#the stars are in the sky and in the ocean they embrace you until you sleep and surround you until you smile

[lesbiankirisully]

EYWA BLESSED HER DAUGHTERS WITH THE STARS

Ancestors: day five of @womenofpandoraweek

Toruk: The First Flight, Cirque du Soleil show | Avatar: The Way of Water (2022) | On the Fire That Creates Light, Shayla Lawz | The Nebra Sky Disc, c. 1800-1600 BCE | Cueva de las Manos (Cave of the Hands), c. 7,300 BC-700 AD | Midnight, Dean Koontz

[soupuurr]

𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑦𝑒 - matthew sturniolo

pairing. softdom!matt x sub!reader

genre. angst, smut

⟶ content warnings. explicit content, angst (no happy ending), oral, unprotected sex, creampie. MDNI

⟶ summary. you once thought that you and matt were destined to be together, so leaving to pursue your dreams didn't concern you. because you would always find each other in the end, right?

⟶ note: i suggest listening to white ferrari while reading this. (or any other sad song if frank ocean is not your vibe) enjoy my pooks, i nearly cried way too many times writing this.

never say goodbye pt. 2

your heart raced as you reread the illuminated words—once, twice, three times.

you couldn't believe it. the job opportunity you've dreamed of since childhood was right there, displayed on the bright screen in front of you.

for a instant, it felt like time stood still, the world around you fading into a blur as your attention fixated solely on the computer screen.

this was it. every ounce of effort, every sleepless night, and every midnight coffee run had led to this one, singular moment.

"you did it!" your boyfriend shrieked beside you, shaking your shoulders to snap you out of your trance.

matt pulled you into a hug, his comforting cologne engulfing your senses as you melted into his embrace. tears of happiness welled in your eyes while he tenderly cradled the back of your head in his hand.

“i’m so proud of you, baby.” he whispered before pressing his lips against the top of your head—drawing you infinitely close to him.

both of you stood at your kitchen island, intertwined intimately like the moon and the stars as your bodies bathed in the comforting glow of the hanging lights.

matt knew how much this meant to you, frequently bringing food and keeping you company in your studio as you diligently updated your portfolio. and he knew you deserved it more than anyone else.

“i love you so much, matt.” you sniffled into his chest. matt gently withdrew to gaze into your eyes, his own glimmering with pride.

“let’s go celebrate, yeah?” his bright blue orbs flicked between yours. you smiled, nodding as matt’s thumb gingerly brushed away your tears.

matt turned over his shoulder, linking his arm with yours while unhooking his keys from the carabiner dangling from his belt loop.

you nestled your head against him, humming in contentment before giving his bicep a tight squeeze.

“ow kid, you’re gonna rip my arm off.” he giggled, playfully nudging you with his shoulder.

your footsteps echoed beneath the moonlit sky as matt swung open the van door, gesturing for you to enter.

you knew exactly where matt was going to take you—your special lookout, tucked away behind the trees and reserved for the two of you.

and so you sat in the wilderness, bickering like an old couple and playfully tossing fries at each other as you just talked. about life, about your future family, and everything in between.

a tiny pang tugged at the back of your mind, knowing that you’d have to leave this life behind for now. but it’ll all work out right?

you set aside the thought; all that mattered now was spending time with the people you loved.

you cherished every second you spent in this tiny town, not allowing any of the time to slip through your fingers. there was never a single moment of worry because you knew that matt would always have your back.

it would all work out just how you planned.

it didn’t strike you until you held one another the night before your flight, crying in each others arms while the soft pitter-patter of the rain drummed against matt’s car.

it was too good to be true.

matt would inevitably have to leave for LA with his brothers to pursue his youtube career, while you were destined to move to the other side of the country. you were both going to be occupied with your own lives, and that's simply how it was meant to be.

you both decided it was best to call it off that night.

“you know i’ll always love you.” matt mumbled into your ear, voice breaking as he gently stroked your hair.

you sobbed against him, clutching his hoodie tightly between your fingertips as if he might vanish into thin air. matt shushed you while his fingers tenderly brushed under your jaw.

he lifted your chin, gazing into your eyes with a mix of sadness and guilt. he promised to be there for you no matter what, and now he was leaving this behind.

“you’re so beautiful.” he whispered—warm breath caressing your pink lips. matt furrowed his eyebrows, thickly swallowing before gently pressing his lips against yours. an innocent kiss that he wanted to savor.

you melted into his touch as he pulled you onto his lap. he hooked his arms around you while you cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss. your lips, wet with tears, danced beautifully together.

matt led you to the back seat and pushed you against the cushion as he kneeled between your thighs. his fingers slipped under your shirt—lingering at your hips before snaking up your waist and past the valley of your breasts. he made sure to kiss every inch of your body as he rid you of your clothes.

once you were bare, matt couldn’t help but gasp—heart thumping against his chest as he admired your naked body basked in the moonlight. it felt like the first time he ever saw you.

he placed a kiss on your knee before trailing his lips to where you needed him the most. his teeth nipped at the skin of your inner thigh, blue eyes never leaving yours.

your hands flew to his brunet hair as he pressed his tongue against your folds, burying his nose in your clit. your legs wrapped around his head as soon as he began worshiping your glistening pussy with open mouthed kisses. you trapped him between your thighs but he didn’t care, this was about you.

you felt yourself inching closer to the edge with every twist of his tongue, tears of sadness now replaced with tears of utter pleasure.

“i’m gonna cum!” you strained, matt hummed in approval while your back arched off of the plush cushion beneath you. he poked his tongue past your folds and you finally released, thighs shaking around his head.

“we’ll find each other when the time is right.” matt cooed. he stood on his knees as he unbuckled his belt, letting his jeans pool below him. he leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead.

“just promise to never say goodbye, matt.” you whimpered, legs closing around his waist. matt nodded and pressed his forehead onto yours as he freed his cock from his boxers—gliding his tip along your pussy.

he pushed his cock into your heat, relishing in the way your walls wrapped so nicely around him. god—you were just perfect in every way.

matt desired this moment to be etched into his memory, the way tiny whimpers fell past your soft lips, the way your beautiful pussy clenched around him, the way you were boundlessly intertwined together, all of it.

his thrusts were slow and gentle, you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock pressing against you. you brought your fingers to his, locking them together as you held his eyes.

with one final kiss, you came together—matt’s cum filling you while you helplessly quivered around him.

he fell limp on top of you. a few more tears slipping down his cheeks as he held you tight.

you never saw him after you left. it was painful at first, but you eventually grew accustomed to it. his texts and calls dwindled day by day until he eventually stopped texting you altogether.

but now you were happy, engaged to someone you truly love. yet, sometimes you couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if you had forsaken your dreams and chased matt instead. would you still be together? as much as you hated to admit it, that question gnawed at your brain almost every day.

“look at these! they go perfectly with the color scheme.” your friend gawked at the flashy jewelry in front of her.

as your wedding approached, your schedule grew increasingly hectic, leaving you with barely any time to yourself. you were out in LA, constantly shopping or planning and it was more than exhausting.

you studied the shimmering necklace briefly before shaking your head.

“i don’t know, it’s kind of-“

you paused abruptly, blood running cold as your eyes fixated on a pair of painfully familiar ones.

he stood at a distance, his mouth agape and body frozen in place. he looked different now, his brown wavy hair stopped short just above his eyes, dressed in a button-up flannel that hugged his shoulders over plain blue jeans.

you glanced at the girl clutched to his side, then at the diamond ring on her finger.

a surge of past hurt, anger, and pain washed over you like a tidal wave, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes. you quickly blinked them away, mustering a bitter smile at the couple before turning around.

to this day, you vividly remember the exact words he said to you before you boarded your flight.

“i promise to never say goodbye.”

what a lie that was.

[formula1au]

west coast

summary: you and max have a romantic date at the beach

pairing: max verstappen x gf!reader

content: fluff, light smut

warning: there's smut but not detailed

word: 719

The moon hung low in the sky at the beach where you and max had decided to escape for the night. The soft sound of waves crashing gently against the shore provided a soothing soundtrack, and the cool night air was filled with the salty scent of the ocean.

Max had planned this evening, wanting to give you a night to remember. A cozy blanket was spread out on the soft sand, with a small picnic basket nearby filled with your favorite snacks and a bottle of chilled champagne from daniel. Max even set up some lanterns.

As you both settled onto the blanket, Max pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you both gazed out at the endless horizon. "This place is perfect," you murmured, leaning into Max's embrace.

"I'm glad you like it," Max replied, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "I wanted us to have a special night away from everything."

You spent the next hour talking, laughing, and savouring the delicious treats Max had brought. The conversation flowed easily. You talked about the future, his carer, kids, and stuff like that. As the night grew darker and the stars began to twinkle above you, the atmosphere became even more intimate.

Max's hand gently brushed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with love and admiration.

You blushed, feeling the intensity of his gaze. "You always know how to make me feel special," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It started slow and gentle, but soon deepened, filled with a growing hunger and desire. You responded eagerly, your hands threading through Max's hair as they lost themselves in the passion of the moment.

The sound of the waves and the rustling of the palm trees seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in your own world. Max's hands roamed over your body, caressing and exploring, eliciting soft moans of pleasure.

You pulled apart briefly, your breaths mingling as you stared into each other's eyes. "I love you," Max said, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with affection.

Max gently laid you down on the blanket, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time undressing you, each piece of clothing removed with love and care. You did the same, your fingers trembling slightly with anticipation as you undressed Max.

As you lay bare under the moonlight, the cool night air contrasting with the warmth of your bodies, Max paused to take in the sight of you. "You're perfect," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You reached up, pulling Max down into another desperate kiss. Your bodies moved together, every touch and caress igniting sparks of pleasure. The feeling of Max's skin against yours, the taste of his lips, the scent of the ocean—it all combined to create an intoxicating experience.

Max's movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Your fingers dug into his back, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you moved in perfect harmony. The world around you seemed to disappear.

As the intensity built, Max's pace quickened, his own breaths becoming labored. "Schatje," he whispered, his voice strained with pleasure.

"I'm close," you gasped, your body arching into his touch.

With a final, powerful thrust, you both tumbled over the edge, your cries of pleasure mingling with the sound of the waves. You clung to each other, riding out the waves of ecstasy until you were both spent, your bodies trembling with the aftermath.

Max collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You lay there, your hearts slowly returning to a normal rhythm, basking in the afterglow. The stars above seemed to shine brighter.

"I don't want this night to end," you whispered.

"Neither do I," Max replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But we'll have many more nights like this, liefje. I promise."

As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's embrace, the sound of the ocean lulling you into a peaceful slumber, you knew that this night on the beach was just the beginning of a lifetime of shared moments and deep, abiding love.

[pretzel-box]

Summary: You're a mortal fisher that catches the attention of an ancient sea god without knowing it.

Tags: Some 'fluff', mortal reader, sea god sebastian

Words: 2,6k

There was a small village that was cradled on the edge of an unknown island like a forgotten secret among humans, made out of solid stone, earth and sand while being shaped by the restless waves of the deep ocean. Narrow cobbled streets would wound between the homes of sun-bleached woods and weathered bricks while fine smoke curled up from the going chimneys, mingling with the salty sea air. Many signs of a life gathered around this place despite its unknown status.

The endless ocean surrounded the village on all sides, an eternal sentinel, its deep blue waves gently lapping at the shoreline as if it were whispering ancient lullabies. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the world in hues of gold and lavender, where the horizon blurred into a seamless meeting of sea and sky. The sound of gulls crying in the distance echoed through the air, carried by the wind that rustled through the tall grasses and wildflowers growing at the island’s edge.

Farther out, where the cliffs rose jagged and defiant against the endless ocean, the waves crashed with a furious roar, sending white spray high into the air. Yet here, within the village, the sea was gentle—a mirror reflecting the sky’s fading light.

Small fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, tethered to wooden posts worn smooth by years of use. Their painted hulls were chipped and faded, yet they held a quiet dignity, as if they had borne witness to centuries of tides, storms, and the steady rhythm of life. Nets hung drying on the docks, draped like lace over the old wood, waiting for the morning light to send the fishermen back to the open sea.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of salt and damp earth. A few villagers, their faces lined with age and the sea’s touch, gathered in quiet conversation near the docks, their voices low, as if unwilling to disturb the peace. Lanterns flickered to life in the twilight, casting a soft, golden glow over the village, like stars scattered across the earth.

As the day gave way to dusk, the village seemed to breathe, a living thing, connected to the ocean and sky in a way that was timeless. The sea, the cliffs, the forest—they were all one with the village, woven into its very being. And as the stars began to emerge, one by one, above the endless horizon, the island seemed to settle into itself, cradled by the ocean’s eternal embrace, waiting for whatever secrets the tides might bring.

"Listen, my child. Our story began long ago, when the gods still walked the earth and the stars were young."

Once upon a time…

The land was molded by the hands of glorious deities, their fingers painting the skies and carving the rivers. They placed the sun on the horizon and the plains upon the earth. The world flourished, but with its growth came envy, as some gods overshadowed others. To gain power, they created life—humans, born from their desire for control.

At first, humans worshiped their creators with devotion, pledging loyalty to one deity, then betraying the next. They defiled the divine in their thirst for more, striking down gods one by one. Until, at last, only humans remained, reigning over the world they had once been given. The gods, once mighty, were destroyed by the very hands that they had shaped.

The lesson was clear for the mortals: gods could not be trusted.

You grew up in the small village, cradled by the sea, raised between the wind and the waves as if you were a child of nature itself. The first thing you learned was your origin, that you were descended from the gods—gods who were flawed and fallible. Your grandparents told you stories of your ancestors, how they fought with their lives for the right to live on this island, battling forces far beyond their comprehension.

Ages ago, a fierce god named Solace ruled over these waters. His rage, directed at both his siblings and their creations, churned the oceans into relentless fury. Your ancestors tried to cross the waters for months, many drowned and many got sacrificed to soothe the will of the deity that ruled in the waters. His anger blinded Solace, his envy and his feelings were like a sharp sword, pointed at himself. Your ancestors tricked him, like they did with so many other deities before. They sealed him into the ocean, robbing him of his necklace that he wore. And after they triumphed over him, the ocean came to rest. All thanks to the necklace that secretly holds Solace his powers.

A necklace that rested around your neck, a family piece that was given down as the generations passed. It was a sea shell pendant, reflecting in beautiful blue-silver hues as if the sea itself was placed upon you. And you wore it with pride.

Your mother gave it to you the day you joined the family tradition, stepping into the life of a fisher. It was a simple gift, passed down through generations, as much a symbol of your heritage as the sea itself. You learned to live in harmony with the waves, to respect the life beneath the surface, and to take only what was needed. Your family had always been blessed by the ocean, and so would you. It was honest work—give and take—where you not only harvested from the sea but also protected it, keeping it clean and honoring its depths.

"Keep calm," you murmured to yourself, the words a quiet mantra as you sat in your small boat. The sun was warm on your back as you focused on tying the loose strings of your net, the gentle rocking of the boat a familiar comfort.

Your mother had taught you to knit the nets in the old traditional way, every knot a connection to your ancestors. Your father, in turn, had shown you the art of fishing—how to hunt with respect, how to make the death of the fish swift and painless, and how to use every part of it in reverence for the life taken. A true fisher never wastes, for the sea gives generously but only to those who understand its balance.

The rhythm of your hands, the whisper of the wind, and the quiet lap of the waves against the boat—they all wove together like a song. You were part of something much larger than yourself, connected to the ancient currents of the sea, just as your family had always been.

You lifted your finished net, admiring the neat knots with a smile of quiet pride. A rush of happiness filled your chest as you hugged the net, feeling accomplished. You had honored the legacy of your ancestors, crafting the tool with care, just as they had done for generations. It was a simple but profound joy, knowing that you were connected to something so old and enduring.

With a steady breath, you prepared to cast the net into the water, hoping for a good catch to feed your family tonight. The gentle hum of the waves blended with your thoughts, and as the net unfurled, you missed the soft snap of a string breaking. But the sudden blue shimmer at the corner of your eye did not go unnoticed.

Your heart dropped as you realized it was your necklace—the one your mother had given you. Somehow, it had tangled itself in the net, and as you began to fish, it slipped from your neck effortlessly, tumbling into the water before you could react. You watched in stunned silence as the delicate jewelry disappeared beneath the surface, swallowed by the depths in an instant.

The sea, ever so calm just moments ago, now seemed impossibly vast and unyielding. That necklace was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of you, a part of your family. And now, it was gone.

It sank slowly, the glimmering stone catching the last rays of sunlight as it shimmered just beneath the surface, suspended in the water like a delicate promise about to be broken. You watched, helpless, as it drifted deeper, the blue hue of the ocean swallowing it whole. Your heart pounded in your chest, a heavy sense of dread filling you as the necklace—your link to your family, your ancestors—vanished silently into the dark water below.

Your hands slackened, the net forgotten, slipping from your grasp into the boat. Without a second thought, instinct took over. Before you even realized what you were doing, you dove headfirst into the water, chasing the fading glint of silver.

The coldness of the ocean hit you like a shock, but you didn’t care. You kicked your legs, your arms pushing against the water, desperately reaching for the necklace as it continued its slow descent. The light above you grew dimmer as you sank deeper, the world around you a muffled echo of the surface. You could barely see now, the shimmering silver reduced to a distant gleam.

The water pressed in on you, chilling your skin and constricting your lungs. Panic began to claw at the edges of your mind, but you couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. It was more than just an heirloom; it was the weight of your ancestors’ blessings, the legacy of your family, and it was slipping further and further away.

Your lungs began to burn, the pressure of the deep water pressing against your chest, but still, you reached out, fingers stretching into the darkness. The necklace was now just a faint blur, fading into the abyss. Desperation surged through you as your arms flailed in the icy depths.

The darkness was overwhelming, the cold water pressing in on all sides as you sank deeper, the faint shimmer of your necklace vanishing into the abyss. Your chest burned, lungs screaming for air, but your limbs were too heavy, too numb. The weight of the ocean dragged you down, and for a moment, you felt yourself surrendering to the pull, the necklace gone.

But then, something strange happened. A warmth surrounded you, gentle and reassuring, cutting through the icy water. A firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards with a strength that felt both human and not. Yet, the darkness caught you and you passed out.

The first thing you felt was a pair of warm lips on yours, innocent, shy and yet somewhat dedicated. A wet hand was placed close to your throat. Then your head shot up as reality caught up to you, the water in your lungs creeping up your throat as you coughed it all out.

Coughing, disoriented, you blinked away the saltwater from your eyes, the world around you blurred. As your vision cleared, you found yourself being held by a man—no, something far more. His eyes, a deep and endless blue, locked onto yours. His presence was as overwhelming as the ocean itself, powerful and ancient, yet there was a softness in the way he held you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The stranger's arm was still wrapped around you, steadying you against the gentle rocking of the waves. His dark hair flowed around him, as though it were a part of the sea, and his skin, shimmering faintly in the light, seemed to glow with a quiet radiance. He wasn’t human, no, but he felt familiar.

