#PINK HAS NO RIGHTS IN THIS HOUSE (on bloom at least) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justjams2003 · 7 days

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The Desire to be Loved

Okay so... I watched the new Dead Boy Detectives and I loved it. But it made me kind of sad cuz we didn't get to see Dream. So then I rewatched The Sandman. So please enjoy my ramblings of what could be a new story maybe?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, gay lovers (but it's the Sandman so that should be a given) crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,6k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

When the first woman stepped foot on the earth, Lust was quick to follow after in their creation. Desire thrived late with his twin Despair after the birth of Destruction once Lillith set on her own path. And once the second woman set foot on earth, Desire created his first creation: Love. Love set her very first arrow into the heart of Adam and Eve.

And as Dream had his second in command, Lucien, Desire had their favourite pet, creation, Love. And while Dream cares for his dreamlings, Love was nothing but a pet to use for Desire. One to follow orders and never throw tantrums. He did make her as sickly sweet as love can be, but with the same swing as desire has.

And for thousands of years, she did as she was told. When Destiny told Desire that true soulmates were about to meet, he’d send love with her red heart arrows. And when it was the beginings of love, he’d sent her with her pink arrows. And finally, when the love was no longer meant to be, he’d send Love, to rip those pink arrows from the lovers. Tearing their hearts apart, leaving it to throb in pain.

After all, it’s not safe for the Endless to roam the human world. Not long enough or often enough, at least, to fulfil the task that Love is sent to do. That was solidified in Desire’s mind when his least favourite brother got captured by the humans.

She sits on the roof of a house she hasn’t visited before. That seems impossible, she’s been to almost every corner of the earth. But this house...she can feel the aura seems entirely loveless. A black cloud that leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and she doesn’t even eat. At least now something has finally started to bloom.

She places the arrow on the hilt of the bow. A cute pink heart at the tip. She pulls the string back, controls her breathing like she’s done a million times. But something stops her when she hears what they’re talking about. “The maids say the guards are late.” The boy who just sat down asks.

The other boy’s black brows furrow. “Really?” He goes to get up, Shoot! She’s going to miss her opportunity. Rushed, she’ll admit, she releases the arrow and it lands right in the two of them. A smile grows on the both of them. She can see the pink aura form around them and makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’d better get going. I don’t want my father’s demon to escape.” He chuckles to himself, struggling to let go of his newly appointed lover. ‘father’s demon’? What on earth is that supposed to mean? Curiosity plays in her mind as to what it could mean. Especially with this dark cloud surrounding this supernatural feeling house.

Carefully, her cupid-wings carry her down to the floor. She follows behind the boy, knowing no one but the supernatural can see her. Her white heels (after all, none of Desire’s creature’s could ever be unfashionable) hit the floor with a click-clack. Down the stairs and past the gates. But she stops right in her tracks with an audible gasp when she sees the Burgess’ demon.

Alex watches with furrowed brows when the pale being his father had captured stands up. His piercing blue eyes looking over Alex’s shoulder, staring right at Cupid. Her eyes are as big as saucers and her plump pink lips hang open in shock. Dream’s hand rests against the glass, words are at the tip of his tongue, but just as quickly they fall dead.

Gone. His one hope of escape took one large step back into the realm of Desire. Her mind, although submissive and quiet in nature, knew immediately who it is that is captured in Rodrick Burgess’ house. Who is this being that could’ve saved him and all his dreamers? Why couldn’t Alex see her? Why hasn’t Morpheus seen her before, in the waking or the dreaming?

Why? Well, because it’s Desire’s number one rule. Her white go-go boots stop in front of his throne. “Your Highness?” She asks, her innocent eyes glued to the floor like a child ready for a scolding. “Yes, dear pet?” Desire says with a slinking smirk and the lick of his lips. He knows this stance of her all too well.

“I’ve done bad.” She says, her shoe digging into the floor, her hands wringing behind her back. “Do tell.” They beg for the minor being. “Well, I was on the mission you sent me. With Alex Burgess and his new lover. And well, they were talking about something the Alex boy called ‘father’s demon’ and I-” Desire holds out his hand. She rambles often, he’s used to it.

