Virgil’s conversation ventured away from what Virgil remembered and veered toward getting to know each other. Virgil was fascinated by Logan’s enthusiasm for the stars. He spoke of going late at night to gaze at them through his telescope, the tube he only ever used at night.  Logan talked about his ventures into painting, the stand and white rectangle, saying how it helped him calm down after a stressful time.

Virgil really couldn’t talk about his own interests as he wasn’t supposed to remember them. So, he just observed the happy family, the way Logan always spoke nicely to Roman, always on his level of knowledge, not Logan’s. He saw the way Thomas tried to engage Roman in the conversation, even if it meant using smaller words. He smiled, knowing this family was loving and strong.

Once the meal was over, Roman jumped out of his seat and asked Thomas if he could show Virgil around the castle. Thomas laughed and said it was fine as long as Logan went too, confessing he still had some work to complete or he’d be joining them. Logan agreed and the group was off. Roman tried to narrate what they were seeing and where they were going but quickly got tired. Logan picked him up, settling him on his back, and took up the narration, giving a better explanation of things. Soon, they passed through a hallway that was filled with paintings of people on their way to the library.

“Who are those?” Virgil asked, his eyes lingering on each individual, some looking similar and others completely different. He’d never encountered anything similar but guessed they were like what Logan did with the stand and canvas.

“Ah. Those are the generations of Ackroyd’s that came before us. They are our ancestors and, one day, we will join them.”

Virgil frowned. “Forgive me if I sound stupid, but you surely can’t mean that you actually trap souls in paintings, can you?”

Logan laughed, a melody of sound that traveled the length of the hall. “No, we don’t imprison souls in art. The paintings are simply the likeness of the person. Their painting is done when they come of age but it is not hung until the subject either ascends to the throne or dies.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay. Thanks for the explanation.”

“It’s no trouble.” Logan shifted, settling the now sleeping child into a better position. “Although, I do believe that I should get this bug to bed. If you would wait here a moment, I would be glad to show you more of the castle when I get back.”

Virgil smiled and nodded. Logan walked down the hall and Virgil turned to look at the different paintings. He wandered the corridor, eventually coming to stand in front of the last picture on the wall. He was admiring it for a few minutes, picking out the resemblance in features to Logan and Thomas and, to a lesser degree, Roman.

“That’s my father, the current king.” Logan’s voice said behind Virgil, causing the mer to jump.

“I didn’t hear you return.” he chuckled, turning slightly, allowing Logan to stand beside him. “You mentioned he was away, do you know where?”

“Yes, he and my younger brother, Orville, are away dealing with a business deal that could secure safe trading routes for centuries to come. While he is gone, Thomas and I are splitting the day to day mundane tasks that Father would normally oversee. One of such tasks is to send a battalion after that pirate ship you mentioned. If all goes well, they will no longer be able to cause anyone else harm.” 

Logan’s voice had started out as smooth while speaking of his family but changed to a harder, passionate tone when he brought up the pirates. Turning to look into his eyes, Virgil found a similar passion there that caused him to simultaneously want to look deeper and turn away. He chose the second option, heat rising to his cheeks at the thought of the first.  

Virgil cleared his throat. “Should we continue the tour?”

Logan nodded. “If you wish. I’ll take you to the library but I’m not sure how much longer you should be about, you need your rest for your injuries to heal properly.”

Of course. Because that was the main goal right now. Healing the injuries before getting the crystal and getting back to his blessing. That was what mattered right now. Virgil shook his head almost imperceptibly, needing to do the action to clear it. His hand reached to fidget with the other sleeve as they continued their walk, the silence almost deafening now that Logan wasn’t narrating everything in sight.

When they entered the library, Virgil’s  jaw was almost on the floor. He spun in a wide circle, trying to understand that so many books could exist in the world, let alone in one room. If he’d been paying attention to Logan, he would have seen the small smile that crossed his face at Virgil’s wonder. 

The walls seemed to go up at least three stories, bookshelves lining each of them and filled with enough pieces of literature of varying sizes to keep Virgil entertained his whole life. He almost wasn’t sure if he would ever see this many books again. His eyes trailed up the cases, marveling at the intricate carvings he’d only seen ruins of. When he got to the top of the room, he found windows at the very top that allowed for light to fill the room while still preserving the books. 

“Would you like to take one back to your room for some light reading before bed?” Logan’s voice once again startled him back into paying attention to his surroundings rather than his wandering thoughts. He spun back around to face Logan, mind still going a mile a minute but he was now in the eye of the hurricane instead of the brunt of the storm. 

“I don’t think I’d know where to start.” He confessed, a blush dusting his cheeks in embarrassment. 

Logan just chuckled and took a few steps forward. “What kind of books interest you?”

Virgil shrugged. “All of them. I’d honestly try to read everything I can get my hands on.”

Logan nodded, moving to the nearest bookshelf. “Well, then how about staring you off on the history of the nation. Would that be agreeable?”

Virgil almost jumped for joy but remembered at the last second that he couldn’t do that in human form in a way that would satisfy the movement he wanted to make. Instead, he simply squealed softly and nodded.”That would be great.”

Logan smiled and handed him a large tome. “This should be enough for now. I suggest getting some sleep now as your wounds will benefit from that.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s a good idea. Are you heading to bed as well?” Part of him wanted to spend more time with Logan, even if it were spent in silence walking down a hall.

Logan shook his head, a regretful smile playing on his lips. “Unfortunately, I still have some work to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Then I shall bid you a good night.”

“Do you need me to call someone to escort you back to your room or do you remember the way?” Virgil wondered if that was genuine concern or if Logan was trying to figure out what kind of amnesia Virgil had. Either way, it was sweet.

“Just down the hall, up the stairs, and my room should be the third on the left. I think I’ll be fine but I appreciate the offer.” 

Logan nodded and started in the opposite direction, heading to his personal study. Virgil went back to his room, changing into the pajamas he found waiting there and crawled into the too different bed. He read for a bit but soon fell asleep again, the run through the woods finally catching up to him.

He woke to the same tingles in his legs and sides as he had the previous few weeks. He didn’t want to shed scales on the bed, nor did he want to spend the whole night trapped in the bed. So, he quickly scrambled out of it and his pants, unsure how the transition would take fabric being between the legs when they fused back into a tail. He found the door to the bathroom, managing to fill the tub and slipping in just as his tail took shape, his fins sprouting from his sides. 

He sighed in contentment, finally in sustained contact with fresh water again. It curled around him, thanking him for the simple act of freeing part of the tank water. He smiled, knowing he would be able to cash in a favor but deciding to save it. He sank deeper into the tub, grateful for it being deep enough that he could almost submerge himself in the water. Feeling comfortable in his own scales for the first time in a few weeks and the sound of the water moving acting as a lullaby, he quickly drifted into a deep, healing sleep.

He woke as the sun came through the window and his tail began to tingle once more, signaling the change. He waited until it changed back to legs, mourning the loss of his fins already. He inspected his injuries and found that the bandages that wound around his legs were still intact. He stood from the tub and drained it before making his way back to the bed, slipping under the covers to drift until woken by someone else.

Chapter 7