“Breathe,” he whispered, his voice like the soft murmur of the tide, calming and steady.

You did, drawing in deep, shaky breaths, your heart still racing from the shock. “Who… who are you?” you stammered, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

He gazed at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with something tender, something that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "Sebastian," he finally said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I live within these waters."

You nodded slowly, still dazed, as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The cold of the water, the rush of drowning, and now… this.

Then, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head. “My necklace,” you breathed, panic swelling inside you again. You turned to look down into the water, but there was no shimmer, no sign of the silverish blue. “It’s gone… my necklace… I lost it.”

Sebastian’s eyes followed yours, and for a moment, a flicker of something like regret passed over his face. “The sea does not return everything,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of sorrow that seemed to echo from somewhere deep within him. "Not all that it takes can be given back."

Your heart sank, the weight of his words settling heavily inside you. The necklace—your family's necklace—was gone, lost forever to the depths. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to break down in front of this strange, beautiful man who had saved your life.

Sebastian’s gaze softened as he watched you, and before you could react, his hand reached up, brushing gently against your cheek, his touch feather-light. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the sadness that lingered in his words. “I wish I could have saved it for you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though the ache in your chest was still raw. “It was my family…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It was important.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply letting his fingers linger against your skin, his presence steady, grounding. “Your family's memory doesn’t live in that necklace,” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “It lives in you. In everything you carry with you. That cannot be lost, not to the sea or anything else.”

His words, gentle and warm, wrapped around your heart like a soothing balm. You nodded again, still feeling the loss, but somehow, in his presence, the grief didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

For a moment, you simply floated there together, the waves lapping gently against your bodies, the sun casting a warm, golden light over the surface of the water. Sebastian’s hand stayed close to yours, his touch lingering, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you go.

“Why did you help me?” you asked after a long silence, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted the answer.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered, his deep blue eyes searching yours. “Because,” he said softly, a hint of something more in his voice, something unspoken, “I couldn’t let you go.”

There was something in the way he looked at you, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t understand it, the pull between you two, but it was undeniable. He had saved you—not just from drowning, but from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

For now, you let the quiet peace of the ocean surround you, content in his presence, even as the necklace drifted farther into the depths, lost but somehow no longer the most important thing in your heart.

You finally took the time to admire his large form, he was as pretty as the mermaids from the childhood stories, as gentle looking as the ocean and his eyes, his eyes were like the ones of a god. You never saw someone like him before, but he mesmerized you.

He had placed you back into your boat, his hand lingered a bit longer on your cheek than anticipated and you could feel a mutual spark between you two.

[sleepymarimo]

𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕦𝕤.

summary: zoro loves when you're as crazy for him as he is for you pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: some religious themes, overall pretty soft. no explicit nsfw, but the events occur after sexy time so y'all are nakey an: i think zoro is very neat.

zoro would give you anything if you asked for it. he'd tilt the whole world on its axis if you gave him the word. that’s why it drives him absolutely insane when he gazes into your eyes and knows that you’d do anything for him.

zoro is so, so greedy, his hands always finding purchase on your skin as if he were afraid that some divine force would realize its mistake and pry you away from him. your presence served as an anchor, the unwavering support and patience you gave him making the swordsman wonder why he deserved you. his pride and affection towards you swell as your hands do the same, wrapping around his shoulders while your fingers traced the delicate skin of his back, unmarred by scars and blemishes.

your legs are snuggly wrapped around his waist, his whole body atop of yours as the both of you revel in a post-coital embrace. you give him a lazy half-smile, your eyes half-lidded. the look you bestow upon him is clouded with adoration and lust, love and trust.

he’s a devil, a demon. he’s lost his chance at salvation a long time ago, but when you look at him with those eyes? it has him feeling like a fucking god.

there’s no reluctance, no hesitation, just loyalty and a devotion so overwhelming it makes his head spin. he knows you’d claw your way out of those heavenly golden gates and through purgatory just to be with him, even if it meant eternal damnation.

all or nothing.

and he loves it.

it drives him to edge of madness to think that someone, someone like you, would go through such lengths for him. he takes in every feature of your face, from the curve of your cheeks to the tip of your nose.

your lips quirk into a smile as you take note of how his mind wanders. his features are momentarily softened, his gaze intense. one of your hands trails along his back, towards his shoulder and up his neck until you rest your palm on his cheek. his earrings lightly chime together as your fingers brush against them. "what're you thinking about, zo'?"

he shakes himself out of his daze, the hypnotizing lull of your stare. there’s no point in thinking, not when you’re below him, looking so pretty and perfect.

“don’t worry about it.” he rasps, easily leaning all of his weight onto one arm as his free hand moved to possessively cup your chin.

his lips meet yours and he enjoys every second of it, an unspoken promise exchanged through gnashing teeth and soft tongues. when he pulls back, takes in the intensity of the emotion that swims behind your eyes, he can’t help but smirk.

because when the world crumbles, when the oceans dry and the stars themselves fall from the sky, he’ll only be sure of one thing…

“s’just you n’ me.”

[planetsage]

NEW PIN ! ꒰ 🪷 ANYTHING 𖧧˚⋆ʚɞ ── kento nanami 𝜗𝜚 .

<- SAVE ?

contains. sfw, angst ish but only bc ……. but overall fluff. creator note. this was a request from @ateohsixxxx. i listened to ‘vibe with me’ on repeat writing this and a few other songs. hopefully you like <33 sorry if i totally butchered what you had in mind this started off as smut then pure angst then .. this so! also tagging @lacyohlacyyy bc youre the biggest nanami luver ik!

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the foamy ocean waves gently lapped against the darkened shore, white crests illuminated by the final breaths of daylight. each wave woven by mother nature’s gentle hands carries with it a soft sizzle as it caresses the shore, leaving behind a glistening film that tenderly kisses each shell, each grain of sand with its elements. the soft hum of their rhythm blends beautifully, creating a lullaby—nature’s lullaby— that strokes at your sandy ear.

the other rests against nanami’s chest where his heart chimes in to sing a chorus against his ribs. your body curled into his. intertwined.

cool air that carries a salty tang fights the faint smell of your sunscreen for dominance over your senses, sweeping over you, blooming goosebumps, but nanami’s warm embrace soothes and chases them away. his arm draped over your frame, fingers delicately tracing patterns and shapes over the little hairs that stand on your back.

peaking over the flat line of the horizon, the sun sets and dips, leaving an afterglow that basks the sky in an array of ambers and roses and amethysts.

you had always known of nanami’s dream to travel to malaysia.

late at night, in the quiet intimacy, when your slowed breaths tricked him into thinking he’d lost you to sleep’s tender grasp, he’d kiss your head and whisper against your scalp how he wished you two could disappear to the little country. he’d build a quaint beach house that overlooks the sea, where you two could grow old and sit in creaky little rocking chairs— you clacking needles together, knitting some colorful scarf as your grandchildren’s light feet padded through the living room.

family.

for your 1 year anniversary, you brought part of his dream to fruition. a one-week getaway, a promise to the future. a gesture filled with love and hope. an attempt to capture the essence of his dream, if only for a short while.

the setting sun brushed its last few strokes of gold against the sky before letting the stars take over and peek through. nothing else existed outside of this moment. outside of him.

as if reading your thoughts, he shifted. pulling you closer … closer. his breath warm against your hair, “thank you”

until then, the silence had been filled by breaths that slowly fell in sync. by families that squealed, packing up, loading their cars with sandy feet and arms, and sleepy, sun-kissed children. noisy seagulls chased by eager dogs dragging grinning owners down the shore.

you smiled up at him, your eyes reflecting the twinkling stars that decorated the velvet sky. “you don’t have to thank me, ken.” your reply is soft. he makes you soft. “this is as much for me as it is for you. i wanted us to just … have a place where we could forget everything else, y’know? even if it’s just for a little while.”

“i know,” his voice barely rang above a whisper. as if speaking any louder would break the fragility of the tender moment.

“but it means more than you can imagine, my love. being here with you... it’s something i’ve always wanted, but never— never thought i’d have.”

there’s a faint crack in his voice. a fissure in the cadence you’ve only known to soothe, and love and reassure.

and an ache tugs your heart, a deep, deep throb mirroring his own. you gently reach up, cupping his warm cheek in your hand so softly, holding his actual beating heart, “we can have it. one day, we can make this our reality. we can have the little house by the sea, the— the family. everything.”

nanami’s gaze traces onto the shore, the brown in his eyes reflecting the way the waves dance and gather in solace.

the scene before him blurs.

“do you really believe that?”

“i do”

the night continued to wrap you both in a warm embrace and his face grew soft hearing your words, how reassured you sounded. how confident in him. in your dream for the both of you. deeply set wrinkles smooth and he nods, “mm. i want to believe in a future where we can have everything we’ve dreamed of, too”

“then let’s make it happen.”

with a faint smile, nanami leaned down, letting his lips purse and press against yours softly. tenderly.

“i love you,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of all the emotions he can’t quiet put into words; there just aren’t any in the dictionary that could ever, ever, ever convey in purest form how much you mean to him, “more than anything in this world.”

“i love you too,”

the stars continued to shine their ancient light upon you and the ocean continued to whisper its eternal lullaby; you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“always.”

© planetsage 2024 all rights reserved. no part of this may be reproduced in any form.

[mommyownsmee]

I want to be all over you. I want you to be pinned between me and the mattress, like a flower pressed in a book. And I want you to say my name, over and over, like it's the only word written on the pages. I want to touch every single part of your body, slowly, slowly, and all at once. I want my every word to be your name and I want to speak love to the crevices and mountains of your body and whisper secrets in your ear. I want to be the moon, watching you sleep, the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders like onto the rise and fall of the tide of the ocean. I want to stare into your eyes until I see infinity, and myself, and cling to you like a sinner to grace. I want your hands to discover me in detail and your mouth to find the exact spot that stops my breath. I will find my place, between your shoulder and your neck, and inhale you every time we meet. I want to trace that art with my tongue, really slowly, but then taking a bite. I want your eyes searching for me, full of want, full of need, knowing we are destiny. We connect in a way that I cannot fully explain to other people. It's written in the flames, the way our skin heats up with each touch. I see it in the stars as they line together when our fingertips graze. It's unusual, the way the sound of the Earth reminds me of your heartbeat. We fall into each other, as normal as getting ready in the morning. I can't begin to explain it, I can only feel it in my bones. Our hearts have deep conversations, in silence. I always crave you in the dark. My hands get this urgency to trace over the spots you touched last. A tap on my shoulder, a gentle graze against my back or the simple hug you embrace me with. I can feel you around me even when you are nowhere near. Your scent has settled perfectly into my senses. So I cannot help but close my eyes and allow you to lead me. Tell me, where do you want me to touch? Should I let my hands crawl down my hips? How do I reach my thighs? Do you want to taste the moisture that sleeps over my lips? My fingers want to play with the images you have planted into my thoughts. So when the night sky is covered in black, my vision sees only you. I am yours, with every inch of flesh and bone in my body, and every ounce of love instilled in me, I belong to you. With every subtle thought that slips my mind and every void space in my empty soul, I belong to you. I fell for your thoughts, the way that you said my name, how you make me speechless. I ache to be inside your mind, hear the whisper of every thought, get lost in your deepest desires. I want you lying down next to me, caressing the soft curves of my face, running your fingers down my back. I fell for you and I ache for you, I want you. I want to rest, safe, between the bones of your shoulders and sleep inside your heart.

Copyright by me

[liveyun]

EYES LIKE STARS | 2

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🫧

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 13k+

warnings. (for this chapter) angst kinda. . . tbh, slight nsfw (nipple play, wet dreams), mythical creature reference, uhh kinda post nut clarity but also not so? , scene of drowning/possible near-drowning, parental neglect / toxic parenting, flashbacks, anxiety / panic attack 😬, our girl is learning to heal ❤️‍🩹, A NEW CHARACTER IS INTRODUCED 👀, some light-hearted fun and bickering, not proofread cause im tired byee it’s like really 3:15 am, “english isn't my first language,” the last part tho. . . . . . .

flash backs are highlighted in italics.

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There’s a very small line between fear and curiosity.

The silence of the ocean isn’t like any you’ve known before. It’s thick, hurled down with a stillness that presses against your ears until you’re sure that you’ll be crushed underneath it.

The water stretches endlessly in every direction, dark and silver, the colour of ink spilled beneath a dim moon. It laps against your skin as if testing you, as if inviting you deeper. You float weightlessly on the surface, arms outstretched, as though surrendering yourself to the vastness of the world. But this surrender—it isn’t frightening. No, it’s rather. . . soft. Gentle.

The water laps at your skin like a soft caress, welcoming you, inviting you deeper into her embrace.

You’re truly floating—and for a moment, it feels like surrender. Like peace. The kind that numbs your bones and soothes the chaos inside you.

And you can’t resist. You’ve never been able to resist the pull of the sea. And you don’t think it would be the first time you’d be able to do so, too.

The horizon looks like it’s shimmering — blurring where the water meets the sky. Stars scatter above, their reflections rippling across the surface like a thousand tiny lights dancing just out of reach, sprinkled on the vast sky like dust particles.

Why are they so far away from you ?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a thump. A faint hum that lingers, a low, hypnotic sound that pulls you closer. It’s as if the ocean itself is singing — a song only you can hear, a melody that fills your chest with a longing you don’t understand. A yearning which feels similar to the feeling of being homesick. It feels like silk, easing the tension from your muscles; it feels like coming home — though you don’t know why.

You sigh.

You sink deeper, arms brushing against the cool, endless expanse. It feels refreshing — cool. The water cradles you, and yet, it feels like something more. Like someone more. There’s a presence here — intangible, unseen, but there nonetheless. It circles you, watching, waiting. You feel the eyes on the back of your head, but it’s not unpleasant or something closer to.

The touch comes without any warning.

It’s a gentle pressure against your arm, light and delicate, almost as if it’s barely there. At first, you think it’s the current, or you’re just hallucinating, but it’s too precise, too careful, too textured. You freeze, breath catching in your throat, but the touch doesn’t retreat. It lingers, tracing along your skin like a very delicate caress. A voice whispers through the water, soft as the tide, as clear as the waters. It’s familiar, achingly so, but you can’t place it, no matter how hard you try. It’s almost like you’re squinting your eyes to look at a distant image better, but you cannot.

The sound curls around you, weaving through your mind, like how tendrils of a plant wraps itself around its support. And for a moment, you think you’ve recognized it — think you know who it belongs to.

It traces along your arm, delicate as a breeze, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Your eyes snap open, scanning the dark water around you, but there’s nothing. Only the vast, endless sea, and the sparkling waves. And yet, you can feel it— him —there with you, unseen but present, lingering just out of sight.

What was he?

The touch returns, sliding up to your shoulder, and this time, it’s more certain. More real. It trails down your spine, igniting something inside you that’s both comforting and terrifying and . . . arousing? Your breath catches in your throat, heart stuttering as you try to make sense of the sensation as goosebumps prickle all along the expanse of your flesh. It’s intimate, overwhelming — like the sea is alive, drawing you into something deeper, something you can’t escape.

But do you really want to, though?

The question flits through your mind, and without even thinking, you lean into the touch, letting it guide you further. The water swirls around you, cool but not cold — its surface now shimmering with an ethereal light that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The stars overhead blur, their reflections weaving through the waves like a dream. And then, you feel it — his breath, warm against your ear. The voice is clearer now, low and resonant, like a gentle plea. A delicious shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, as you feel your eyes close again.

You feel him — his nose rubbing against the expanse of your neck. A hum escapes your throat at the sensation when the slope of his nose rubs against the sensitive underside of your jaw, and then, you feel it.

Your stomach swirls with pleasure.

You hear him whisper something in your ear. Softly, almost like soft silk brushing against your skin— and though the words are foreign, you understand them. Not with your mind, but with your soul.

Don’t look.

The warning seeps into your bones, a quiet plea wrapped in something more dangerous. You’re afraid it’s all too much, too intense. You cannot understand the sensations in you — the bubbling heat in your stomach and the ringing bells in your head. But you can’t help it. You have to see. You have to know who he is.

Slowly, as if fighting against the pull of the ocean, you turn your head. You know he is behind you. The water parts around you, thick and heavy, slowing your movements as if the very sea itself is trying to stop you.

Don’t look.

The words echo in your mind, louder now, edged with desperation. But it’s too late. You’re already searching, eyes scanning the dark water, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. The one who’s been pulling you deeper, holding you close, whispering words of praise so sweetly that you’re afraid you’re going to fall apart.

You reach out, and you feel your hand trembling as it cuts through the water. And then you see him—just a shadow at first, a silhouette drifting through the water, a figure submerged in the hues of the darkness. He’s close, so close, but still just out of reach. You squint, straining to make out the details, but the sea keeps him shrouded in darkness.

You cannot see him.

The moment your fingers brush his form, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, a pulse of energy that sets your nerves alight, a type which makes the heat in your belly intensify.

He’s solid, real, but he doesn’t move. Just hovers there, watching you with an intensity that makes you want to squirm endlessly.

The figure moves closer, the water parting around him, and your pulse quickens. You can’t make out his face — yet again — but you can see the outline of him now, clearer than before. Broad shoulders, a lithe, sinewy body tapering to a narrow waist. His movements are smooth, fluid, as he floats, his arms very delicately holding your waist.

When did he get so close?

And then you see them—the scales.

They glimmer faintly beneath the water, catching the light in shades of deep violet and silver, fading into skin as he draws closer. The scales ripple down his torso, shifting into skin that is smooth and supple, as though he exists somewhere between the human world and something far more ancient. His long hair drifts around him, dark as midnight, curling into waves that fall across his bare chest — though the details remain elusive, just out of reach, like a blurry portrait.

You feel his hand— which feels slightly slimy and rough in texture, move up your waist, stroking your skin. His touch is cold, electrifying — and you feel your sanity leave your soul when his knuckles brush against the swell of your breasts.

Your pulse spikes, and you suck in a breath. You cannot go this far, even if your body is screaming to him to end what he’s started. His hands keep on stroking the exposed skin of your waist, delicately and tenderly, like he’s working you to the oblivion of endless pleasure, because why the hell is this arousing you so much?

You’re already breathless by the time you scramble to get a hold of his wrist which feels rather cold to touch before it gets too far away beyond your control.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans into your touch, his skin warm and soft beneath your fingertips, though you can still feel the faint ridges of scales beneath the surface. Your heart hammers in your chest, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He feels real. He feels alive. You are exposed and vulnerable in his hold.

The ocean swells around you, and the hum in your ears grows louder, more insistent. He shifts, his body turning towards you, and finally — finally — you see his face.

Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, plump, soft lips which are curved in the faintest of smiles. His eyes are unbelievably dark, pupils abnormally wide and endless as the sea — lock onto yours, and you feel like you’re drowning all over again, and yet they feel like they’re glowing like the scales on his skin, a blunt, gentle glow. They draw you in, pulling you deeper into a whirlpool of emotion you can’t name, can’t understand, don’t want to understand. There is something very familiar about him which you cannot exactly pinpoint. But before you can even think of something else, you feel his thumb brush against the peak of your nipple.

Gods.

You moan, a high pitched one which you didn’t know you were capable of making, hands flying to his arms, leaning in submission. Your eyes close themselves as you feel a spark of pleasure travel straight to your clit with each flick of his fingers, and you nearly tremble in his hold.

This can’t be happening.

But the pleasure, it’s so intense — you are torn between your own desire, your own curiosity. It’s just too much for you, and a needy whine escapes your lips when you feel him pinch your nipples gently, twisting the bud in his hold. You squirm, feeling your centre pulse and ache with need, and you hear a small chuckle from his side.

You’re just so close to succumbing to this pleasure. You’re almost ready to voice out your inner thoughts, your need for him, but your body freezes when you hear him.

“Will you run away?”

The question hangs between you, low and velvety, his tone both teasing and somewhat serious. Your eyes fly open as your brain finally acknowledges the voice, his words wrapping around your heart like a vice. You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Your throat is tight, your lungs burning as though the air has been stolen from you.

He cocks his head, the faintest hint of confusion flickering in his gaze. His hand reaches for you, fingers grazing your arm as though testing your reaction, unsure of your response. But there is something else in his gaze, something that stirs a memory long buried beneath the surface.

Him.

It’s him.

You know him. You’ve always known him.

The realisation crashes into you like a wave, and your breath hitches. You gasp, twisting in his hold as bells ring in your head again. You cannot be doing this. You feel his hands move from your chest to your shoulders, a small tap on your blade as a sign of concern, interrogation. His touch is oddly warm, gentle, but there’s a hesitation in the way he holds you now, a question in his eyes.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know why you’re pulling away. His brows furrow, and you can see it in his eyes—he thinks you don’t want him. He thinks you’re afraid of him.

“Will you run away again, like you did tonight?”

Huh?

The question sharpens, the confusion giving way to something more desperate, more exposed. His grip tightens, but not in a way that traps you, but makes you feel oddly seen. His hands caress your shoulder blades, as though he’s pleading with you, silently asking you to stay, to tell him that he isn’t the reason for your fear.

But the truth is — he isn’t. Not entirely.

Your heart races, your mind swirling as fragments of memories begin to unfold. You see flashes of a different ocean, a younger version of yourself pulling someone from the depths. Water in your lungs, panic in your chest, eyes burning — and a boy — struggling to breathe. Your hands shaking, his eyes wide with fear, and your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And then . . . . nothing.

Silence.

But now, here he is again.

You twist in his grip, again, afraid of the lack of your words, the silence which stretches forever alongside the soft waves of the ocean, and his hauntingly pitch obsidian eyes — your body reacting on instinct, and the moment you do, his expression crumbles.

His confusion turns to hurt.

He pulls back, just a fraction, his gaze clouding with uncertainty. He doesn’t understand. He thinks you don’t want him. He thinks you’re running from him . . . again. His lips stretch to a snarl, and you catch a glimpse of death lining the inside of his mouth.

The water grows heavier around you, your eyes widening as you beat the water around you as you feel like you’re drowning. Being pulled down all of a sudden. The stars overhead dim all of their light as the weight of the ocean presses you down as his voice echoes once more, softer now, filled with a quiet kind of sorrow.

“So you are going to run away.”

Your lungs burn, your vision blurs, and the ocean swells around you, pulling you deeper into its embrace as you feel yourself immersed, despite your attempts of resistance. The ocean feels like a thousand knives stabbing you all around, unlike the soft blanket of comfort you felt a few moments ago.

The siren’s eyes are the last thing you see, his endless gaze filled with a longing that tugs at something deep inside you — something you’ve kept hidden for far too long.

He doesn’t even attempt to save you as everything goes black.

And then you wake.

It’s all so dark once again. Except, there’s no ocean around you, and you’re sitting on your bed in the middle of the room.

It takes you sometime to adjust to the darkness in your room — the moon is barely visible through the slits of your closed windows, and yet it feels like some sort of hallucination — almost as if your heart is going to burst. Your throat is cracked up as you gulp down on your own saliva, feeling each second passing by killing your throat as the moisture travels down your throat.

Your skin is damp with sweat, hair sticking on your face like some sort of icky school glue. And for a moment, you can still feel the ocean around you, his touch lingering on your skin.

When you recover a bit, you notice that there’s an undeniable discomfort in between your legs — your underwear sticking to your core, soiled, and slick coating your inner thighs as you cringe.

You had a wet dream. Like a fucking teenager. Or, a mixture of something arousing and horror. Was there any specific label to it? Possibly not.

You feel the wrath of shame wash over you as you duck your head down. Why him and why exactly. . .

But it’s gone—just a dream, a memory that slips through your fingers like sand, confusing you all again the more you think of it with each passing second. There are a flurry of questions in your mind which feels way too overwhelming to answer, ponder about, and you feel a splitting headache slowly spreading in the back of your head.

Yet, a question stands out the most amongst all. His voice, low and haunting, still echoes in your mind.

Will you run away again, just like tonight ?

The sea has always been your solace.

It was a vast, open space that offered more comfort than the people crowding your life ever did, or ever could. You sit at the edge of the beach, far enough from the others that their voices are nothing but distant clatters, but close enough that you still feel the spray of the waves on your skin. It feels soothing — yet warm as you bask in the slightly hot weather. The sun is high in the sky, yet all you can focus on is the steady rhythm of the ocean, like a quiet lullaby which rocks your body to a peaceful slumber. You draw idle patterns in the sand, your fingers trailing through the grains as your mind drifts, far from where you are, far from everything.

You’ve never liked being here, atleast, not with them.

The smiles, the laughter, the way everyone seems to fit in so seamlessly—everyone except for you. No matter how hard you’ve tried, you just couldn’t. The latest magazine in your school library had that little “self care corner”, which was fascinating, but absurd to you at first, but it’s been a matter of a few weeks since you’ve been following it. It says that you should be grateful for your blessings and try to improve yourself first before you justify why you feel so wronged and hurt. “It’s a hard pill to swallow”, were the exact words, and you do realise that heck yes, they were.

You had tried so many ways you could improve yourself, with some help from the limited internet access you’re provided from your computer. It said that regular journalling, walking, or activities which overall help you in reflecting on yourself and your thoughts assist in healing. But all that it ever did was make you feel like a bitter fool who had nothing to do but to complain all the damn time, without even putting in the effort to do anything.

So you’d tried putting in the effort. You’d tried mingling in with your friends and classmates. You’d even tried to actually be in the same room as your parents and be involved in whatever they were.

In the end, all that you were met was a cold, dead end.

You felt like you were pretending to be someone who you could never be. You were quite literally pushing yourself off the edge of the ground trying to fit in while others — he — shines without effort. Jungkook has always been at the centre of things, his laughter louder, his smile brighter, his presence bigger than yours could ever be. You just felt like another blurred character in the background who acts like a prop to enhance the overall photo.

And you hated it, hated how you couldn’t stop noticing him, couldn’t stop being reminded of all the ways you fell short.

You kicked the spare pebble nearby you, frustrated at having him in the centre of your thoughts again. One of the many things that the small self care centre had taught you was that nothing other than your own thoughts can hurt you as much as others, and it’s solely your own thoughts which can bring you happiness. So you try and keep your chin up high, trying to think of things which aren’t the constant nagging and pleading of your own parents about how you are no longer a star student and nothing can help you improve now, reminding you why you’re content to stay in the background itself.

But the ocean never judged you. It never asked anything of you. It just was — vast, open, endless, inviting. You can feel the familiar tug in your chest, the pull toward the water, a place where you could lose yourself if only for a moment, and forget everything which pesters you so much.

It’s that pull that keeps you grounded as you sit alone. That, and the nagging feeling that something is off. At first, you don’t pay much attention to it.

Why would you?

You’re used to being ignored, used to being an afterthought. But there’s just something in the air which feels odd, something unsettling that has your senses prickling, your chest tightening. You tell yourself that it’s nothing. You’re just anxious, that’s all. You don’t need to be involved, don’t need to care. Let them handle it. You’re done trying to be a part of something that always leaves you feeling more isolated.

And then, you hear it.

A splash. Sharp and out of place. It’s followed by a frantic noise, like someone struggling, thrashing against the waves. You freeze, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You tell yourself it’s not your problem, that it’s probably nothing.

But deep down, you know better. Something is wrong.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You rise to your feet before you can even think ; your eyes dart across the water, scanning the waves, searching for the source. And that’s when you see him.

Jungkook.

He’s far from the shore, too far. His arms are flailing, desperately trying to keep himself afloat. The water pulls him under, and for a terrifying second, he disappears beneath the surface. Your eyes pop out, your pulse spiking up violently as you feel your chest tightening. For another moment, you see his head poke out of the violent waves, his arms still struggling, and in another, you lose sight of him. It feels like your whole body has been frozen, your limbs refusing to move despite your mind screaming for otherwise.

Your body moves before your mind can catch up. You’re on your feet, the sand slipping under your soles as you sprint toward the shore. You should hate him. You do hate him— or at least, you’ve convinced yourself of that.

But none of that matters right now. Not when his head breaks the surface again, his eyes wide with fear. He looks at you, a flicker of something — hope, maybe — crossing his face even in the middle of his panic and terror.

You hate that look, hate that it stirs something inside you, something that makes you pause for just a second. But you don’t let yourself think about it.

You don’t have time for that.

You dive into the water, the cold shock of it hitting you like a slap to the face, but you don’t stop. The current is strong, pulling you back with each stroke, but you push against it, swimming toward him with everything you have. You hadn’t realised that it’s been that long since you’ve been engaged in any other physical vigorous activity, or is it just the fact that the current is way too strong that the resistance it offers to you nearly stops you from gliding forward.

The water is blurry, your eyes stinging with the saline as you swin forward to locate him.

When you reach him, his body feels heavier than you expected, his limbs weak and movements uncoordinated. He’s coughing, choking on seawater, his breaths ragged and desperate. For a second, his weight drags you down, and you both sink slightly under the water. Panic rises in your chest, but you force it down.

You’re not going to let him drown. Not today.

With every fibre of strength left in your being, you push yourself forward. The moment your hands hold his arm, you pull him close. You feel a strong sense of electricity run through your whole arm, but you ignore it. You hook your arm under his, pulling him closer to you, and you start swimming back to shore. Every stroke feels like a battle against the ocean, but you don’t stop. His body presses against yours, his breathing uneven as he clings to you, and despite everything — despite how much you want to hate him — you don’t let go.

What’s more important is to save him, and that’s all what matters now. His weight feels heavy in your arms as you drag him toward the shore, your calves crying with the stretch and your arms cramping with exerted strength already lost, but that’s not your priority.

“I got you”, is all that you can offer as a silent statement in your head, your main motive being taking him to the shore safely.

By the time your feet touch the sand, your muscles are screaming, but you don’t care. You haul him out of the water, your breaths coming in sharp, painful gasps. The waves crash behind you, but all you can hear is the sound of Jungkook’s coughs, his chest heaving as he gulps down a mouthful of air.

You collapse onto the sand next to him, your arms trembling from the effort. For a moment, neither of you say anything.

He’s still recovering, his eyes closed as he lies on his back, his chest rising and falling unevenly. You feel the thrum of your own exhaustion settle in, but more than that, you feel that of the silence between you.

After quite some time, he’s just silent as you are, sitting up in a somewhat upward position as you. The sun fades away to shadows, and the waves feel stronger as cool winds blow from the shore, touching your feet in a gentle fuzzy wash. The clouds overhead dim further as you crane your neck up, indicating rain.

You’d nearly lost him.

What could’ve happened if you hadn’t heard him back then?

Your heart clenches at the thought and you feel even more exhausted mentally than physically thinking of the probable possibilities of your thoughts. You look at him — his profile silent and calm as he watches the waves dance in the distance. He looks deep in thoughts, still a bit ragged.

Your heart skips a beat out of nowhere.

And then, without thinking, you reach out and pull him into a hug.

It’s not something you planned, not something you would ever admit to doing if anyone asked.

But at that moment, it felt right.

His body is warm against yours, smelling like the soft saline ocean, still damp, still buzzing. And despite the lingering taste of salt on your lips and the sting of exhaustion in your muscles, you hold him tight. Your heart pounds in your chest as your brain threatens you to process something scary, as scary as a life without him. But with him in your arms, you feel better.

Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s something else. You don’t know, and you’re too tired to care.

Before you can feel anything more, though, the sound of running footsteps breaks through the quiet. Your parents. His parents. They come rushing over, calling his name, their voices frantic and full of worry.

“Jungkook!” It’s your mother. You watch her as she runs to the boy, panic settled in her features with dark, teary eyes as she grabs him by his shoulders, checking him for any signs of injuries. You watch silently as her tears stream down her eyes, shaking.

She doesn’t even spare you a glance.

“Your dad saw you struggling in the sea. Oh, my dear child, we rushed to you right there and then! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s parents fuss over him, their hands gentle as they check him over, making sure he’s okay. Your own parents linger nearby, but as usual, it’s him who gets all the attention. You stand there, dripping wet and still trying to catch your breath, but it’s like you don’t even exist.

“I think he needs to see a doctor! His skin is way too cold to touch!”

Oh.

You let go of him, pulling back just as they all hover around him, some sobbing, some worried, and once again, you find yourself shoved into the background.

It’s Mr. Jeon who finally acknowledges you, his eyes warm with gratitude as he hands you a towel. Oh. You’re caught quite off guard, you’re being honest — not when you feel his affectionate gaze at you and a warm hand pat your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “You saved him,” his voice is full of kindness. Like the kind which always feels like a far echo to you. His eyes were always gentle, the kind which made you feel oddly at ease. “We owe you a lot, child.”

“It’s nothing,” You nod, but there’s no satisfaction in it, even if you’d try to feign some. You did what you had to do, and yet, it feels like nothing has changed. There’s a churning feeling in your tummy, one that makes you feel fidgety and anxious again, like all the emotions you hate mixed into one. Selfishness, greed, envy. Afterall, he was in danger. He deserves to be treated and taken care of; you were just a rescue.

However, it just feels so. . . you cannot name it. You’re still the one left behind, still the one who doesn’t quite blend in.

As you watch them lead Jungkook away, his movements clumsy and sputtering, you can’t help but feel the familiar sting of resentment rising in your chest. He’s alive, he’s okay—and yet, you can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you do, you’ll always be the one on the outside looking in, trying to blend in, like how oil does with water — but is it ever possible?

The feeling in your stomach is so ugly that you physically have to fight the urge to kick the sand.

You turn to face the sea once again, lost in the ocean of your own thoughts as the sky growls with thunder.

But what you don’t notice, is the way his eyes follow you as he’s led away. There’s a flicker in them, a quiet gratitude, a longing that he wanted to show you. He wants to thank you, to reach out and pull you back into the hug you’d given him so freely, so sincerely that he’d felt like his world had stopped for a few minutes. But the words stick in his throat, each step feeling like a tug away from you.

You don’t see the way his gaze lingers over his shoulder as he looks at your retreating figure. How he watches you with something deeper.

Something silent, before the tide of people pulls him away from you once again.

The kitchen feels too quiet this morning.

The sound of coffee dripping into the carafe snaps you out of your thoughts, its steady rhythm grounding you in the early morning quiet. The aroma of brewed coffee does little to clear the fog of your tired brain, because once again, you’d failed to get even an ounce of sleep. All you could do was toss around endlessly in the bed. The sheets felt warm, the pillows felt warm, and everything inside your thoughts were so warm you felt like you were getting grilled in your own thoughts.

With no BBQ sauce, though.

But finally, finally when your eyelids had felt too heavy to be kept open, your body clock had decided that it was time to get up.

You sit at the counter, gaze drawn to the espresso stone — an indulgence you’d bought in a phase of believing that rituals like brewing coffee would help settle the storm of your mind. But right now, it does little to nothing.

You’d always preferred instant coffee anyways. Easy, quick, and effortless. Call you lazy or whatever, but let’s be real, who the fuck has the allat energy to do that stuff when it’s the first thing you need in the morning?

(Some real coffee lovers might be giving you the stink eye, but well.)

You absolutely respect others who have, though. But you’re okay with warm water and a sachet of instant coffee. It doesnt taste quite as authentic, but it does work.

Or maybe you were just habituated.

What surprises you is that your parents were awake, but they didn’t come to wake you up this time. Not like before, when the first sound of life in the house was your mom’s footsteps hurrying up to your room. Now when you woke up, it felt like you weren’t even present in the house — perhaps you just expected much more than you should have.

The rich, dark liquid pools into the pot as you stare down at the counter, a knot of emotions tying in your chest. It’s strange, the way time has moved here — everything looks the same, but it feels unfamiliar. The tension that used to live in these walls, seeping through the cracks of their arguments and filling the spaces between your breaths, has softened.

For once, they're not fighting.

You don’t know what to make of that.

You close your eyes against the wave of discomfort that rises in your chest, refusing to let yourself spiral again, but it lingers, just like the faint bitterness of over-brewed coffee.

The morning light is soft, creeping through the windows, and you let your fingers trace idle circles on the countertop, waiting for the espresso to finish. Something about the silence feels unnerving. Not the comfortable, soothing kind though, but the kind that crawls into your bones and makes you hyper-aware of everything — it suddenly dawns on you that you weren’t awakened by that alarm of your phone.

Your phone.

A flood of memories flash right in front of your eyes, remembering him, holding it in his hands while you trembled like a fool and fled from him, again.

You’re so stupid.

You close your eyes. Fuck. Those eyes, those eyes. You were never successful to run away from them, even if he was in a state where he didn’t recognise you. They made you feel exposed, like a deer caught in headlights.

And suddenly, that touch, which is still so prominent in your senses, washes over you. The dream — his touch—lingers like a shadow on your skin, and you’re ashamed of the warmth it stirred in you. Confused, even. Your fingertips twitch, an involuntary reaction to the memory of the way the siren’s — Jungkook’s — hands had roamed over your body in the dream. The way his voice had sunk into your bones, asking, Will you run away?

The question was more than a dream. It was a reminder. And it makes your stomach churn.

You feel a shiver run down your spine.

No. You shake your head, you definitely will go insane if you think about it anymore. You try to shake it off, breathing out a sigh. It’s just a dream, you tell yourself. Get over it. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, inhaling deeply as if the scent could calm the knot in your stomach. There's no running from your thoughts this morning — no distractions, no excuses, and certainly no phone to hide behind. It hits you that without it, you’re forced to confront the very things you’ve been avoiding.