Cupid plucks a piece of skin from her lip with her teeth, such a nervous girl. “I saw Dream.” She blurts out, knowing better than to continue blabbering. Desire stands from his seat. A huge smirk forms on his face. He’s practically dancing around now, joy coursing through him. Or rather, mischief. “Oh really?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d be there. If I knew I wouldn’t have gone. And-” The rambling starts again. But the anger that she expected isn’t there. “No, no, don’t worry my dear pet. You did good, so good.” They muse, now circling her like a shark with it’s prey. “I did?” She ask, her eyebrows lifting in the middle as she fights off the tears she’d been ready to let go of.

Desire hums, his finger curling under her chin. “Verrryyy good.” He draws out the words like a cat would that could speak. Love’s long lashes flutter as the tears try up, now turned to confusion. “My brother, dear Morpheus, has been missing for the last 10 years and you, dear pet, have accidently just found him.”

“I did?” He nods again, driving the point home. “Are we going to save him then? He looked so terribly miserable in the glass cage they put him. When he looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes that he has-” she’s cut off by a sharp nail under her chin, ready to unmake her. “Why would we ever save him? No, no, no! Have I not taught you better? He has not called for our help and for that we’ll let him rot.”

The tears rise in the emotional girls eyes once more. “That seems so cruel.” She mumbles, a knot in her throat. “Cruel? Are you not the same Cupid who rips the love right from people’s hearts? Who lets them suffer for years before letting them love again? Is that not more cruel than letting a man, an Endless, be as he wishes to be?”

Venus gasps when the tear rolls down her cheek, “Yes, but-” she wants to say so much. It is not she who gets to chose. It’s him! They make her break the humans and she cries each time she has too. She just preforms her given task dutifully. It pains her when the humans pray to her, because she has no choice in the matter.

But she doesn’t say anything. She can’t, Desire would unmake her for disobedience. Instead, she just accepts their badgering. “No, pet, we take advantage of this. While he does not have a say in the matter, you and I will execute as many plans as possible for his demise and when he escapes from his capture, we’ll see the Dreaming fall and crumble at our feet.”

This...this does not sit well with Cupid. Not one bit. “My master, are you sure this is a good idea?” Her voice is barely above a whisper for she fears Desire’s vengeful side. Desire’s head snaps to her. “Don’t you want your master to be more powerful? To rule over so much more than people’s fleeting wants?”

“I-” she stumbles over her words but can see when those golden eyes warn her what the true answer is. “I do.” Cupid swallows her tongue and this does please Desire. She’s always been the perfect pet. Capable of nothing more than what is told to her.

But all she can really think of is the desperation in his eyes. One of the Endless, stripped and vulnerable. And he was pleading. Pleading to her. Just another lonely creature made to serve and one of the Endless were pleading to her to free him. But what could she do? She cannot touch the humans, she cannot even speak to them. The universe and it’s creators know she exists, but those they serve struggle to believe.

One thing that Desire of the Endless did not take into account is that Love isn’t just desire in another form. It isn’t just a want for the pleasure that a human body gives. It’s also the dreams of the humans that give her any form of power. A dream of what more there could be past the fleeting moments of lust. Past the want for sex and through the to the soul.

A dream that all humans have. To be loved. By their parents, by their siblings, by their friends, by their lovers. Love is something all humans dream of, late at night when they enter the sleeping world. And while yes, they do wish to be lusted over and want over others, what Love gives is much, much more.

A cross between Desire and Dream. And if the humans cannot Dream of love, can they even love? If there is no Dream, can there still be Love?

Idk if this is going to be a full story yet but if you think it should be and want to be in the taglist if it becomes one, just ask!

#the sandman #sandmand #morpheus #dream #dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #sandman x you #sandman x ofc

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pieroulette · 1 year

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CAMELLIA'S FATE

"Would you come?"

2023 | 13+ | ONESHOT × 6k | TATTOOIST! PARK JAY × READER

SUMMARY was it a string of fate when your bestfriend claimed your art as her own, that not even after six years does it suffice the desire for revenge blooming in your heart, claiming it as a call for making it even—that you stumble upon a tattoo studio, and your eyes falling upon the same flower on a young man's neck.

WARNING/GENRE emptiness, lost of passion (?), slight profanity, angst, fluff, romance, reader is a painter!