The what-ifs, the what-nows.

You just hope that the bitter coffee would ground you, but it doesn’t.

You take a sip, but it’s scalding, and the sudden burn against your lips yanks you from whatever you were lost in. You wince and place the cup back on the counter, feeling oddly betrayed by something as simple as a morning routine. Without your phone, you’re left feeling vulnerable, like your connection to the outside world has been severed.

You are definitely not a chronically online person, but a few instagram reels certainly do not feel as shitty as the coffee you’ve just made yourself.

You sigh. You wish that you did not rely on your phone for nearly every detail and necessities needed, and you seriously wish you had written down all those log in passwords and passkeys in a diary or something like that. They contain email IDs which you genuinely do not remember, and those unfinished drafts of that novel which you were working in. . .

Argh. You already feel the slight throb develop in the back of your head. There’s a sting behind your eyes, which you blink away. What the fuck ? You cannot lose your shit over such a mundane thing. You’re an adult, and you have enough cash to buy yourself a new phone. (What stings you is the fact that you definitely didn’t need one, but you are petty enough to not get the. . . err, lost one back.)

Anyways, you’re lucky enough to have a laptop with you, and if you can remember correctly, you do have your important e-mails registered in it and hopefully, you can do enough to not lose all your precious details.

(You feel silly as hell.)

But a small part of you trusts that Jungkook wouldn't mess with your details, right? He wouldn’t snoop through your life. . . would he?

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. There’s no point in obsessing over it. Trust him, you tell yourself, even if it’s easier said than done.

— — — —

As you settle down in the living room, laptop perched on your knees, you try to throw yourself into work, your fingers moving swiftly across the keys.

So far, you’ve been successful in logging out of all the devices and recovering your passwords, and you thank the technology for that. Although, those small manuscripts are something which you feel like are in the point of no return. The soft hum of your parents moving about the house barely registers at first, until you glance up and see them together, not at each other’s throats like they usually are.

They’re seated together, your father’s profile hidden behind the newspaper he’s so absorbed in reading, and your mother silently sipping on her tea.

How long have they been like this?

A flicker of surprise ripples through you, followed by an unfamiliar feeling you can’t quite place. They’ve been civil for the past few hours. No shouting, no being on each other’s throats anymore. Just... quiet, almost peaceful.

The same kind of quiet that you once craved for as a child.

You shift in your seat, a strange discomfort setting in as you observe them. It’s unsettling — this lack of chaos between them, and you wonder if they’re simply pretending for your sake. Ha. As if they would actually care.

You push the thought aside, not wanting to linger on memories of their constant arguments, of how they never seemed to notice you slipping through the cracks while they tore each other apart. Now, it feels like they've forgotten those days, moved on without you. But you haven't — If they didn’t bother then, why now when you are now just a temporary guest here?

The past has always found a way of sneaking up on you.

Suddenly, your father calls out your name, breaking the silence. His eyes are casted directly on you, his reading glasses slipping down a bit from his nose as he folds the newspaper he’d been reading to keep it back on the table. “The Jeons have been asking about you,” he says, his voice casual but pointed. Your hands freeze over the keyboard, and your heart skips a beat. “They’re very enthusiastic on hearing that you’re back.”

You force yourself to breathe, but the air feels thick in your lungs. Of course, they are, you think, trying to keep your expression neutral. They have always had maintained the image of that perfect neighbour next door, and this is no exception. However, a plethora of words rises to your throat, unsolicited. Is Jungkook with them?

The question burns on the tip of your tongue, and for a moment, you nearly let it slip. But before you can, your mother re-enters the room, carrying a tray — the rich, earthy scent of doenjang-jjigae fills the room, cutting through the tension like a warm breeze. You hastily cough, swallowing the words back, silently grateful for the interruption.

Although you’re now looking down at your laptop, you feel your father’s eyes flicker towards you, and the weight of his narrowed gaze, knowing he hasn’t missed the hesitation in your response. You are well experienced in this sensing emotions from your parents, and you know your father is suspicious. Let him be. But he says nothing more, choosing instead to focus on taking off his glasses and stretching a bit, preparing himself for his first nourishment of the day.

The silence stretches between you again, but at least for now, he doesn’t press the issue.

You exhale softly, your heart calming from the near slip-up.

A miss is as good as a mile.

That old fear of speaking in front of your father —cof saying the wrong thing, of upsetting the him — surges briefly, but you realize it’s not fear anymore. Not really. You’re no longer scared of him like you were as a child. His glare doesn’t topple you over the edge, and it barely has the same effect it did some few years ago.

You’re just not interested in talking to him, in engaging in a conversation you know won’t lead anywhere.

You can only offer a tight smile to your father as a response.

However , his words swirl around in your head, stirring up old emotions you thought you’d buried. It’s like some sort of a bitter nostalgia ; you’d run from him once already, bolted out of the cafe without looking back. And now, with this reminder that he’s close, that meeting him is inevitable, you feel a wave of fear rise inside you.

Fear, and something else.

Excitement ?

The idea sends a shiver down your spine. Why would you feel excited? You don't understand it. You’re supposed to hate him, aren’t you? For being perfect, for being everything you weren’t. For caring, even when you didn’t want him to. For not recognising you. Why? Why?

But there’s that small, rebellious spark inside you, one that flares at the thought of seeing him again. Those memories of seeing him so close creeps up your neurons like an surge of electricity, and you feel your heart pick up it’s speed again. Despite the fear, despite the confusion, you can’t deny the tug of anticipation. That sort which confuses you so much, that you feel like you’re someone really crazy.

No. You push the feeling down, gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles turn white. You shouldn’t be excited. You should be running again, like that voice in your head keeps whispering, urging you to flee before it’s too late.

Run away. Before he gets too close, before he sees you like this.

But you won’t.

Not this time.

You’re done running.

Even if your heart is racing, even if you’re terrified of what will happen when you see him again. You’ve been running for so long, without ever getting to catch a break — and you do not want to keep running away anymore. You are no longer a teenager, and you have to learn to face your challenges, although, this one is something which rather than being a challenge, feels like something which your whole life has revolved around so far.

You have let yourself suffer for consequences which you never were a part of. You have blamed your misery on someone, who was just as misunderstood as you were. Perhaps, that’s where the list of your flaws begins.

You won’t let yourself fall apart again. You are strong enough to face the storms which threaten to sweep you away. You’ve spent too long building these walls around yourself, and you won’t let him tear them down.

Not yet.

Your bottom lip gets a break from the non-stop nibbling upon hearing the empty bowls clink on the table, your mother chatting idly as she serves the food, and you nod along, though your thoughts are still tangled elsewhere completely.

You should feel relieved, thankful for the quick distraction, but instead, you feel like a thin thread is holding everything together, and it’s just a matter of time before it all unravels.

But when the first morsel of the warm strew hits your tastebuds, it was then when you realised that everything else can wait, but the food cannnot.

You were literally starving.

— — — —

Some things are easier to forget, even if they don’t deserve to be.

The park is quiet, the sound of leaves rustling in the soft breeze filling the humble air. It somehow feels like a place from another world — quiet, peaceful, as if it’s untouched by the dilemma that you’re trying to avoid. It’s funny, how this same peace stretched in between the coats of your house, yet you felt suffocated there, almost as if you weren’t meant to share that with your parents.

You sit on a weathered bench, legs curled beneath, pulling the collar of your coat closer as the cool, crisp autumn air brushes against your skin. Auburn leaves fall in slow spirals, collecting at your feet, a reminder of how everything changes — even when you’re standing still, despite how it felt like nothing had changed.

Perhaps, it was just you, or your home.

It felt fuzzy. Like the fuzz which collects at the rim of a carbonated drink when you shake it too hard. It was raining and was hot enough to feel sweat trickle down your spine just yesterday, and now. . . you feel like it’s about time you treat yourself with some mooncakes.

Speaking of which, you think red bean paste ones are slightly overrated, but you enjoy the taste as much if someone offered them to you for free.

You absently flick through the pages of a book you found tucked in a small “self-care” corner of a bookstore. The name of the corner had absent mindedly brought a smile to your lips, amazed at how this word was used so openly now, compared to that small section neatly tucked at the corner of that magazine you used to be so fascinated with.

The book. . . well, it’s not a bestseller, and it’s not something you’d normally pick up, (neither did anyone seem to, given the layer of dust the shopkeeper had to sweep away before handing it to you,) and you’ll be slightly embarrassed to admit that the name of the corner solely made you buy that book.

Well. . . now, you’re just thumbing the corner of a slightly dog-eared page idly, zoned out.

You turn the pages, but the words don’t really . . . stick. How could they, when your mind keeps wandering back to how everything feels so . . . lost? Like you’re floating aimlessly, without a map, without a clue as to where you’re supposed to be. Life has been a series of steps you weren’t ready to take, choices you weren’t prepared to make ; yet, you kept on running till you either bonked your head on the dead end or just chose the wrong path where you had to bear with the terrible consequences.

It sucks how even your gut feeling sometimes betrays you.

And all of it, every bit, feels like a puzzle that’s been missing pieces for longer than you’d care to admit.

You know why you’re here — not just in this park, pretending to care about a book on self-care, but why you’re avoiding the bigger thing. You’re avoiding them. The Jeons. The meeting that’s looming over you is like a storm you can’t run from. You knew your father did want to press over the topic after breakfast, but it was you who dodged it. You’ve been running long enough to know that much. But today… today, you’re trying to take your time, trying to convince yourself that maybe this is the moment you stop.

Stop running, stop pretending that running away would fix you and your problems.

But it’s hard. Hard to stop, hard to breathe, when every step forward feels like it’s pushing you closer to the one thing you’ve been trying to escape.

Your eyes flick down to the open book in your arms. Right.

You wanted to take your time, to clear your mind, and so may it be so. You’re not even a page down, when your mind registers a small paragraph.

Your eyes scan over the words again.

“Healing isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about living with it, the scars not a sign of weakness, but survival. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting—it’s choosing peace over pain.”

Your fingers tighten on the edges of the page ; the self-care corner — the memories, the dream which you unlocked — everything you’ve been trying to run from, to “heal,” just feels . . . unfinished. And maybe that's because there’s no real way to let go of what still owns parts of you.

“Let it go,” it reads. As if it’s speaking directly to you. Let go of the things that have been holding you back. Your childhood , the nights you spent wondering if things would ever change. All the times you wondered what it would’ve been like, if you’d tried a bit harder. If you were a bit more perfect.

A deep breath.

You shake your head, trying to focus on the book again. It’s helping you realise something — you deserve to heal from your trauma, even if you weren’t the one causing it.

You close the book, your hand hovering as if touching the cover could give you answers you’re not ready to face.

You let out a shaky exhale as you close your eyes.

Someone sits down beside you.

The weight shifts slightly on the bench. At first, you don’t pay much attention to it, lost in the haze of your own thoughts. It’s just another stranger. Who’s passing through this quiet park, like the leaves that have been falling, spiralling down without asking for permission.

But then, there’s a subtle tug, a familiar feeling in the air that makes you want to turn your head. Maybe you’re just as curious to see, to subtly eyeball if they’re enjoying the calm of the fall too.

You hesitate, staring down at the words. For a moment, you think maybe you should keep staring. But your curiosity gets the better of you.

You glance over and pause. Dark eyes meet yours, and it takes a second before the recognition sets in.

“Oppa?”

Yoongi.

Your eyes lift from the page, and there he is, looking almost too casual, like he belongs in this quiet moment. You notice his glow-up immediately — the way his features have matured, how his hair — darker than how your memory recalls, falls effortlessly across his forehead, styled beautifully to part in the middle. There’s just this quiet intensity in his cat-like, sharp eyes.

Yoongi, as you know, is Jungkook’s elder cousin on his mother’s side. He’s always had this quiet, reserved aura about him. Back then, he was already on the brink of adulthood, 18, and intimidating in a way only someone as mysterious as him could be. Maybe it’s that confidence in the way he still holds himself, the way he seems so sure of everything around him.

He would seem to be very distant at the first glance to anyone, but you know he’s anything but that, given that you always felt like he was that older brother you’ve never had.

And it’s no exception when instantly, his wide, gummy smile breaks through. It’s the same one that used to make you feel at ease back then. A smile so cute, rare, and warm, it could melt the deepest of glaciers to exist. Without warning, he reaches over and ruffles your hair affectionately, the way he always used to. You blink, a little stunned.

He wasn’t exactly known to be the physically affectionate boy, back then, though. . .

“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice low, careful. Somehow you feel like it’s grown even deeper with a very prominent rasp. You can tell he’s not asking the surface-level question. He’s asking how you’re really doing, but without pushing you to say more than you’re ready for. And for that, you feel grateful.

Yoongi always knows what to say, and what not to.

“I’m . . . okay,” you manage to reply, though the word feels heavier than it should. Your voice sounds peculiar to you, but you guess that’s alright. What’s even the point of lying, though? “Just trying to figure some things out.”

He hums thoughtfully, nodding. Leaning back on the bench, his eyes scan over the park as if giving you time to find your words. “That’s good. Figuring things out is important.”

You nod, feeling a little relieved that he doesn’t bring up the fact that you’ve been gone for so long. He’s always had a way of avoiding the obvious, instead focusing on what matters now. You think back to how, in the earlier stages of his career, he always seemed to have his head on straight. If you’re not wrong, you’ve heard some seniors even gosip about how he was known to be the “campus bad boy”, which often confused you. How can a person so warm be called so?

The mixtape he released back then was proof of that, though — a reflection of everything he’d held back until he was ready to speak. His emotions came out through his art, something he was so passionate about, something you admired him for.

Anger, resentment, and hope.

You remember how those emotions warped themselves in his music, his first mixtape he released. Core hip-hop music, all produced by himself solely.

“I saw your mixtape,” you blurted out, not knowing why you’re bringing it up now. “It was… amazing.” You just wanted to let him know, although it feels like you’re a bit too late. It’s been nearly about six. . . maybe seven years, but each time you plug in, you feel like the memories are just as fresh as they were.

He chuckles softly, the sound a little shy despite the confidence he wears so well. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure anyone really listened.”

“What do you mean?” you gawk at him, wide eyed. “Is Min PD, the very famous AgustD saying this by himself?”

He smiles again, a soft laugh escaping him as he rubs his hands together. His skin seems flawless, you notice.

“I mean, of course. I appreciate my fans always, but I feel like the mainstream nowadays is pop music rather than old school hip-hop.”

You nod, licking your lips. Shit. You should’ve brought your lip balm around. “I do understand people indulging in trends, but I do believe that there are people who enjoy hip-hop just as much. For me, it’s like a whiff of fresh air. And I assure you — that your music feels just the same. I, myself as a fan, agree.”

His eyes softened — but they were never pointed to begin with. But before he can say more, there’s a flicker of something playful in them — a hint that makes your heart skip a beat. He taps his phone absentmindedly, then glances over at you again, that quiet smirk tugging at his lips.

As if he’s thinking something else.

“I sure am happy to know that there are others who share the same sentiments as me.”

His phone buzzes in his hand.

“Oh, right…" His tone is too calm, and you already know something's up before he even finishes. “I may have invited someone.”

You blink. “Invited someone?” Your voice comes out slower than you intend, the curiosity now gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Who?

But Yoongi doesn’t give you time to ask more. He stands up in that lazy, casual way of his, stretching like this is just another day, looking more like a cat stretching after their afternoon nap than a human being. His hand comes down to ruffle your hair again, the affectionate gesture almost pulling a smile from you despite the growing curiosity in your chest. He doesn’t answer you.

Instead, he just smiles that wide, gummy smile one more time before shrugging. “I'll see you soon, okay?”

You watch his retreating figure appear smaller and smaller in the distance as he walks away, hands in his pockets, relaxed and slow.

You’ve always known that Yoongi’s energy was different.

It’s not something you actively think about, but it lingers at the edges of your memories now that you’ve seen him again after a long time. He’s always been on the softer side, quieter — the kind of presence that fades into the background unless you’re really paying attention. Where Jungkook burned bright, a whirlwind of energy and easy charm, Yoongi was like the stillness after a storm — steady, unfazed, but undeniably there.

It’s funny, because despite those differences, Jungkook and Yoongi were close.

You saw it back then, how Jungkook would practically cling to him, always teasing him, always pushing at his boundaries whenever they both used to be together. Yoongi, for his part, would act annoyed, shrugging off Jungkook’s arm or swatting at him with that deadpan expression of his. But you knew better. You’d watched enough to see that he never really minded. Jungkook could be relentless with his affection.

Yoongi pretended to dislike it, there was always that hint of a smile lurking beneath his protests, amongst Jungkook’s giggles.

Sometimes, watching them together made something tighten in your chest — not quite jealousy, but something close. It wasn’t that you wanted what they had, but you couldn’t help feeling envious of how easy it seemed for them. The way Jungkook would wear Yoongi down with his stubborn warmth, and how Yoongi would eventually crumble, letting Jungkook in even if he’d never admit it.

That kind of bond was something you’d always wondered about — if you’d ever have someone like that, someone who wouldn’t mind your presence no matter how much you tried to push them away.

It’s an odd feeling.

Later that evening, you sit in the quiet of your room, the familiar isolation wrapping around you like a protective cloak. You’ve been actively hiding up here after you got back from the park, avoiding too much interaction. Not because anyone cared to ask where you were or what you were doing. It was more because you felt like you needed some time alone, yet, you feel like you’re alone. Your parents barely noticed, too caught up in their own world. Your mother had the formality to ask why won’t you join them for lunch, and thankfully they did not pry any further.

At least you got to have some quality time with yourself while you had the fancy lunch, which you would admit was a bit heavy on your wallet.

It made your hiding feel almost useless, but somehow, staying in your room brought you a small, bitter comfort.

You rub your eyes, feeling the strain on them for continuously typing for an hour. Your neck hurts, and your fingers feel frozen. You’re trying your best to remake the lost manuscript you’d drafted, and you don’t think this new version is anything close to that.

Sighing, you open your laptop again. It’s truly so tiring — but you guess you were a bit productive today, and that’s okay. Your finger hovers over the doc file, contemplating if you should continue any further — but ah, you’re just so tired. Even just thinking of typing a few hundred words would give you a headache. So you just let it go and log into Instagram — the only way you can connect since your phone is still missing.

A notification catches your eye. 1 new notification.

? Eh. . .?

Your notifications are always empty. Just once or twice from instagram that a celebrity has posted and you gotta catch up, which you don’t. Or a reel suggestion. Or people to follow, so this new notification brings a frown to your brows. What could it be?