AUTHOR'S NOTE a short story I wrote during a period of writing and art block. well, it ain't that short anymore 💀

“Huh.. What should I do?” You pouted with your head buried deep inside your arms as another art block hit you like a truck.

Studies had by far consumed your life to the point you couldn’t grab the paintbrush between your fingers and create something, and now that the semester had ended, that you had free time laid across in front of you like a vast ocean waiting for you to swim through it, you couldn’t.

It was as if something is holding you back which had you wondering if this was the end for your childhood passion?

Draw something simple. You thought. But it seriously ain’t that simple to brush the tips of your paintbrush against the gigantic canvas. Still.. You lowered your neck, utimately focusing your orbs onto your paper, hoping or waiting for something to come out of it.

What would it be? A person? A furniture? The nightsky? The empty can on the edge of the desk beside you? What is it?

Your finger swayed the paintbrush across the canvas over and over again but to your dismay, nothing came out of it — only scribbles of something you couldn’t comprehend, in which you originally thought of a house.

Your phone's screen turns on with a notification popping up along the lockscreen.

[11:49PM] Somi<3: hiyaa, the competition’s gettin close :( i’m nervous

[11:49PM] you: that’s fine *patpat* you’re so good at art, pretty sure you’ll get top 1 yk

[11:56PM] Somi<3: reallyyy? ><

[11:57PM] you: ofc ofc, now just get to your hmw and just keep practicing :3

The flamboyant flower showcasing it’s magnificent beauty up on the ceiling, the engraved pattern across your ceilings, you remember that you once stepped on the ladder when your parents were renovating your room and you took the chance to did so despite the danger. Painting over the ceiling with the pink-stained paint brush between your tiny fingers, with a smile so wide and bright, eyes crinkling to half moons as you did so.

Well, the flower you drew turn out horrible to say the least, with the outline wavery and inconsistent, the colours were not bold enough on some parts and some of them going past the outline.

Eyebrows twitching upon the sight, you scoffed in a lighthearted laugh. No matter how ugly it was to be honest, it had managed to stay that long.

Long enough to not be erased by the changes of time, the plants grew old, the furniture had their paints peeled off, the tv in the living room had begun glitch off, the store you’ve been to had been shut down for whatever reason, and even the star in the sky exploded to ashes when the time has come. But for whatever reason it has, the flower you drew on the ceiling yet still manage to look as beautiful as ever. You let out a giggle at the thought of that maybe the drawn flower had a purpose that’s why it was still boldly alive in sight.

Without much thought and the smile still ever so bright on your lips, you begun to draw on the paper with the flower in thought—wishing for your efforts to pay off, cause that's how it works right?

However, jokes on you, your efforts was futile.

Truly futile.

Your vision turning into a field of vagueness as your tears drowned you into the deep ocean — those that held spike up thorns below the sea.

Why are you crying? Why aren’t you fighting back?

Tightening your fist so tight that your nails began to hurt your palms, there was nothing really left to fight back anymore since you aint got nothing left anymore when the fruits of your efforts were ripped away from you with no mercy nor one glance of contempt for all of their eyes were on—

Her.

“Somi! Congratulations! You did really well!”

A giggle so loud and so annoying it clutches your heart within, there she was in her brightest glory; bouquets of flowers beneath her arms, bright blonde silk hair going down her uniform skirt—those that you once brushed with a hair comb back then. That piece of beige hairband that had the signature butterfly pattern on it, one that matched with the one on your hair right now.

Seeing her gave you nothing but resentment and anger.

One by one, each and one of them in line up in the stage as they congratulated her for winning the top prize of the masterpiece of an art, something she said was her own.

Bullshit. It wasn't yours. Thus you screamed in the back of your mind, head so low you could see nothing but your tears staining the red carpeted floor. The raging applause submerging you into more pain, pain and pain! You couldn’t take it anymore, the scene that mocks you to your very core; the girl that you claim as your bestfriend stole everything from you and yet, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to stand up and walk straight to her and give her a piece of your mind.

For it’s no use, the only thing it would do was ruin your reputation and you can’t do that. You know you can’t do that. You can’t..

You stood up on your feet with eyes glaring deep at the girl herself, who in turn finally noticed you after awhile. Your breath hitched in so deep when you observed the corner of her lips tugging up to her cheeks, and her brown orbs stared at you in a mere contempt.