Your heart jumps slightly when you see the sender.

dboy93_ : 2 new messages

Is that . . . — no way. He’s still using that same old instagram ID which he was forced to make as a dare back when you were in highschool? No way. Couldn’t be. You click on it, curiosity pushing through the haze of everything else.

dboy93_: Yo. This is Min Yoongi (edited)

dboy93_ : Sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier. Something came up

You stare at the message for a second, a slow smile hanging on your lips, then slowly type back.

you: it’s fine

you: ur still using this old ID of yours? 💀

Your eyebrows touch your hairline when you see the typing bubble bounce up immediately at the corner. You did not expect him to reply this soon. . .

dboy93_ : Ya who’s gonna bother making a new one anyway

dboy93_ : I was hoping that you won’t be mad at me for leaving that soon.

you : it’s fine, i understand

dboy93_ : Let’s meet again. I’m thinking of a café this time?

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion. Is he suggesting a—

dboy93_ : More time to catch up, plus we have some friends here for holidays too

you : ah, so like a reunion party ?

you : sounds good yo. count me in

dboy93_ : Will send you the location soon then

you : but when?

dboy93_ : Today, evening at 7?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a while. Keeping yourself occupied sounds kind of very nice, especially when you’re being promised a good time with a few more faces. It’s not like you’re the busiest person, anyway.

you : super. i’ll be there !!

dboy93_ : Oh and btw, can I get your number? Instagram��s a pain to use for texting

You let out a soft laugh. That’s Yoongi for you. Direct and practical, no hesitation. But what exactly would you tell him? That my phone is with your little brother right now?

you: imma give it to you once i get it back

you : i don’t have it with me right now

dboy93_ : 👍

Well, you don’t know what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, but you don’t know what to make of a thumbs up either.

— — — —

The evening feels lighter.

You’re sitting in that same, slightly odd café you were sitting in roughly 24 hours ago —the warmth inside 134340 contrasts with the cool autumn breeze slipping through the café door, hurling you to an unexpected sense of peace.

Very contradicting to your emotions yesterday.

For once, your thoughts don’t feel as heavy. It’s funny how something as simple as an Instagram text from Yoongi earlier can spark a little joy in your chest. You feel light; especially after that power nap turned to a full nap of three hours. You woke up with a growling stomach and a refreshed mind — it somehow felt like you haven’t felt this free since so long, that you don’t remember when was the last time.

No worries, no stress, no voices inside your head.

You’d sat there in your bed, zoned out on nothing particular. It was only when the alarm clock rang, indicating it was already 6 PM.

You hadn’t put much thought into what you were wearing today, but somehow, it feels like you got it just right.

The oversized cream sweater falls gently over your frame, its soft fabric comforting against your skin. It’s the kind of comfort you didn’t know you needed, the loose sleeves almost covering your hands completely as you absentmindedly tug at them. Paired with a long plaid skirt, whose deep shades of burgundy and brown had caught your attention in your wardrobe, the fabric swaying around your ankles.

You hadn’t planned this. None of it, really.

The tan ankle boots are more practical than anything else, but something about the way they click against the pavement felt just right. You don’t mind the way they match the season’s colours, almost blending in with the fallen leaves scattered at the cafe’s entrance.

You’d even added a light touch of makeup — nothing extravagant, just enough to brighten your eyes and bring a bit of life to your face. A swipe of mascara, a hint of blush, and a subtle nude lip colour that complements the cosy, neutral tones of your outfit. A quick brush to your hair and some setting spray was enough to bring out its natural volume.

You felt good.

Maybe for the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not hiding from the world.

For once, the reflection in the cafe window looking back at you doesn’t seem so far away from who you are. You feel. . . light. Almost like the crisp air itself, fresh and unbothered.

It feels good.

It’s been a while since you felt like this. After your conversation with Yoongi, you weren’t sure if you were ready to step back into a world that once felt so close yet now feels like a lifetime away. But somehow, the lightness in your chest said yes before your mind could overthink it.

Maybe, deep down, you’re starting to believe that this reunion could be good for you.

A small start to something. . .better.

You glance around the café. A soft smile pulls at your lips. It’s not crowded—just a few people scattered around, huddled over books or laptops. Familiar, but not too familiar. It’s quiet enough that yo don’t feel overwhelmed, and for thr first time in days, you allow yourself to just . . . exist.

No pressure. No expectations. Just here.

Your teeth pull at your inner cheek at the small pulsing thought in your head, that your phone is still not with you. The lack of your phone made you realise so many things within less than 24 hours, and you’re trying to not let that small voice gnaw your brain. The idea of him having it — his hands on something that’s been so close to you — feels strange, unsettling even.

You wonder if he’s seen anything, read anything, though the rational part of you knows it’s unlikely.

Still, the absence of your phone leaves an odd emptiness.

Which, you think, is just as good as bad as it can be. Without your phone, you can observe things better. You’d been reading physical copies of books, observing the pattern of how dew forms on grass blades, or even the faintest of noises which tingle your ears right now. Your thoughts never let you actually be present in the moment, always worrying about the future or regretting whatever you’ve done in the past.

No wonder why nostalgia for you feels painful.

But here, with the faint smell of fresh coffee and the sound of pages turning softly in the background, there’s space to breathe. You can feel the thrum of blood in your veins, the soft warmth of your sweater, the smiles on the faces of the baristas as they talk within themselves.

The soft clink of a spoon from a nearby table draws your attention. A few people are scattered about, engrossed in their own worlds — reading books, working on laptops, or chatting quietly. It’s peaceful, and for a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped out of your own life, finding solace in this tiny bubble away from everything.

You absently glance toward the door, the light chatter of passing people blending with the soft music playing inside. You’re early, but that’s fine.

It gives you time to yourself.

— — — —

The café door chimes.

Your eyes immediately dart to the entrace, tilting your head to the side to get a better view. Perhaps they’re here. You glance at the small wall clock adjacent to your table, and it reads ten past seven.

Although it feels like it’s been some time since you’re here, but you don’t mind at all, especially with the small notepad and pen you’ve got on your table.

You’ll never ever be bored as long as you’ve got a paper and pen within your reach.

The first person you spot is Yoongi, his familiar, understated presence immediately calming. He’s dressed casually, in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, his usual laid-back style that somehow makes him blend into every setting, yet stand out at the same time. It’s like he carries his own layer of calm with him, an aura you’ve always admired.

Behind him, a small group of friends follows, out of which some you recognise nearly immediately — despite the course of time. Jieun, her short wavy hair neat and tidy, wearing a comfortable grey sweater, giving her a kind of homely warmth. You’ve known her as Yoongi’s senior, the sweet cinnamon roll. She waves as soon as her eyes land on you, her smile bright and genuine.

It’s been nearly decades since you’ve seen her, and it surprises you that she actually remembers you.

“____ , I didn’t know I’d be seeing you today!” Jieun exclaims, wrapping you in a quick, warm hug. Her perfume is light, floral — the kind that reminds you of spring even in the middle of autumn. “It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How have you been? Oh my, your hair is shorter than how I remember!”

“I’m good,” you manage to let out a small chuckle, returning the hug, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her energy. Of course, you were about sixteen when you last met her. “It needed some trimming. You look super cosy, by the way.”

“Please, I just rolled out of bed as soon as Yoongi told me,” Jieun says with a playful eye roll, though you can tell she appreciates the compliment. “But you, girl. If anyone is looking cosy, that’s you. very autumn-y.” she winks at you, tugging at the fabric on your arms.

You smile, feeling a bit lighter with her friendly banter. Jieun has always had this way of making you feel seen, but not in a bad way. Like she’s genuinely happy to be around you. It’s comforting, even when you don’t really know much about her.

Soobin and Amber join soon after, both nearly squabbling over something. Soobin has grown much taller than you recall, and has that same, cocky grin that you remember from old times. He isn’t that younger than you, though you’ll say that you do know him a bit better.

Amber, on the other hand, is quieter, more reserved, but her eyes light up when she sees you, and that’s enough to make you feel welcomed.

“Someone needs to explain to this guy that he still owes me from last time,” Amber says with a mock-serious tone as she puts her bag down, pointing at him. “You’re not getting away with it this time—”

“What did I even miss?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“Ping-pong match,” Soobin grumbles, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “And I don’t lose that easily. Amber’s just cheating.”

“I did not cheat!” she pokes her tongue out at him. “you just suck at it.”

Soobin crosses his arms over his chest, raising a brow at her. “Oh, really? That does not take away the fact that you’re short—”

“What does ping pong gotta do with height—”

“Alright kids, enough bickering.” Yoongi’s voice is deep as he pulls out the chairs for them to sit, his tone hinting at boredom, but that small smile which hangs on his lips tell a different story. Yoongi is the last to sit down, taking the seat next to you with his usual, relaxed ease.

You notice only now that your cheeks hurt from smiling so much non stop. He throws a knowing glance your way, as if to say, I told you so.

“I didn’t know you all still hung out,” you say, genuinely surprised as you glance at the familiar faces, memories of late-night study sessions and frequent game sessions surfacing. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Not as often as we used to,” Jieun admits, picking up the menu book excitedly. “Life kind of got in the way for a while. But we try to meet up when we can, honestly. But you, Miss Vanishing Act, you need to show up more often.”

You make an embarrassed noise at the back of your throat, but you can’t help but laugh softly. “Yeah, I’ve been... around. Just not here.” You have missed out on a lot in your years of running away, and perhaps this regret would settle down sometime later.

“Good to see you’re still alive, noona.” Soobin teases, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Hyung here told us you’d be joining today, which was like a bomb drop for all of us. I’d believed in winning a lottery more than you coming back. Trust me, I was nearly convinced into thinking that he’s pranking us.”

“That’s Yoongi’s fault,” you reply, rolling your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “He dragged me out of hibernation.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Well, I didn’t drag you anywhere. Just gave you a little nudge.”

By the time the barista returns with your orders, Yoongi looks a bit too amused at a conversation turned argument at which Amber is losing despite Jieun backing her up. They are nearly arguing about the best ramen places in town, and eventually, Soobin claims victory based solely on the fact that he knows the owner of one of the shops. Jieun listens with a bemused smile, her face acting as the subtitles to her thoughts inside her head, while Amber looks like a second away from throwing hands on the guy.

You are too busy to pass your own opinions enjoying their show.

“By the way,” Yoongi suddenly says, his voice cutting through the chatter after taking a quick glance at his phone. “One of our friends is running late.”

Frankly, right now, you’re not too concerned. You’re here, with people who’ve known you for years, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can let yourself relax. You cannot be bothered when you’re actually enjoying yourself after everything.

“Well, that’s their fault. Missing some nice beef between friends.” Amber adds, giggling soon after taking a sip at her own joke.

However, you don’t catch on that look the younger lad throws at the older.

Amber taps you lightly on the shoulder. “So, are you gonna tell us what you’ve been up to, Missy?”

“Hell yeah, spill the tea,” Jieun adds, leaning forward with a glint in her eyes, excited. “What’s been keeping you so busy?”

“You’re no longer sleepy now that you’ve got tea to listen to, huh?” Your eyes are narrowed at her, but you dont mean any real bite behind it.

You take a deep breath, ready to dive into whatever story you feel like sharing.

For once, the world outside this little café can wait.

.

You’ve been laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in what feels like ages.

(You hate how old it makes you sound, but that’s true. Well, partially true, because it felt like you’d almost forgotten what laughing was for a while.)

The café is lit with conversation, laughter weaving in and out of the cosy hum. Amber is now dramatically recounting a disastrous karaoke night, her hands flailing as she tries to reenact Soobin’s epic failure to hit the high notes, the man in the question trying his best to convince everyone at the table that something so horrible as enacted did not happen. You’re laughing so hard you almost forget the strange sense of unease that’s been creeping up on you.

But there’s something unsettling in the back of your mind. A feeling you can’t quite shake off, a prickling touch.

You glance at Yoongi, who is watching the others with quiet amusement. But every now and then, you notice his eyes flickering to the entrance, a fleeting glance that makes your stomach churn slightly. He’s done that way too many times by now for it to be a simple glance.

Why does it feel like he knows something you don’t?

You shift in your seat, brushing off the feeling. Maybe it’s just being back here, surrounded by familiar faces after so much time has passed. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re trying so hard to be present, to let yourself enjoy this moment, even when there’s a part of ypu still trying to tug you to where you once were.

But that feeling in your gut doesn’t go away.

The café door chimes again.

You don’t look at first. You’re too focused on keeping the conversation going, on pretending you’re not hyper-aware of every sound, every movement around you. Jieun is asking you something about your recent work, her voice bright and curious, but your attention is already drifting, already far away by now.

The air shifts, like a current pulling you toward something.

Or someone.

You glance up, and your heart stumbles.

Jungkook.

oh.

He’s standing by the door, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

Your heart drops to your ass.

The world seems to blur for a second, everything fading except for him, and the heat of his gaze.

He strides toward your table easily, almost as if it’s something he does everyday. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, his black leather jacket snug around his frame. He looks like he belongs anywhere he goes, and yet right now, it feels like he’s stepping into a space you’ve tried to keep sealed off.

The conversation around you falters. Jieun stops mid-sentence, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook with a slight frown.

Soobin is the first to break the silence.

“Look who decided to show up,” he quips, though his voice sounds distant in your ears. “You’re half an hour late, hyung.”

You can’t tear your gaze away from Jungkook, even if you feel like your nerves go haywire. It’s like he’s pulling you in, even though every instinct in your body is screaming for you to look away, to pretend this isn’t happening.

Is this really happening?

No. No. This cant’t be happening, can it be—

Jungkook’s eyes flicker briefly to Yoongi, and there’s something in them. Something you can’t quite understand. But when his gaze returns to you, it’s sharper, more focused, almost. . . . fierce. Almost like he’s found the last piece of his missing puzzle.

You nearly flinch.

He doesn’t sit. He stands just behind the empty chair across from you, his hands in his pockets, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel like your heart is refusing to beat anymore.

“I think I might have something that belongs to you.”

His tattooed hand slips into his jacket, pulling out your phone — the same one which you dropped down yesterday.

But it’s not the phone that sends a chill down your spine.

It’s the way he’s looking at you.

a/n : i’m so sorry, for 1) taking this long to release this part, and 2) the ending 😭 i promise you guys the next part would actually be a bit more interesting, but i wanted this series to have themes of self healing and recovery too. as always, your feedback is always appreciated and fuels me to write more and more. as always, here’s the anonymous feedback box for you !! 🌹💜

[eyesxxyou]

𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆 🏴‍☠️🐚

| iii. three | pearl

🐚・・・pirate!Hobie x mute!siren!reader.

𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱: blood, crying, kissing

↳ ❝ and how you glowed, like a pearl ❞

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

The silence was eerie.

The silver waves that washed up on shore and lapped at his feet made no sound. Cicadas did not buzz ceaselessly in the trees and the grasshoppers did not sing their mating sounds to each other. There was nothing at all but the full moonlight and the glittering stars that seemed to wane and falter almost as if they struggled to mark their existence.

It was as if the world had stopped and all that could be said for it was the cool breeze that carried the saltiness of the ocean and the water crashing on the rocks.

Hobie stood there, swaying with the waves. In and out. It was easy to get caught up in it all if you didn't possess the knowledge to understand that the sea was dangerous and her children were not forgiving. He closed his eyes, felt the grains of sand beneath his feet, between his toes, and the cool water rush over his ankles like wind carried children home.

And then he heard her. How easy it was to know home when you hear it. The sweet lullaby his mother would hum to Hobie to lull him to sleep. It echoed in his ears–in the space around him as well, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It sounded just like her, like when she held him in her arms and rocked him back and forth, humming in his ears like a songbird sings to her young.

“Mama?” He could almost see her silhouette in the distance, sitting on a rock. Her hands reached out and motioned him towards her and like a string at his hand, she tugged and he came. One foot after the other into the water. “Mama, ‘m comin’.”

He knew that wasn't his mother, deep down, he knew. But how could he care when what could be waited for him with open arms and sounded like home?

Hobie waded through the water, murmuring, “Mama…Mama….Mama. Come home…lemme come home.” It rose to his waist, then his chest, then his neck. The water was frigid and seized him like the cold hands of death wrapping around his throat. But no matter how much he wanted to stop, he could not. Hobie walked until his feet were no longer on the ocean floor and he was simply floating in open water.

He was drowning, but it didn't feel like it. He did not thrash or fight his fate. It was easier to accept it and just float.

But he turned in the water and saw you beside him, floating with him. You looked at him with those pearl eyes, your seaweed and decorations floating about in the space around you. The moonlight found you beneath the water and something about you looked phantom-like.

Hobie was not scared or unsettled as he usually was. He stared into your eyes and saw comfort and warmth in the cold. You reached out and touched his face. Your palm cradled his cheek and he did not flinch from your touch. He felt…seen. As if a creature like you could know how pain moved through the body.

You moved closer to him and he did not back away. His eyes somehow watered and glazed and he wept with uncontrollable tears of sorrow. You stared at him and somehow displayed empathy. You wrapped your arms around him and embraced him, and he let you.

You pulled away just enough to look him eye to eye and you leaned, slowly yet with confidence. His mother's humming faded away into void, muffled mumbling. Your skin under his fingertips, your hand on his face again, your eyes fluttering closed and his doing the same. 

Your lips touched his.

Hobie’s eyes shot open. He blinked once, twice, chest rising and falling with the rocking of the boat, then carefully began to look around.

It was still dark but it was clear that the sun would be showing its face over the horizon soon. The sky wasn't as dark, she was already beginning to start her path across the sky. Soon her rays would spam across the sky and wake his crew from their barracks.

Hobie remembered you. How could he possibly forget about you after the dream he just had? He was puzzled more than anything but one thing remained consistent, you needed to get off of his ship and get out of his life for good. You’d find your way out of his dreams soon after.

You kissed him. What would possess him to dream about the likes of you kissing him? You were already infecting him with your seduction.

It was just early enough in the morning that he was sure no one would be awake yet. It was the only time he would have to swiftly show you your way off of the Mary Jane and far away from him. He couldn't afford to have another dream about you, apply meanings to them where there weren't any.

But your lips felt so soft against his. He could almost feel the phantom weight of them on his lips, his neck, his chest. He felt so dizzy.

Hobie scuffled out of his bed and dug into his eyes with the heels of his palms as he stumbled about his cabin to search for his boots. He found them when he sleepily tripped over them. His face was hot, mind all hazy from his dream. He was flustered of all things and it perplexed him to no end. Hobie shook his head and shoved on his boots with an eagerness to be rid of you.

He left without his dagger in his haste, running his hand down his face as if to wipe away the sleepiness while he made his way through the hull. He was good at remaining quiet, his tall, slim figure slinked in the dark, tiny spaces that lead to where he had left you. He made little to no sound amongst the shadows, his hands palming at the walls he knew well to guide himself down into the hull expertly avoiding the few stray nails that stuck out of the walls.

Hobie expected to find you exactly where he left you, hidden behind a few barrels, sleeping soundly beneath a sack. But when he dragged the barrels out of the way, his heart sank to his stomach and boiled in his stomach acid. You were gone. Fuck– you had to be somewhere. Maybe you had left on your own fruition and saved him the effort. But that was wishful thinking.