That alone was sufficient for one sentence to arise inside your starving soul for revenge, You’ll fall. Just like that flower behind you. One day you will.

At last, you turned your back out of spite–full in rage as you did so. With the spectacle of a scene behind you holding a thousand emotions of joy, flashes of camera filled the entire room.

“Somi! Look at here!”

“1, 2..” flashes of the camera consumed the entire space every few seconds, “3!”

“The painting truly is breathtaking, isn’t?” two women from behind marvels at the colossal canvas before them.

“Truly it is, that painter is so talented it’s making me jealous.” The other in turn, giggled.

“Well, it does takes an effort to reach such prestigious level.”

You returned home, dropping your bag on the ground as you did so, taking the jug to pour a water in the glass. The dim light from outside reflected against the glass, forming a sea-like diamonds. But you knew, it didn’t came from the glass.

Your source of inspiration, your muse. All was vain, truly futile. Hoping that it would turn out well. Except it didn’t turn well.

Your very source of inspiration and effort had been stolen, now leaving you with nothing but emptiness. You were nothing and you had nothing now.

The wooden paintbrush snapped into separate pieces as you smashed it against the floor, a mockery metaphor of yourself. It has been months. Months it was since that incident occured and ever since then you couldn’t find the heart to lay the tip of the paintbrush against the canvas anymore.

As if something was missing from your heart, what is this? It felt like you no longer have the love for painting anymore, it felt like there was nothing to let out anymore even when you have dozens and dozens of ideas kept hidden in your journal, something you occasionally wrote onto whenever you had burst of ideas.

And yet, when you took them out, when you tried to paint again—there was no beat that rang through your ears and hug your heart. It’s suffocating. It’s too empty.

“I don’t like.. To paint anymore?..” a question you laid out against yourself, merely vibrating through the entire studio. Your dark orbs fell on your palms as you splayed it before you, “Please.. Come back.”

“Give it up, (Name). There’s no way you could do anything against her parents..” your classmate mumbled as she took another bite from her ice cream. "You can always make another painting again?"

Those words rang deep in your mind, mocking your very soul. It ain't that easy. Pouring your entire soul to a creating a piece is like raising your own child with utmost affection and care, and to have it mercilessly rip apart from you is akin to ripping your soul away as well.

A hollow, hollow hole inside your body that you were unable to see—only grew even bigger and wider.

Weeping in the corner of your room, as you buried your face in comfort of your arms. “W-was it my fate that it had to be this way?”

「6 YEARS LATER」

“I apologise but we don’t take any customers who don’t do an appointment first.” the man apologetically bow down, surprised you were but didn’t protest.

How could you? You gulped down your throat in embarrassment as your orbs darted around the studio's signboard;

Quite a bit embarrassed to say the least that you didn’t plan it first but what can you do? You bow down parallel to the ground, turning towards the street as impatience consumed you. You raise your wrist, staring at your watch with the small arrow pointing towards 11 am—a few hours left before 4pm—the ticking clock signifying the end.

You couldn't afford to wait another week and find another tattoo store. Not anymore.

It has been 6 years since that fateful day, a horrendous fate you simply wishes you could forget but life is too miserable to let you to even do so—not when your eyes fell on the devil—your ex best-friend's face was splattered on the billboard, interviews, offers, every single thing had her on the pinnacle of the world.

Because of your artwork. From the very beginning, it’s not that she wasn’t good at art, heck she was talented in it but didn’t care enough to put an effort for the final competition. She even told you and persuade you to join instead, but foolish you were that you didn’t realise she was a double edge sword. Two parts of you were wishing for her demise, and another wishing that she would soon realise her mistake and come begging at you but you know that won’t happen.

The world, and it’s people are far too prideful to admit their mistakes, after all. We all trample on each other, and only very few people can manage to be selfless. It’s not that being selfish is bad, nor being selfless is—and there will be a time where we are forced to put ourself or another, yet what you couldn’t accept was when they deliberately chose to do so.

That’s what you can never forgive. It’s unforgivable.

6 horrendous years of lifetime wasted upon a single betrayal—back then you were 19, now you were 25.