Hobie took his time to go through each part of the ship in search of you. He looked in each dark corner, under each sack, between barrels of food and ale. And when he didn't find you anywhere below deck, he made his way to the hatch that led to the upper deck. He prayed to a God he didn't believe in that you had simply left. It would be easier that way. He’d never have to spend another second thinking of you again.

Hobie opened the hatch and poked his head through it, his keen eyes eagerly searching for your figure. It was easy to spot you on the forecastle at the stern, your shimmering patches of scales and glistening pearls hanging off your body like teardrops and sorrows. You were leaning against the railing, your hands supporting your head as you looked out at the horizon as if waiting for the sun to rise.

He only saw your backside. The curve of your spine. Your body draped in just enough seaweed to keep you modest. Your hips, your shoulders. Every piece of you designed to lure.

Hobie climbed out onto the deck and let the hatch close just loud enough for your finned ears to hear. You jumped, something of a squeaking yelp left you and your head shot to him. Your chest heaved, eyes wide and startled, you placed your hand on your chest, webbed fingers splayed open as you clutched yourself.

For some reason you calmed up on seeing him. As if you knew for certain he was no threat to you. Hobie could not say the same about you.

You took a step towards him and he reached to his side for his dagger. He felt nothing. He had forgotten it in his cabin and there was no use in going back to get it. So he straightened up, adjusting the sleeves of his billowy blouse and took a step back to maintain distance. “Don't come any closer.”

Your soft eyes framed by long lashes, fluttered. Your lips pouted. Your bandage was still firmly wrapped around your shoulder but was slowly bleeding through the cloth. You drew closer still, your bare feet padding against the wood of the deck. You almost looked like an apparition, floating, your pearls and scales shining as if you were transparent.

You stopped toe to toe with him and tilted your head slightly to the side as you gaze up at him. You’re close. Too close. Hobie felt his face flush with blood. Your lips looked more supple than before. “Ya need t’ leave now.” He murmured in a slight daze. “I helped ya ‘nough. Ya can' stay.”

Your eyes suddenly shifted from blank and ditzy to all at once pleading. You pointed to your shoulder bleeding through the bandages and with a single hand reached out to touch him. Hobie was quick to step out of your reach. “Don' touch me. I‘ve done ‘nough.”

He could not let you stay. He liked his life simple–raids, drinking, smoking, more raids–and you were anything but. You would bring unneeded drama into his life. He would not let you stay, not after the dream he had. You were an enigma. You terrified him. And it seemed so ridiculous to say so. Someone as delicate as you, dangerous? Laughable.

Your brows furrowed, your lips pursed. You lowered your head and looked at your feet. Hobie almost felt bad. Suddenly he felt like the bad guy. Where would you go? The thought never concerned you before but now, you looked so vulnerable. You were a siren with no voice, you were injured.

You turned and looked out at the horizon again. The sun was beginning to peek out over the water, red like blood. You were suddenly shining gold. Your glassy eyes spilled soft tears of liquid jewels. When you looked back to Hobie, you seized his hand, letting him flinch at your cool touch.

He let you lead him towards the edge of the board, mesmerized by the beauty of it all. You could have pushed him over the side of the boat for all he knew. But you did not. You let him go and leaned against the railing, looking down at the water that seemed just as dark and gloomy as it had the night before.

He suddenly found it odd that you just happened to be in the water when you were. Hobie figured you were following him for days on end before he spotted you in the water the night before.

“Ya ‘ave nowhere t' go, do ya?”

You shook your head slowly, tracing circles with your nails into the railing. You looked almost ashamed to admit it.

How was Hobie supposed to shoo you away now? How was he meant to show such cruelty? His hands gripped the railing, turning his head away from you in hopes to keep his sanity. He could feel you looking at him, hoping that maybe he would let you stay.

What would the others say? What would they tell him to do? In many ways they were his consciousness. They never steered him wrong. They’d tell him to let you stay. They'd tell him that you were no different from the rest of them. You were in need of help, a place to stay, some medical attention. And he was in the position to give it.

“Fine.” He almost gritted out as if it physically pained him. “Ya can stay, only ‘til ya heal. Then ya gotta go.” He was firm in his resolution. He couldn't have you sticking around long enough to cement yourself into a permanent position on his ship. He didn't trust you as far as he could throw you.

You wipe your tears slowly and look back up at him. His skin was gold under the sunlight, slender and regal yet rough around the edges. His eyes – one blue, one brown – looked at you with mistrust. He looked almost like one of the gold coins you’d find on the ocean floor and tuck away with you. Like precious metal, like all the human things that fascinate you.

“Ya gotta name then, luv?” The low baritone of his voice almost made you smile. He was acquiescent in his tone but the nickname he attached to the question was nothing more than his pirate mannerisms. He hadn't meant to let it slip.

You shrugged. He took that as a no. “Fine, then. You’ll be…” He looked at you, your eyes, your scales, your pearls. It came to him immediately, like a divine revelation. It just clicked into place as if it was always meant to be. “Yer gonna be ‘pearl’. Ya understan’?”

You were quick to nod with swift enthusiasm, your lips curling into a smile. Pearl. You liked the sound of it. You never had a name before. Not a real one. Just “monster” or “beast” and you never thought them fitting.

Hobie sighed and ran his hand down his face once more, this time with stress. “How ‘n the bloody hell am I gonna explain ya t’ the crew?” And when he looked at you, you stood there with that daft little smile.

And how you glowed, like a pearl.

[junkdrawerfics]

Broken Pieces Put Back Together

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Summary: You get turned by Maria a short time after Jasper. Life in the coven is not what you expect though, as Maria quickly realizes you have a useful ability and you end up outliving the other newborns. At least you have Jasper, though. Until you don't.

Word Count: 3361

Warning: Depression, a short bit of suicidal thoughts, canonical violence. It gets rough in the middle y'all.

Lots of hurt but it has a happy ending, I promise.

---

You and Jasper were close to fast friends when you were forced to join Maria’s army. At first, you were terrified of the blond and his scar-ridden skin. Word reached you quickly of all he’d done, the countless lives he’d taken. How could you not be scared?

But then one night you found him on his own, standing outside the abandoned barn you called home, looking up at the stars with such a broken expression. That night, something drew you to his side. The urge to comfort, the need to ease his pain, was the first feeling to overcome the overwhelming sense of bloodlust constantly burning in your throat.

Not a single word was spoken that night. You didn’t know what to say, not to this man who had lived through so much more than you, and he didn’t offer anything in return. You both just stood there, still as statues, looking up at the stars.

That night you learned that Jasper Whitlock is not all that he appears to be.

It’s also the night Maria learned of your ability, and decided you might be of more value than she originally thought. You hadn’t even realized you were doing anything. In that moment, all you wanted was to keep him safe, hide him for just a little bit so he could breathe. And apparently you had done just that. You both disappeared, from everyone’s perception at least.

And so you lived. Outlived.

Your new reality was much crueler than you thought it could be. You realized that when your friend, a young girl changed the day after you, was deemed no longer useful.

That night, Jasper was the one who came to you.

“(Y/n).”

You don’t look away from the sky, the bleeding colors of the sunset dull in comparison to the flashing colors of fire behind your eyes. You can smell the smoke clinging to his clothes as he gets closer. It burns your nose, makes your chest ache as a fresh wave of pain sweeps through you.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask quietly, voice like a broken set of bells.

Jasper sets his jaw, looking down at his hands. He nods slowly, an unfamiliar lump forming in his throat. He’s never felt guilty for following orders, he always thought it was for the best, that Maria knew better than the rest of them.

But then you look at him, your eyes swimming with tragedy, and it makes something inside of him ache. There’s no anger, no hatred, like he expected, just an ocean of grief.

 It clogs your throat, burns behind your eyes, leaves you shaking. You rest on the edge of tears, suffocating in that horrible, sinking feeling, but always unable to cry. And you hate it. You hate it. You hate it. It’s like walking a tightrope, always off balance, yet never falling.

But you shatter when a hand rests gently on your shoulder.

A dry, ugly sob breaks past your lips as you turn into Jasper’s body. He curls his arms around you wordlessly, wishing he could hold all your pieces together. And even though his hands are the ones that did it, even though you know he’ll have to do it again and again and again, you can’t help but soak up every ounce of comfort from his rare embrace.

Slowly the sadness lifts, until it's bearable, not crushing you but not completely gone. His ability. Usually you’d scold him, tell him your emotions are yours for a reason, but right now all you can do is hold onto him tighter.

He’s all you have left, now.

Something changed after that night. You and Jasper got even closer. He protected you and was your rock when Maria turned your ability into a weapon. And on nights when she would go hunting alone, the two of you would perch on the roof of the barn and just look at the stars, talking about anything and everything. 

You loved hearing stories of his human life. He would tell you about his time in the army, about the pressure he faced to join when he got old enough. His family didn’t have much, especially after the war started. You could tell he loved them, just by the soft smile he would get any time he talked about them.

You would take turns sharing stories. You told him about your siblings and their mischievous games. You were the oldest, so it often rested on you to watch over them, which usually ended with you covering up their shenanigans. You loved it though, taking care of them, teaching them.

That urge was still somewhere deep inside you, a motherly instinct you can’t quite shake. It made it all the more difficult to distance yourself from the fresh newborns in the coven. Before, you would take them in, calm them down, make sure they had something to drink to ease the pain of their thirst.

You couldn’t experience that again, though. That loss. So you kept your distance, spending most of your time with Jasper anyways. The man’s threatening aura kept most of them away. 

Except one. 

A newborn, a little too confident, a little too high on his new strength, decided he just couldn’t leave you alone. For the most part, you ignored him. In your human life, you dealt with more than enough  unwanted attention, so you thought you were used to it. He was as stubborn as he was arrogant though.

Until Jasper nearly killed him for making a move on you (a little too aggressively).

Luckily Maria wasn’t there for that.

“Are you alright?” Jasper ushers you outside, red eyes frantically scanning over you, as if you could be battered and bruised. 

“I’m fine, Jas,” you breathe, brushing the dust from your pants, “I’m more worried about that guy you just ripped the arm off of.”

“I should’ve killed him for touchin’ you.”

You glance at him, amusement quickly replacing the mild panic that filled you the moment that man laid his hands on you, “You know you wouldn’t. Maria would get angry if you did that.”

Jasper’s lips draw into a thin line. It shouldn’t matter. You’re the only one who treats him like he’s still human, his only friend. He wants to say that he will always protect you, even if he has to fight Maria herself. But the words don’t come. Deep down, a part of him knows they aren’t true, and that leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t look like that.” He blinks when you touch his cheek, your fingers soft and light, unlike Maria’s. You smile at him, just as gently, voice resigned, “I know how you think, Jasper Hale. You’re a loyal man, and that’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

As you say it, a sadness wraps around you, one that Jasper doesn’t understand. It doesn’t match your smile, or the soft creasing of your eyes as you look up at him. Why does it make you so sad?

You don’t let the feeling linger though, reigning it in the moment you notice the slight furrow of his brow he sometimes gets when he is trying to focus on your emotions. You don’t need him figuring out why. Why his loyalty to Maria makes your chest ache so painfully.

Falling in love with Jasper Hale was as easy as breathing, which says something considering you don’t even need to. Behind the tough, military face of his, was a man who was charismatic and gentle, who liked to laugh and remembered the name of every horse he’d ever ridden. 

He was loyal to a fault.

That’s why he could not see Maria’s true nature for the longest time. It became clear to you rather quickly once you got closer with Jasper. Close enough that she took notice. Close enough that she decided to do something about it.

It started with small things.

Whenever you would go to talk to Jasper, she would call him over for something unimportant.

She started sending you on little tasks, just to keep you out of the barn.

Even on the days she would go hunting, the days you looked forward to most because you and Jasper could be completely alone, she started taking Jasper with her.

And each time, she would give you one of those vicious smiles. Like she won. It did not take long to realize it was all on purpose. In her own way, she was telling you loud and clear that she wanted you nowhere near Jasper and anytime you tried, she’d be there to show you just how little you mattered.

What hurt most, though, was how Jasper always listened to her. Every time, he would follow after her like a good soldier, casting you a guilty look over his shoulder. You didn’t blame him though. You couldn’t. Not when you knew the alternative.

So you got used to being alone for the first time in your life. The sadness, the one that Jasper kept at bay all that time, slowly crept back in, filling every nook and cranny of your being. Day after day, it got harder to stay, to listen to Maria’s direction. Even when you did listen, she treated you like a pest, contempt burning in her eyes. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave though. The thought alone made your heart ache, because that would mean leaving Jasper. No amount of distance could dampen those feelings that came so quickly. They were branded in your heart, a part of you now and probably forever. A simple look from him and you would resign yourself all over again to stay. 

Even if it got you killed.

Some days were too hard though, watching him follow on Maria’s heel, doing all she asked. It had been months since you talked, actually talked. Months since you heard him laugh or felt the comfort of his touch, no matter how small it was. And it hurt.

The pain made it hard to drink. You’d go weeks without blood, finding the burn of the hunger was better than the empty feeling in your chest. It made you weak, your skin turning almost translucent, the circles under your eyes growing darker and darker.

Jasper hated it. He had to watch as you fell into depression, your emotions like a dark cloud around you, so strong even the newborns walked on eggshells around you. He hated it, yet he could never do anything about it.

He wasn’t as oblivious as you thought him to be. He was aware of Maria’s resentment towards you. Jasper knew that if he showed his concern, even an inkling of it, she would lash out at you. At least by her side, he could temper her emotions and protect you.

His efforts could only go so far, though.

As you grew weaker, your ability weakened as well. And Maria noticed.

You wanted her to notice. 

Leaving wasn’t an option, but the pain of staying was becoming too much for you to bear. Death seemed like the only way out of this eternally lonely existence. You just hoped Jasper wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

Maria never liked the easy way, though. Loyalty must be proven.

You felt it as soon as you stepped foot outside the barn one night. The air was warm and dark clouds covered the sky, blocking out any light. Something sank in your gut and you just knew.

If you were going to die, you were at least going to die somewhere you could be surrounded by good memories. So you trekked to the hill where you first stood with Jasper, the one where you spent many nights watching the stars, and that’s exactly where he found you.

You perch yourself on a rock, watching as lightning flashes in the clouds. The air is heavy with static, but not a single drop of rain falls. It’s like the world can’t decide how it feels, a mess of storms not ready to break, but needing to, the tension rising and rising. Until something gives.

You hear Jasper before you see him. His steps are uncharacteristically heavy, the brush whispering as he walks through it. The air grows impossibly heavier when he comes to an abrupt stop just feet away from you.

It’ll be quick, you think. You hardly have the strength to keep yourself upright, the burning in your throat like hot coals. With what energy you have left, you keep your chin up and slowly turn your gaze away from the clouds to the man behind you.

And you smile. Because it’s Jasper. Your Jasper. Looking just as broken as the first night you stood by him. 

Jasper’s knees practically buckle when you look at him, a wave of fondness warming the air around you. How can you still feel such a thing for him? After all he has done. You must know why he’s here. He doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve the trust in your eyes.

“Don’t look like that,” you murmur, smile going sad. You can’t stand the guilt twisting those features you love so much. 

Jasper shakes his head, teeth gritting together so hard, his jaw creaks. He doesn’t want this. He can’t. Not with you looking at him like he’s hung the moon. No fear, no hatred. You should despise him.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, as if hearing his thoughts.

“Darlin’-” 

He chokes on all the words he wants to say, everything he’s been waiting to say. How he wishes you could see the ocean, like you’ve always wanted. How he wants to be right there with you, just to see the way your eyes light up. How his eternal life finally seemed to have meaning when he met you.

“It’s okay, Jasper. I’m okay.” You reach for him, wanting nothing more than to just take his distress away. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. He gives in, allows you to take his hand, pull him closer. For you, he convinces himself, despite the selfish comfort he finds in your touch. “I know it’s not your decision. This has nothing to do with you,” you hesitate, squeezing his hands softly with a sad smile, “but I’m glad I got to talk to you one last time, at least. It’s not so scary if it’s you.”

“Stop.” His voice cracks like thunder, desperation bleeding into his eyes.

But there’s one last thing you need to say.

“I love you.”

Your eyes drift shut and you tilt your face back to the sky.

A drop of rain traces down your cheek.

Now you’re ready.

“I can’t.”

What?

You peek your eyes open, looking on in shock as Jasper kneels in front of you, face set in the most determined look you’ve ever seen. What’s happening?

“I can’t hurt you. I won’t,” he declares, red eyes set on you without a hint of hesitation.

You gape at him, head suddenly spinning, “But Maria-”

“I won’t let her hurt you either.”

“But Jasper- How- What-”

“Run away with me.”

You blink. And blink. And blink. If you had a working heart, it would be beating out of your chest at this point. Has he lost his mind?

“We’ll go to the States, to the ocean just like you want, leave all this behind.” The words spill out of him, the dam finally broken. Each word makes your eyes go wider, the sadness receding as hope sparks in your chest. “Please, darlin’. Give me a chance to make you happy.”

“Oh, Jasper.” You touch his face, drawing him just close enough to press a kiss to his forehead. Jasper’s eyes flicker shut, your love washing over him like the rain. Your next words seal the rest of your eternity, “You’ve always made me happy. We can go anywhere. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

And for the first time in forever, that smile slants over his lips, bright and warm and gorgeous.

You missed that smile so much.

That night, the two of you disappeared into the storm. You don’t know if Maria ever searched for you. If she did, she never found you.

Jasper kept his word. As soon as you crossed the border, you traveled to the west coast. You saw the ocean, which was more than you ever expected it to be, and that’s where you stayed for a while. Until you met the Cullens, at least.

You were nervous at first. Large covens were rare outside of the armies, so you didn’t trust them at first. There was no way you’d do that ever again. But you missed having a family, and looking at them, you couldn’t help but want for what they seemed to have.

“What do you think, Jas?” You ask your mate as you curl into his side.

He wraps an arm around you, lips pressing against your forehead softly, “Whatever you want, darlin’. They’re intentions seem honorable.”

“Would you be okay going vegetarian, though?” You love the idea. It’s always bothered you, having to kill innocent humans. Even feeding from the bad ones leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I’ll manage,” Jasper chuckles, eyes creasing.

“And the moving around?”

“We already do that, sugar.”

“Oh yah.” The Cullens move around far less than you, actually. You can’t believe they can stay in the same place for months, years even. The thought fills you with anticipation. Maybe you could finally settle down and have a normal life with Jasper.

“Maybe we could get a dog,” you hum, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

Jasper snorts, drawing you closer to press a kiss to your temple. You glance up at him, eyes bright with unrestrained excitement. And just like that, it’s decided.

“Let’s join them.”

“Alright! Oh! We could call him Cowboy! Can you imagine it? Cowboy the dog. It’d be perfect.”

“Anythin’ you want, darlin’.”