Since the days of your spring, you always wanted to have a tattoo, not a flamboyant one, a simple one that is for a simple reminder to accompany you throughout your life but now you couldn't have thought that it would be through this way.

A few days ago, you've heard that Somi's public fansign will be held at the city, which is today. You've been waiting for this very day. Clutching the labeled tiny bottle in your hands had you taking a deep breathe, fear consumed your veins as you imagine how her face would evaporate once you threw this on her. Sure, you were breathing but there was no root of life anywhere inside you anymore, so why would she?

Today should be her last day, however she should be grateful as she won't be alone in the underworld, after all. You'll escort her back to where she truly belongs judging by what she did to you.

“Miss!" You paused on your tracks immediately. "You don’t have to leave, I can do it for you.” a breathless sigh emits from the man behind you.

“But—! That’s against the rules. You knew Sir. Park would-”

“It’s okay, I got my last client done so I’m free anyways. Plus, you wouldn’t blow up my cover, wouldn’t you?”

The other guy ruffled through his hair, simply sighing in return. “Ugh, fine.”

A chuckle emits from the person who called for you. “I knew I could count on you.”

You slowly turned to the man in question—jet black shirt, rolled over sleeves, tall frame, black slicked hair, pair of silver round earrings, metal piercing on the top of his ear, tattoos of what you make out to be florals adorning the left side of his neck since his collars hid almost a part of it, and that radiant smile of his. His eyes glowing and his cheeks growing—a stark contrast from his outer appearance.

Hot. That's it. He's drop dead hot.

"Miss—" the man's gleaming eyes fell on your shorter frame, pausing for a millisecond before clearing his throat, gesturing his hands inside the studio. "This way."

"U-uhm, thank you."

He guided you inside the shop where a leather foldable chair was laid across the centre of the room, and a bunch of containers with tools specifically made for tattooing was placed on the table.

You sat on top of it, making yourself comfortable but somehow you choke on your saliva when the boy sat on another chair, leaning a tad bit close far to your own liking. Or was it just really your first time that the close proximity caught you off guard?

"So?" almost akin to a dropping melody, your stomach evaporates with his voice much to your surprise. "What kind of tattoo would like to have on your skin?” He asked, still having radiance adorning his face, the question were voice out too lively and joyous for no reason.

He's hot. You gotta admit that, but drooling at this point won't get you anywhere. Too bad, you met him a tad bit late or else you would've make a first move.

"M-miss?"

"Oh! My bad, my bad." You brush it off nonchalantly, clearing your throat.

Seems like this type of job doesn't do any justice to him, in your opinion. You’d expected that tattooist would perhaps be cold and indifferent, however he was no close to your impression of one. But does your opinion matter? So you kept it and stayed silent from voicing out such hasty words just like before.

“A flower.” you fiddled through your bag, mentally cussing yourself for a whole minute before your fingers came into contact with the cold metal—finally swiping through your gallery and handing your phone to the man.

His dark brown orbs beams alike the sun rays as a noticeable grin pulled up within his cheeks which made you raised your eyebrow in confusion.

"I have the same tat, if you want to see just for example of how it would look like on yours." Excitement laced his voice.

Appalled by his suggestion, you simply replied. "Sure."

Jay didn't expected you to simply agree so quick, which had him letting out a few coughs in attempts to conceal his initial shock.

Quite flustered inside but his outer demeanour remain calm and composed as his fingers made their way through the hem of his collars, each one unbuttoning his shirt till it was enough for his collarbone and chest to be half exposed, revealing the masterpiece adorning his skin.

You didn't expect yourself to be this surprised or even speechless, yet it was truly gorgeous over how the patterns were carefully drilled into his skin and how the outline were so bold and lively despite its colours being only grey and black. You almost forgot that you loathe this flower alot, to be honest.

You inhaled a deep breathe, blinking utterly slow to take in the beauty. "So pretty. D-did you got this from someone or?"

"I did it myself.." Jay replied in a nonchalant manner, yet goosebumps washed over his skin as you leaned closer observing his tattoos in amazement. His orbs rattled against the walls, trying his best to avoid looking at you. Now that he wonder after an eternity watching the walls, has it always been this dirty? Gulping with his lips pressed tight. "W-would you like the exact same as this then, or something different?"

He breathe a long sigh after you fixed your posture, his hands fiddled the hems of his black sleeve to dampened his rampant heart—wondering if you could hear it a moment ago.

"Something like this, however I think.. It would look like we are having matching tattoos then.” You let out a small giggle at that thought, rosy hues dusted off his cheeks when you mention that particular sentence. “Ah, I want it to have a color then. That way, it won’t seem like it.”

Jay's nails dug under his chair, his arms frozen as he processed your words from within.

"Did I said?.."

"No, no— Nothing wrong with that." You observed him pressing his lips tight in an awkward manner as he stood up, the chair creaking as he did so. Standing he did, before the shelves filled with numerous ink bottles of all colours and shades. His hand gestured over them, attentive he was you observed, seemingly waiting for your answer. "I’ll get the color for you then.. Which one?”

"Hm,” pointing your index finger towards the ink bottle with the label, “Red”

His fingers quickly wrapped itself around the bottle, focusing on the label for a good three seconds looking back at you, pulling up a small smile. “Red, I see? That’s a pretty good choice. It’s apparently rare for me to have clients choosing red for tats.”

“Really? That’s new to me.”

“Yep, then.. what kind of red would you like on your camellia?” Again, he stood before a shelf with red ink bottles with all different shades.

Sighing, you stood up, brushing the bottles but not almost to avoid being rude by touching someone’s else personal tools and supplies. It didn’t go unnoticed how the young man beside you, were immensely focused at where your fingers go on about.

“How about ruby?” you gestured your index finger towards the specific labeled bottle, a memory of the gigantic canvas flashes through your mind. “ I don’t like it too bright, actually.” Better if it’s darker in shade—that it would serve her mind till engraved in her soul, the very fruit of her own actions towards you.

Jay lapped his tongue over his lower lip, gulping down his throat as he nodded. “Very well then.”

Nodding as you went back to your seat, it caught you off guard when your eyes fell on the man. Clearing your throat to get his attention, "U-uhm, sir?"

His left eyebrow raised in confusion, doe eyes enveloping your form and it didn't help at all with what you're seeing right now.

"Your shirt.." you held the need to say anything further considering how his eyes ogled out at his exposed torso, giggling awkwardly he did as he buttoned his shirt back. "L-let's get it started then?"

"Alright!"

"So, where do you want to have it on your skin?" He asked, which to you was a bit vague. "On your arm? Your hand? Or.. your back?"

"Hm?" Your eyebrow furrowed at every body part he mentioned, and it only deepens the more your brain processed it. Oh fuck, right. How did I even forgot? "H-ow about m-my neck?"

Pain, that's all you thought. But you seriously wanted the tattoo to be as obvious as fuck for your ex best friend's eyes to ogle at. So you were in utter dilemma. "It.. doesn't hurt that bad, right..?"

"The neck is the most painful part to get a tattoo."

Well shit, I'm screwed. You whimpered as your back slouched in devastation, forget about revenge—you're seriously a dumbo for doing a last minute plan. Your eyes darting over the wall and to the patient man standing before you, you held the need to pout.

Jay noticing your dilemma, cleared his throat. "How about the side of your neck? Just like mine? It doesn't hurt that bad, actually."

"Are.. you sure?" Forming a comforting smile, he nodded. "Alright.."

"Alright! So.." Jay held the need to blink like a maniac as he gestured to your collar, "Your collar, we need to tattoo the side.. of your neck right?"

"Huh..?"

Oh.. right. How did you even forget? Your cheeks began to heat up by the thought as you slowly unbuttoned your shirt, your shoulders slightly exposed as it dangled off.

Your body froze on it's own when his delicate touch brushes against your bare arms, his right hand pulling up your right sleeve back to your shoulder. You didn't realise him closing the distance with you as you were in your deep thought, holding your head low in attempts to avoid his dark grey orbs looking into your soul. Yet his voice causes tingles around your neck, goosebumps washing over your skin.

"We just need the side of your neck, okay..?" Delicate to touch, the twinkles of his eyes met yours. "Relax."

Those blooming bouquets—a symbol of mockery to you along with the gigantic canvas you've created with nothing but pure efforts were presented before everyone as her's. Those silky blonde hair that dangled off her shoulders simply flooding your eyes with tears. That smug look of hers that resurfaced after people were gone, which was evidently for you.