And that’s how you ended up with the Cullens.

---

“...wow.”

You grin at Bella, “I know, it’s a lot. But it all worked out for the best! I can’t imagine my life any different.”

“And I can’t imagine my life without you.” Your smile goes even wider when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

You look over your shoulder at your mate, eyes practically lighting up with affection, “Good, cause you’d be hard pressed to get rid of me at this point.”

Bella watches the small interaction, surprised to see the blond vampire without his usual stoic facade. He’s like a completely different person, practically melting into your touch, and smiling. Actually smiling. And you look just as lovestruck.

“You guys make a cute couple,” she says, feeling a bit awkward when you turn your gaze back to her.

“Thanks Bells. You and Eddie make just as cute of one. I can’t wait to go to your wedding.”

The brunette flushes what must be the darkest shade of red possible, successfully mimicking a cherry. She shuffles away with some muttered excuse, and you can’t hold back a giggle.

“You’re evil, darlin’,” Jasper murmurs, shaking his head.

You flip around in his hold, arms wrapping around his neck, “What! You know it’s going to happen. Edward’s completely smitten with that girl.”

“Still doesn’t mean you have to torture the poor thing,” he chastises, though he can’t hide the mirth in his tone.

“Fine. I guess I can take it easy on her,” you sigh dramatically, earning another chuckle from your mate.

“That’s my girl.”

You tuck yourself into his chest, hiding a truly ecstatic smile in his jacket. To this day, you still can’t believe that this is your life.

You really wouldn’t change anything about it. Not the bad things, not the start, none of it. You like to think your love is stronger because of it. And it will only continue to grow stronger every day for the rest of your eternity together.

You can’t wait to see where the two of you go.

---

This was not meant to get so edgy, but here we are. I never really know what I'm writing until it's finished.

Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed the angst, hurt and comfort! A really fluffy fic will be coming next, and I am SO excited about it.

[luvtak]

sandcastles, lfx x reader

✧ genre/ tw f2l <3!! sugary sweet fluff, angsty confessions, a couple pet names, a very sweet kiss, and felix and mc being unbearably down bad for each other, unedited <3

✧ w/c 2586

✧ a/n okay so i am writing this at 2 am after basically throwing this up, I've had this idea in my head for a couple days and finally had time to execute it, I am a sucker for f2l!felix and I hope you enjoy this very sweet confession, as well as the fun summery vibes I hoped to embrace the story in, happy reading! mwah <3!!

The first time you saw him you thought he was a daydream, sun bright and shiny–a made up boy for a lazy sunday afternoon. He came with golden hour, everything orange and yellow and the floral july smell was creeping around you. At twelve, you’d never seen a boy so sure of himself or so kind. Usually, the boys at school were listlessly mean or energetically cruel–ever patient in their mission to bother you. But here was Felix, funny and sweet and asking to be your friend. 

The summer passed in oceanfront days and popsicle covered nights, pop songs on the radio as you talked from the backseat. Goofy and glamorous months spent together as you awaited Fall. You remember those days like the lines of your palm, linen sheets wrapped around your bodies as you told scary stories and held each other to ward off nightmares. Some days, going to bed with the sun still high in the sky–naps on the beach with his head on your tummy. 

Felix’s sister’s hands in yours while you played ring around the rosie, giggles loud when you let go. The little girl’s voices as they yelled they all fall down! And Felix's own little voice asking if you were all okay, always worried about skinned knees and chipped nail polish. Childhood flashed with bandaid kisses and sandy shoes, freckled skin and ocean covered giggles. 

You’d never forget when you realized he was beautiful–stepping out of the ocean like Aphrodite herself, a boy born from sunshine and seafoam. His wide eyes were crinkled with sun, surely adding more stars to his golden skin, and he was smiling. Smiling at you of all things, bright and incandescent Felix grinning at you like the happiest man on earth. 

You think of that boy now as he sits next to you, watching the movie with an almost exaggerated delight. Taking in the action and the humor like someone just shown technicolor after a life of black and white. He’s grown up so much, grown up and away from you as you’ve gotten older. Those summer nights are just an origin story for who he is now, a big bright star like you always knew him to be. 

As his very first fan, you always saw in him this man he could become, but sometimes under the cover of midnight you selfishly wished you could have kept him to yourself. He was always just yours; until he wasn’t… Always your north star, leading you on your journey since you were just a little thing, and now he’s that to thousands of people–none of them knowing he was yours first. 

If you told him this he’d giggle up a storm and tell you he was still yours, but he wasn’t, not really… not in the way you wanted him to be. How could you tell him you loved him when in an instant he became bigger than you or any childhood wish. 

“Silly, why aren’t you watching the movie? It’s the best part!” eyes gleaming and mouth pouty, Felix looks so pretty in the tv light, “I know we’ve seen this one like a billion times, but that doesn’t mean you can’t pay attention.” He huffs, undeniably pretending to be annoyed with you. He can’t really, couldn’t even if he wanted to. You’re just so dear to him, one half of his heart, and he could never attribute any negative feeling to you, even if you deserved it. 

When he came home and saw you, more grown up and more beautiful than his phone screen allowed, he couldn’t believe he ever left you. He was so excited to watch your movie together, and while Ponyo had lost the astonishment of childhood, it still held its charm. The film was the background of so many childhood memories–putting it on after midnight nightmares or days spent sick in bed; children versions of you wrapped up and watching every sleepover. 

It was silly, he had you there right next to him, but he still missed you until the movie was on, and here you were not watching it. 

“Sorry, Lix, I just can’t believe you’re actually here.” your voice trembles a little, hiding the true emotions and fear that he’ll find you out. He would never stop being your friend just because you had a little crush on him, could never abandon you for something so little as a flutter in your tummy. But this wasn’t just a crush or a flutter, this was a stampede. You’d been in love with him for so long now, kept it hidden away in teenage diaries and grown up journals. A secret between you and the moon. You could never be sure how he’d take it, that for years now you’d been cowardly and afraid of him, a boy so brave he conquered his dreams. 

“Well, believe it baby! And watch the movie… or else…” He said it in a funny voice, and even though you knew he meant well, the pet name pushed an ugly feeling in your gut. 

Quietly and painfully you looked back to the screen, avoiding the way you can feel his body breathe next to you. For so long you missed this, the knowledge that your best friend was next to you, but now you think he should go home. Back to Seoul where he doesn’t hurt you by being him, sunshiney and starlit him. “Hey, seriously, are you okay? Where’d you go?” Felix is genuinely worried now, a sinister feeling arising in his chest that you’re not okay, and that it’s because of him. 

Sure, he’s been gone a lot the last couple of years, but he never forgot the way your eyes got misty before you cried. He grew up alongside you, nursed bloody knuckles and broken hearts and he could feel when you were sad–knew like the back of his hand when you were devastated and hiding it, but was this just because you missed him? 

“I’m fine, star boy, I just always get a little sad when I watch Ponyo. You remember don’t you? The way I would cry and cry when Sasuke promises to love and take care of her?” you mutter, softly without any conviction, and while the boy knows this to be true, he can’t help but notice your fidgety hands and the way you won’t look at him. 

You’re so worried, crushed beyond belief that one night home and he’ll figure you out. You could never keep a secret from him, running to tell him as soon as someone told you a whisper of hidden truth. Since you were twelve you told him all your innerworkings and private feelings, all but this one. It was easy when he was gone, easy to train your voice to sound happy over the phone, but you couldn’t hide anything with his eyes so close to you. 

Shoulder to shoulder you sat on the sofa you grew up on, right in this position with this beautiful boy. Watching this movie at 12 and 15, holding hands to ward against scary movie monsters. You couldn’t keep this secret here. 

“You’re a shitty liar, Y/n, is it some boy? Do I have to defend your honor?” it was so silly to him, you were so silly. How could he think any other boy mattered to you but him? Him with his golden hair and bright eyes, star studded cheeks smiling at you in the sunshine. 

You would never forgive yourself for that day on the beach. The day he became more than Felix, your best friend. You used to gag when your parents teased you about him, winced when one of your girls would say you looked cute together, and then all it took was the sun hitting him just right. 

You would never forgive yourself for this night either, you had to tell him. Had to make sure he knew it didn’t matter if he couldn’t feel the same. Who were you other than his friend? He was an angel and you were just someone he knew before he ascended. 

“Yeah, I guess. Some boy who I just can’t get out of my head.” 

“Oh, my silly sweetheart, is he devastatingly handsome.” he was giggling, the way he always did when you brought up boys to him, like it was ridiculous you would think a boy was cute. 

“I think so, he’s handsome and sweet, and I’ve never known anyone like him.” 

“This sounds intense, Y/nie, you must really like him…” 

“Yeah, you could say that.” 

You can’t help but notice his body language shifting, turning inward and hesitant. His voice got quieter too, shifting back into his normal voice. You wonder if you transferred some of your fear to him, then dismiss the thought–your Felix has always been brave. 

The movie still plays, little kid voices filling the otherwise silent room. The picture can be seen in his eyes, lighting the dark with bright oranges and blues. They're looking at you, and some tiny part of you can tell he seems sad. That piece of you that always knows how he’s feeling; attuned even when he’s in South Korea and you feel with all parts of you that you need to send a message to cheer him up. 

You feel that now, and reach out to take his hand, calloused and warm in yours. 

You stay like that for a while, finishing the film hand in hand like you did when you were both still small. Until finally, he asks so quietly you can barely hear him, 

“Do you like him more than me?” 

Shocked, you can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, which stuns Felix enough to pull his hand from yours–rubbing with his other hand where yours touched. He’s hurting, and you’re laughing at him, and this is enough to pull all of his bravery into you. Deep breathe in and out until you are sure every ounce of courage he’s ever had is running through your veins. You need to tell him, and even if he never speaks to you again, it's better than if he never knew he spins your whole world around. 

“Oh my god, Felix, it is you.” it comes out in a breath, faster than you’ve ever said anything and more relieving than any sentence you’ve rattled out before. The tears you’ve been fighting off all night come tumbling down, cascading over your cheeks with reckless abandon into your shaky hands. He’s silent for so long, barely even moving from his place next to you. The only indication he’s still hear the shaky breaths he’s releasing, and still you don’t look at him.

You’re waiting for him to leave, to walk out the door and go home, waiting for him to walk out of your life and back into his place in the sky, when finally you feel his hand on your wrist. His hold is so delicate, nervous as he moves your hands from your face and can finally see your eyes. Eyes sad and exhausted and so familiar to him, even through the tears their lovely–a reminder of home and unconditional love, and growing up. He can’t believe you would like him, Him with all his idiosyncrasies and softheartedness, you were so beautiful and so strong and you liked him. Thought he was handsome and sweet, you’d never known anyone like him… 

How long could this have been going on, how could he have been living never knowing you felt this way? Never knowing he felt it too, not just butterflies in his belly, but falcons, wings so strong and so big they started hurricanes. 

He looked at you like he always did, like you were the most important thing in the room. Eyes on yours and a smile of disbelief rising on his face. Slowly, without any reservations he brought his forehead to yours, looking down at you in all your snotty glory and lifting a hand to swipe at the falling tears. His voice is a whisper, deep and familiar, the same voice he used to tell stories and secrets, 

“It’s me? You promise?” 

“It’s always been you, Felix, how could it be anyone else?” 

He shudders, the hand sitting atop your cheek bone falling to your neck before he moves closer, settling his lips next to yours. Eyes lifting in a silent question, is this okay? With a nod and a close of your eyes he’s leaning in, moving to kiss you with all the desperation the moment requires. His tongue wiping up all the fallen tears as his lips moved with yours–when you were children he always kissed your wounds better, sweet pecks over bandaids and foreheads, and here he was now fixing up a broken heart–putting it back together. 

When he comes back up for air his eyes settle over your frame, flushed and hair messy from his hands, and he smiles. He’s loved you since he was a boy, since you asked to build that sand castle, 12 years old and braver than anyone he’s ever known. He’s loved you through teenage tantrums and silly crushes, it’s always been you. 

“We’ve been so silly, sweetheart.” he finally gets out, laughing at the impossibility of it all. The one secret you kept from each other being the same. Like always, exactly on the same page–telling the same story over and over again until you met in the middle. “When did you know? When did you know you loved me?” 

He’s so happy, you can feel it in the way he’s holding you, in the way his hands haven’t left your skin since they arrived. You can’t believe it, this beautiful boy is holding you. 

“That day you told me you were gonna audition… you came from the sea smiling and covered in sunshine, and I saw you for the first time–larger than life, my dream.” 

His eyes closed, and then he laughed. A great big wonderful laugh that took him away from you, falling onto his back with happy tears streaming. It was such a lovely sound you couldn’t help but join in, giggling with him even if you didn’t know why. 

When he finally speaks again his voice is still twinged with laughter, breathless and happy when he says, “You were so late” pausing to laugh, “I loved you since we were 12, you were covered in sand and I was in love.” 

You move to him quickly, settling your body on top of his as gently as you could manage, and you take in his happy face. This is what he looks like in love, not any different than he’s ever looked, but the shock of it–the fact that it’s you who he loves and is loved in return makes you want to cry again. 

This is where home is, here in his arms with your movie playing, smiling at each other in awe. There's so many moments you can share with him now, moments you shared with the moon and shooting stars, things you never thought you could tell him. Days and weeks holding a secret that he carried too. How silly you’ve both been, to deny what everyone has told you since you were children–two humans made for each other, sculpted out of the same sand. Lives entwined since that day on the beach when you asked him to build a sandcastle, how funny looking back, that you never did.

© LUVTAK 2024

[rainswept]

# THE MOON IS BEAUTIFUL, ISN’T IT?

— lyney, freminet, navia : 272, 213, 206 words respectively. these don’t really make much sense tbh.

# LYNEY : love. bouts of flattery overflowing from a mouth full of bleeding gums, bouquets of rainbow roses neatly tied together in a pretty silk bow; words slipped like cards between fingers past his teeth that are pleasing to the ear but do naught to soothe the ache beneath the skin. stiff movement, perfected performance, smile lines on a face that has seen nothing but tragedy; swooning, blushing, grinning; bright spotlights, pried open eyes blind to it all. cries for an encore are like a bandage over a profusely bleeding wound that just won’t stop, won’t quiet down. gods, he’s so tired of encores.

but he is not tired of performing. the desire to still swells beneath his skin like the blood that sustains him — it always has. but it is beginning to feel like a cut forcing that deep-seated thing to the surface instead of passion, forming a wound instead of flushed cheeks, painful and slow and agonizing as it bleeds him dry. but at least now it is familiar.

dreams that leave him in a haze, warmth settling in the pit of his belly instead of knives, bread as a peace offering, hands held tight in the face of peril, soft breaths entwined without a single kiss and gentle touches to gnawing wounds. moving away from a fireplace when it gets too hot only to return moments later when you forget the feeling of being singed; a garden overgrown with rainbow roses to the point where they almost look as if they began growing wild, unbridled and free and passionate and imperfect.

which is love to him? he doesn’t quite know.

# FREMINET : tears. he thinks his tears threaten to overflow the rushing sea, bleed into the waves until he dies in a water that cannot drown him. marks that linger as memories fade, reflections on the surface of the sun; the deteriorating seashells picked up from the shaking sand at the bottom of the ocean, forever moved by the presence of another. soft touches and fleeting wishes, dry lips with sobs seeping between the cracks like water, begging for a reprieve from the loneliness that strives to swallow him whole unlike like the sea he loves so dearly — a threat versus a plea, a soft embrace instead of a bruising hold. he doesn’t know which is which.

shaky hands held beneath a star-filled sky, glistening teardrops so plentiful they mimic the galaxies and the sea alike. currents swelling beneath fingertips and seeping beneath skin as he sinks until he can no longer see. screaming, yelling, silence, cries and wails of anything but sorrow, knives to throats and blood spilling beneath a red moon to taint shallows that were never pristine in the first place. tender flesh, calloused fingers, sharp nails digging so deep into each other you could nearly get cut. you pray to the archons that the indents in your unwounded skin scar.

# NAVIA : comfort. a warm dessert melting on the tongue, meringues, saccharine and soft; a hazy memory doused in vanilla and egg whites. beds of flowers whistling in the wind, head leaned against the base of a tree, soft strands of golden hair twirled between fingers and tangling in the grass; forehead kisses, sunsets, lighthearted giggles turned to laughs so plentiful they make your chest ache.

navia wraps her fingers around yours like she never wants to let you go — it’s tender, loving, sweet, and oh so far away. the look in her eyes is distant, clouded, guilty; she gazes at the floor, the ceiling, the corner of your mouth. anywhere she can find and grasp onto but your eyes, or your lips, or your heart, or your soul — her eyes are like the moon over the water, you always told her, and the moon’s view of anything you truly want it to see has been hidden away by a fog rolling in on the horizon.

a doomed ship sails straight into the fog blanketing the sky like it wants to protect the moon to a fault. as you hold her hand tight, aware you’re watching it, there’s an innate sense it will not come back.

[c-t-r-l14]

Tennesee Waltz

“I remember the night, and the Tennesee Waltz

Now I know just how much I have lost.”

———————-💔————————————

Synopsis: You introduce an old friend to Xanthus.

Based off of this post.

———————-💔———————————-

You were never one to believe in soulmates. That concept simply never made sense to you. The notion that some “universal force of nature” chooses the person that is “perfect” for you, how it ties an invisible red string of fate to you and your lover's pinky finger—forever making you two bound to each other for all eternity—was simply ludacris.

Sometimes, when you were out with your friends, they’d talk about how they met their lovers, and how they just instantly knew that they were the ones. And they’d say it with the tenderness, warmth, and certain fondness of love swimming in their bright eyes. You’d watch how their bodies swooned with adoration, how the corners of their lips were lifted up into a smile of utter enchantment. As you sat there, watching them whisper and swoon about how the “stars aligned for them to be together,” with their hands on their hearts—their bright, love struck eyes gazing longingly at the sky—you couldn’t help but think that for a moment, for just a moment—how nice it would be if the theories of “soul-ties” and “soulmates” were real. But, as soon as those thoughts came, they vanished just as instantly—fading away from existence like the steam that permeated from your hot cup of tea. Although it was a nice thought in theory, it was absolutely ridiculous in practice. There is no destiny, or “path of fate”, when it comes to falling in love. There are no “outside forces” pulling the strings behind the scenes—no cupid or Eros to shoot an arrow of love in your back. You simply meet someone, get to know who they are, fall in love, and eventually settle down with them. A completely natural process—one with no red strings attached. And for a little a while, that’s what you truly believed.

That is, until you met Xanthus.