A set of bustling applauses filled the space, a melody to her ears and a mockery to your existence—causing the ground beneath you to shatter into a neverending hollow sinkhole.

“Agh!-”

The sight of the beige-coloured ceiling was what met your wide shot eyes for a whole minute before the drilling pain brought you back to reality, causing your mouth to hang apart—whimpering with every contact of the needle.

“It might hurt, but it has to be something you got to bear if you want the camellia on your skin..”

You almost forgot, how could you even? Your dazed orbs slowly fell on his face as he keeps talking to you even when you couldn't really understand him—his voice soothes the strings of your heart so much it had you calm down instantly despite the tip of the needle punching under your skin every millisecond.

Vagueness encircled around your vision, yet his portrait remain crystal clear due to the close proximity—his faint cherry lips moving with motion as he uttered inaudible words, the set of dust particles fleeting across the tip of his nose, hitting the sun rays from behind him. His eyelashes fluttering in a delicate motion as he remained immensely focused—he seems fitted enough to be your muse, doesn't he?

"You slept really well." He said, causing your cheeks to burn in embarrassment. Now that he mentioned it, you did slept judging by how much time had passed since the session started.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, wondering if you were his only client that fell asleep during session. Holding the need to cringe as you imagine yourself sleeping ever so comfortably before a stranger. "U-uh? Am I the..?"

He hummed in return, but before you could even explode. "It's nice though, that's how I know I'm doing good." The apples of his cheeks grew wider, melting your heart to a dripping honey.

At some point, the pain was nonexistent, partly of it because of his advice, and partly was observing him throughout the entire session.

“If I may ask, why do you want to have a flower as a tattoo?” He asked, which to you was kind of abrupt.

“Don’t you have any customers that like a flower tattoo before?” you asked him suspiciously in which he let out a soft giggle, amused by your reaction.

He shook his head ever so little as he smiled, “Of course I did, just a bit curious about.. you.”

Huh, flirty I see. You hummed inside your head, a bit amused.

"I could say the same thing to you too, why of all things—a flower was your last pick?" you asked him.

"It saved my life."

Ha, saved his life? What a stark contrast that flower did to you and him. While it saves him, it brings destruction to you instead. These ferocious petals serve a whole different meaning to you and him.

"You?.."

“There isn’t anything interesting in particular, just something I..” you paused in between, trying to carefully pick out your words, “Have to do in order to make something alive again.”

“I understand.” his lips tugged up in a small smile, and the rest soon formed into a calming solitude. You expected him to raise another question out of curiosity but to your surprise, he didn't. Somehow, it brought a calming river to your heart that he simply choses not to.

You weren’t quite sure if he notice since he was too absorbed in what he was doing which is pretty understandable, either way you watched him as if he was a scenery or more like a season, if it was a season then—cold spring would be the perfect season to describe him altogether.

He’s hot, you gotta admit. Not that you were so into him, but you gotta give it to the fact that he had that aura that somehow pulls you into wanting to know more about him, atleast, or you can call it curiosity at the best.

“Your name?” you blurted out without much thought. After all, what could go wrong in asking a simple name? After all, this would be the last time.

“M-my name?”

“Hm.. yes.” you raised your eyebrow at him, noticing that he’s a bit slow at picking things up despite his cold upfront aura.

“Jay. You can call me Jay.” he looks down, eyelashes fluttering.

“Mr. Jay.." the name tasted like melody on your tongue, "Suits you pretty well.”

You could notice that he was truly shy, a stark contrast from the tats adorning the side of his neck and down to his arms. “What’s yours?..”

“(Name).”

“It suits you too, (Name).” Simple and straightforward, yet it felt so comforting to hear him imitate your way of speech.

“Thank you-” your breath caught in the back of your throat when his pretty dark orbs looked deep into your soul.

“S-sorry.” He mumbled as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Never mind bout it,” you brush it off, but appalled by those unusual reactions that you can’t seem to get used to. “I-it hurts.. though."