You were drawn to everything about him—his air of mystique, and his beautiful golden hair, how his bangs fell over his forehead and framed his pale face, how his eyes of red seemed to sparkle brightly with the radiance of rubies—and how his thin lips seemed to form the most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen. You loved the way he held you in his strong arms; the way you melted in the cocoon of his warm embrace. When the evening made way for the night—when the red, orange, and yellow hues morphed into a midnight blue, you’d be comforted by the faint sound of his breathing and the smell of cologne lingering in the air; and as the night made way for the dawn, your heart was filled with so much bliss—so much happiness—simply because you were lucky enough to wake up to him sleeping beside you. You thanked your lucky stars every time he used you as his muse for any new book he composed. Your body felt lighter than air when he recited the sonnets he wrote for you. You beamed brightly every single time you posed for any painting he’d create in your honor. With him, the world was bathed in pink hues—bursting with absolute beauty.

And, on one clear night—without a single twinkling star in the sky—when there was nothing but the luminescence of the full moon hanging over the city, he held your hand tightly as he stared into your eyes, and said to you:

“Dearest, my love for you is deeper than the deepest depths of the vastest oceans, and is as plentiful as the stars in the sky. It extends to even the most remote regions of the universe—reaching a distance above the very heavens itself; a devotion so strong that it breaks the concept of time. Whenever you’re around me, my heart sings—a simple song morphs into a symphony whenever I look at you. You bring me comfort on my darkest nights, and laughter in my lowest moments. You’re a beacon that melted the ice of my once frozen heart. And that is why, I want to be there for you—for as long as you allow me to be.”

You can practically hear the fast paced thumping of your heart beating loudly in your chest. And your vision blurred with tears as he reached into his pocket.

“I promise.”

In his hand sat the most beautiful ring you’ve ever laid your eyes on—complete with brilliant red rubies encrusted in the golden band. Ruby red—the color of his eyes. Your mouth, although quivering—quirked up into a smile as he slid the ring onto your finger. And he smiled back as he took out another ring, with diamonds that shone with the luminance, beauty, and color of your own eyes—sliding it on to his own finger.

You let the tears flow. And, on that clear night—without a single twinkling star in the sky—you two shared a tender kiss under the ethereal glow of the full moon hanging over the city.

It was a moment that you cherished for a long time. But even as you stood there, staring lovingly in his ruby red eyes, his face and blond tresses bathed in the pale white glow of the moonlight—you still didn’t understand what your friends swooned and sighed about.

Because despite the immense love you felt, and the sweet aroma of romance wafting through the air, you still didn’t believe in soulmates.

…..

As you ascended the long staircase, you nervously fiddled with your hair, trying your best to give your whole ensemble a finishing touch. Your stomach was swimming with apprehensiveness, and a bit of anxiety as you got to the top—your heart thumping wildly in your chest as you came face to face with the large ballroom. You huffed as Xanthus chuckled with pure amusement.

“Dearest,” he laughed, “there is nothing to worry about. The way you look tonight will take everyone’s breath away.”

“Thanks, Xanthus, but this is the first time I’ve ever been to a ball! We’ll be dancing in front of people, too. I have to make sure I don’t mess up.”

He chuckled once more. “We’ve danced with each other many times before; it’s not really anything to fret over.”

“Okay, but the difference is that people will be watching.”

“You worry too much, my dear. You’ll do wonderful.”

He gave you a reassuring smile as he offered his arm to you, and you took it—smiling back as you both sauntered into the ballroom.

You were taken aback from the level of absolute grandeur that encompassed every single inch of the ballroom. The silk velvet drapes, which were the color of old red wine, cascaded from the ceiling to the ground—their gold trimmings almost sweeping against the marble floor—its own tiles embellished with swirling patterns and geometric shapes. Frescoes—paintings that were vibrant in colors and rich with lore—adorned the high ceilings as it stretched far across the room. And, in the center of it all, was a crystal chandelier looming overhead—casting a beautiful, soft glow—almost as astonishing as the moonlight that engulfed you and Xanthus just a few days prior.

The room was filled with people who were dressed to the nines—opulent gowns and dresses that cascaded all the way down to the floor, grazing it as the women walked. Men dressed in their best suits and tailcoats, standing with nonchalance as they carry on a conversation with the person talking to them. And, besides from the magnificent harmonies melted together by the woodwinds, percussions, and strings played by the live grand orchestra—the quiet sounds of excited chatter, laughter and clinking wine glasses filled the air. However, within the sea of fancy dresses and tailcoats, you spotted a familiar face—one you hadn’t seen in what felt like a million years. Still as beautiful as they were on the last day you saw them, their smile as radiant as ever—their laughter loud and full of life. And while they did go many names, you chose to call out the one that was most familiar to you.

“Love!”

In an instant they caught your gaze, and their own eyes lit up as you two made your way over.

“Well, I’ll be! It’s been so long!” They exclaimed, grabbing your hands and squeezing it.

“Too long!” You laughed, “Oh, and before I forget—Love, this is Xanthus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Love,” Xanthus said—with a certain softness in his tone as he extended his hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” they responded shyly, shaking it.

And for a moment, they both stood there, staring into each other’s eyes—almost as if they were in a trance, or under some sort of spell. But, there was something different in Xanthus’ gaze; while it was true that he had looked at you with adoration and astonishment swimming in his eyes, there was something very unfamiliar about the way he looked at Love. There was a certain something in his stare—something that never appeared when he looked at you. And, that very same something gleamed in Love’s eyes.

Enamour.

Suddenly, the excitement that swam in your stomach—and the warmness that filled your heart froze over. You opened your mouth to say something, but then the live orchestra started playing a song that made all the women squeal and drag their dates to the dance floor.

The Tennessee Waltz.

Xanthus pulled away from you, and took their hand.

“May I have this dance, Love?”

“Yes you may,” they giggled.

You watched as they sauntered to the dancefloor, hand in hand, never once letting the fire of captivation fizzle out of their bright eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to call after them, because even if you tried, the words would get stuck in your throat. So, you stood there, and watched from afar as they waltzed.

You watched as the melody consumed them—never taking a step out of turn—always on beat.

You watched as they laughed when Xanthus gave Love a twirl—his smile so wide that his teeth were showing. He never smiled at you like that.

You watched as they still held each other close, even when it was time to switch partners. They danced as if they were in their own little universe.

And, while the orchestra played the finishing note, you watched as they both shared a tender kiss, bathed in the soft glow that was casted by the chandelier looming overhead.

Your heart clenched, and a pain that burned like a wildfire consumed your chest. With great haste, and blurry vision, you ran out of there. The ballroom air was suffocating; it was filled with their new found love, and the scent was so thick and strong that it was getting harder to breathe.

You stumbled into the ballroom garden, and let the tears flow—heaving sobs and broken cries filling the atmosphere. It was a clear night, without a twinkling star in the sky—with nothing but the luminescence of the full moon hanging over the city. You cried under the very same sky your darling Xanthus declared his love for you.

The night you believed in soulmates wasn’t the night he recited his first sonnet to you. It wasn’t the night he used you as his muse for his first book, or when he made his first painting. It wasn’t even the night he gave you a promise ring, vowing to stay by your side for as long as you’d let him.

No, the night you believed in soulmates was the night Xanthus found his.

The night your friend stole your sweetheart from you.

The night they were playing the beautiful Tennessee Waltz.

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A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had so much things to do. I’m glad to be back! Have some angst!

Masterlist

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒

summary: you can't help but admire your boyfriend's freckles under the setting sun

pairing: modern au! aether x gn! reader

warnings: fluff (i'm so soft for him), mentions of insecurities (aether)

modern au masterlist || genshin masterlist

There were a lot of things people could hold against summer; the heat, sunburns, mosquitoes. 

But not you. You could never see anything but stellar beauty in summer.

Not when it was the reason why you could lie under a canopy of vines and fairy lights on your balcony, why you could drink in the last rays of light over the horizon in the warm evening air or why you could listen to the birds sing their last song of the evening as the crickets took over from them.

And yet you were even more grateful for being able to card your fingers through your lover’s hair of lightened gold and faded streaks of pink and green. Resembling silk of the highest quality, it draped over his shoulder with the motion of your hand, lifting like a curtain to reveal the sun-kissed skin underneath.

How could you ever scorn summer when it was the reason Aether’s skin was covered in galaxies of sunborn stars?

Slowly, reverently, your fingers traced along the constellations on the top of his shoulders, connecting the stars your lips mapped out as you brushed against the tiny marks you had become as familiar with as with the back of your hand. 

“You know,” the blond spoke up, voice demure as if he didn’t want to disturb the tranquil atmosphere, though those few syllables spoke much louder to the seriousness of the topic he was about to breach. “I used to not like my freckles. I tried hiding them with makeup, wore sleeves long enough to cover them and all. Summer was the worst time for me.”

“What changed?” You asked, brushing your thumb over the freckle clusters on his cheeks as you watched the sun reflect and rise anew in those striking eyes of his. Certainly, a change in attitude such as this, one where he started embracing what he previously disliked, couldn’t have come easy and you didn’t want to diminish his feelings because of your own adoration.

“I met someone,” he whispered, like it was a confession, as his hands took inspiration from your wandering ones. With his fingers splayed over the small of your back, a comfortable warmth spread over the length of your spine as he anchored you in place as if he never wanted to part from you. “Someone who faced those doubts and silenced them with genuine affirmations. Someone who I could show my flaws to without fear of leaving myself vulnerable. Someone who showed me there was a different way to think and made me learn something new about myself.”

“I never thought of them as flaws,” you muttered, hoping to convey all your gratitude in the kiss which followed your thumb’s path. “I’ve always thought they were beautiful.”

“I know,” Aether replied meekly, his usually radiant smile a little wobbly under the onslaught of emotions he was experiencing all at once. “And I’ve always wanted to believe you.”

“I’ll repeat it until you can,” you promised, brushing a strand behind his ear, even if only to give you a chance to trace more of his honeydew skin and reveal more of the freckles  framing his eyes. “Because you deserve to see yourself the way I see you. Nobody should be deprived of a sight this gorgeous.”

“I still don’t think it could hold a candle to what I’m seeing.” His featherlight touch mirrored yours in the position and softness with which he cradled your cheek. The notion of holding the world in one’s hands had never occurred to you as plausible, until you met Aether’s gaze of devotion and veneration.

If you were the world, however, then you must have been holding something otherworldly. With his warm skin hued in an ethereal, aureate glow, it was as if he himself was a star, which had come to you from the vast ocean beyond the sky. Much like wishing upon a shooting star, your dreams had come true as you gazed at him, held him, called him yours and yourself his.

Then, almost as if heaven and earth had willed time to slow, nothing but the two of you existed when you met each other halfway. The kiss was simultaneously too much and not enough and you burrowed your hand in his golden roots, cushioning the back of his head as he let himself fall back, pulling you down with him. 

True to its purpose, the hand on your back kept you steady against him, even as you both caught your breath. Even from the close proximity, you could only stare in awe as your theory of his heavenly origins was proven right by the radiance of his star speckled skin and the brilliant halo framing his face.

So how could you scorn summer when it revealed your lover’s true beauty?

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

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[magmethius]

(late again) for yesterday's @theemperorweek prompt: sea

"We have communed with our minds entire at the deepest level. What else is there to say?"

And a snip of prose, what I imagine it would be like. He is the sea. (emps/illithid tav, tav's second person pov, esoteric but pg)

---

You float aimlessly upon a violet ocean, uncertain of who you are or what you're doing here or... anything else, really. But you don't mind the uncertainty. It's nice here. Comforting. The rhythmic waves of the ocean lap soothing little touches across every inch of your being. Ebb, flow, ebb, flow... their rhythm is relaxed and slow, like the breaths of a sleeping lover. You roll over, breathing in warm memories of seafoam and salty air. Euphoric sensations flow through everything here, and you giddily take them in, splashing around, causing seaquakes and tidal waves and typhoons of raw joy to cascade across the ocean's surface.

"Enjoying yourself?" the ocean asks.

You are! You try to nod, but find you have no body to do so with, and then to speak, but find that you have no voice, either. You try to - to do anything, exert any kind of control over your being, and your thoughts finally manifest as the stars within you rearrange themselves into a constellation that simply spells yes. And upon seeing the reflection of this flickering, sparkling like thousands of gold pieces flung across the ocean's surface, you realize: you are the sky itself.

The ocean laughs and swells up at you, those gentle waves caressing your fuzzy edges again. It pulls your stars into itself, exchanging them for prismatic bubbles that pop upon reaching your core, leaving impressions of hugs and kisses, and safety and understanding and love - You burn bright with the ocean's love and it boils hot with yours in turn, and you remember, you remember that you're deeply in love with these violet seas, and they feel the same way about your lavender skies, and that - this -- This is right. The most right you've ever felt. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Connecting. It makes you want to get even closer to your ocean, to drown yourself in those shimmering depths, but all your yearning manages to do this time is create small projections of whirlpools on its surface, little droplets barely lifting toward you before evaporating in your grasp.

"Do not worry," your ocean says. "We are already one."

There's a sudden shift in the world's configuration, and you feel yourself twisting and falling, settling briefly at the bottom of the sea before it rises entirely above you, leaving you soaked. Somehow, you're below it now, and - It starts raining, pouring, washing away your clouds and constellations until you're refined into a single radiant orb, the endless ocean's guiding star, crystallized, shining even brighter in its embrace. Its tender tendrils surround you from within and without, caressing the very core of your soul with its own, rubbing you with achingly sweet and all-encompassing heat and care. Heat and care that you mirror right back into it, creating a bouncing feedback loop that makes your whole being sigh in relieved contentment. This ocean... your ocean -

It's your home. It means everything to you, and

you never want to leave.

[neteyamslovrr]

STARLIGHT

summary: neteyam had little direction in life anymore, he had no idea what to do with his life as a metkayina, but meeting you gave him purpose.

contents: just a cute little fluffy one-shot, fem! metkayina reader, 1.2k words

╭─────────────────╮

It had been a couple months since Neteyam, and his family had moved to Awa’atlu. Though the change was drastic and leaving his home was a tear in his heart that would never heal, he made do.

Luckily, he was not left to fend for his brother any longer as he had occupied his time with Tsireya instead of making trouble. But that left Neteyam feeling lost. He had no friends, no home, no real place. He felt like he was just existing. His life used to have so much meaning, it used to be so set in stone, with a path he felt was right for him. Now he had nothing.

That was until he saw you.

You were not the chief’s daughter, nor a hunter. You spent your days weaving clothes for the people in your village and spent your nights basking in the starlight. You were so eye-catching, that even in the darkest of nights you still shun to him like the brightest star in the night sky.

He saw you for the first time on a quiet evening, laying in the ocean, lettings the waves crash over your figure gently. You were calm, still, embracing the beauty of the nature surrounding you. Though Neteyam thought you were a bit too still.

He noticed your figure floating in the water, he didn’t think much of it until you had not moved for just too long. His heart started to pound in his throat and his body grew tense. Jumping into the cool ocean, as it nipped his warm skin, he frantically swam towards you.

“Excuse me! Are you alright?!” His deep frenzied voice startled you as you let out a loud gasp. “I’m sorry I did not mean to frighten you.” You studied his features as they glimmered in the starlight. You of course had seen him before, he was the forest boy who had taken your village by storm. But never had you seen him this close.

“I am fine. Why do you ask?” Neteyam looked away from you, his face dripping of embarrassment. He felt his cheeks grow hot as he tried to conjure an answer in his muddled brain.

“I…thought you were in trouble.” The quietness of his voice made you lean closer to hear him, his eyes refused to make contact with you as you let out a small chuckle.

“How sweet of you. But I am just floating, no trouble here.” Neteyam nodded, the feeling of awkwardness growing in his chest. He swallowed harshly trying to respond to you once again, your calm aura making him uncomfortably enticed by you.

“Well…that is good. Have fun floating.” Turning in a hurry he went to swim off but you grabbed his wrist swiftly to prohibit him from escaping. The feeling of your strong grip on his wrist made him look at you with confusion as his body continued to grow hot.

“What is your name, forest boy?” You tilted your head at him, using your strength to pull his body closer to yours in the cool water.

“Its…um. Neteyam.”

“That’s a cute name, Neteyam.” The way it escaped your mouth and rolled off your tongue made Neteyam’s whole body shiver. You noticed it and chuckled at him making him grow even more embarrassed.

Never had he felt so entranced by a woman, usually he would be the most charming man a lady had ever spoken to. Now he felt like a star-struck boy with no thoughts except about the way he was making a fool out of himself in front of a beautiful woman.

“What is your name?” He coughed before his question, hoping to expel some of his apprehension. He puffed his chest out hoping to look more confident, despite still being in your grasp.

“Wouldn’t you like to know forest boy.” Neteyam stared at you perplexed.

“Well yeah. That is why I asked.” You giggled at him again earning an even more confused look from the blushing boy in front of you.

“Well then. My name’s Y/N. And I should be returning home.”

“Let me take you home. It is a gentlemen thing to do.” You blushed slightly at his comment before dragging him with you as you moved towards shore. He looked at you expectingly for an answer, specifically a yes.

“Do you even know where my marui is?”

“No…”

“Neteyam you’re a cute guy y’know that.” He spluttered at your out of the blue compliment. He never really got flustered from compliments, but for some godforsaken reason, you were riling up his heart immensely making him feel incredibly humiliated.

“Oh. Thankyou.” You motioned for him to hurry up as his slow swimming pace was starting to make you grow impatient.

“Hurry up.”

“Oh! Yup.” He couldn’t deny the reason he was swimming so slow behind you was because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but you. The way your tail swung in the water and your hair flowed beautifully through the ripples, it captivated him, and he couldn’t take his gaze off you.

Picking up the pace, the pair eventually reached the shore. The wet sand sticking to Neteyams body as it fell off your skin. Water droplets running off your skin, as they reflected the nightsky made Neteyam almost drool. The way the water would drip down your curves and fall off your gracefully made him feel like a fire started inside his ribcage.

“You have a staring problem.” This time Neteyam was determined to not be caught off-guard like a child being caught misbehaving. Staring deep into your eyes to assert some level of confidence he stepped closer to you, making your breath hitch.

“I’m staring because your beautiful.” It shocked Neteyam that he had the guts to be so charismatic, but it shocked you more that you felt your entire body heat up as you looked into the alluring amber eyes of the confident man above you.

“Oh, shut up and walk me home.” Neteyam chuckled at your reaction, not realising that you had already taken off, walking ahead of him.

“Hey wait up!”

“You are proving to be slow even on land! I thought you were a forest boy!” giggling at your own remark, you turned and waited for the boy that was jogging effortlessly towards you.

“Maybe I am trying to savour this moment.” Rolling your eyes at him, you continued to walk towards the direction of your marui.

“Maybe I am trying to get home, now hurry up you extremely slow man.”

“Ok Ok I am coming.”

Afterwards dropping you home, or more accurately trailing behind you and watching the way your hips swung. Neteyam was sure of one thing. He was now infatuated with you and had finally found a new meaning to his new life in Awa’atlu.

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love you all <33 thankyou for reading it all!! reblogs and replies do end up in a winning lottery ticket