“Oh right-”

He hummed in the back of his throat, those chords of his voice vibrating through your eardrums as the passage of time flowed. The chill atmosphere enveloped your form—despite the drilling tool under your inner skin—hushing you back to slumber despite your efforts trying to resist it. However pitch darkness consumed your vision, and you heard his voice echoing through your slumber. "Sleep well, miss."

Jay observes your eyes falling into deep slumber, taking another look at the labeled 'ruby' bottle for a few moments and back again to your ragged out form that he somehow founds to be emitting solemn. You seem tired, sad, and that you seem to have been crying for god knows how long, it was a baseless assumption, for sure. But he could feel it. Somehow, you reminded him of the day he was like you before.

Softened breeze a few minutes ago has formed into a harsh punch to his face, that belongs to a particular someone as he to felt it against his skin.

“You can’t see a thing! How can you even paint? How can you even?!”

Cans of filled up paints scattered on the floor, while the the dripping colourful shades dripped from his splayed fingers to the ground, biting his lip in desperation, he answered in full blown outrage.

“It’s not my fault that I can’t see anything! Besides, color is not the only medium for art!”

“This won’t do, this is hopeless. You’re hopeless.” The man shook his head, eyes filled with both contempt and annoyance, and with that he stormed off. “Give up, people like you who can never see colors aren’t fitted for this industry. Just give up, Jay."

The thought of his father's words voicing it rang like an ominous bell across the empty labyrinth of the mind and heart of the young man himself.

The door slammed before his solemn, broken form, drenched on colours he could never had the chance to differentiate.

Voice so hoarse it sound so pitiful with the mixture of the empty nightsky. He looks up to prevent any more tears to fall down his cheeks. "What a joke..” a breathless sigh puff up in the air mixing with the tiny dust orbs, tears of moonlight called out for help. “Ah. Was it fate that I had to be born this way?”

He turns his phone open after a short sigh of pain, ragged fingers and chip nails scrolls through the countless pictures of stranger splattered across the internet—smiles, laughter, eyes crinkling akin to half moons with their fingers wrapped around the shiny wine glass as they raise it up to the ceiling, another one has their parents standing on their either side for their graduation photo, swipe down a tiny bit more—and a sweet picture perfect of a small family reflected against his dark orbs.

“Huh..?” the tip of his finger glued against the glowing screen as his eyes hovered on it, pupil dilating as it continued to observe the painting slowly. His breath caught to the very back of his throat, his lungs tightening as it took all it got, tongue remain frozen to the edges of his teeth as his mind tried to make out of what he was seeing.

Monochromes. The shades akin to a graveyard and the deafening silence of crow engulfing his sight but.. Intricate patterns of something flew across his eyes, where was it? He looked up, head snapping to where that object flew to. Gone. Gone it was.

What was that? He looked down at his phone again, the painting; the canvas was massive, with dried acrylic paint on the edges, and the composition laying on between where it’s main character was no man nor woman, nor a child nor an animal, neither a furniture nor a statue but..

A single flower standing out against everything.

“It’s so b-beautiful..” sniffing as he stuttered, pausing in between as he finally kept his eyes closed, not noticing that he had it opened wide and bright in taking the colossal beauty of it that it had grew dry with the wind hitting right against it. As he fluttered it open, his eyes was greeted by the mesmerizing beauty once again.

He couldn’t make out of what kind of color it was yet it’s wholly captivating, perfectly showcasing the artistic skills of the creator—efforts evident, and passion enveloping the gigantic canvas.

“I wonder what is it called?”

An unnamed flower unfolding it’s monochrome robes to the core of his heart, it felt as if he finally had a reason to live for.

"Camellia." Jay breathe out as he meticulously drilled the ink into your skin, taking a form of the flower he wholeheartedly adore. Flowers, it was surely not his first time to have a client wishing for a flower as a tattoo, and surely you won't be the last client either. But the fact that you asked for a specific flower that holds a tremendous meaning to him—brought him inner solace and bliss that you gave him the chance to do so.

For sure, it wasn't probably your intention. But Jay still would like to think of that, nevertheless.

Imitation is the best form of flattery, it shows how you're adamant and determined to be as skilled as the one you look up to regardless of art form. As the passage of time stretched even further, so does the artist himself; each soul grows to their own uniqueness.

And to Jay, himself—he aspires to be as good as the artist that created the painting—the fact that the artist had such blazing passion and skills that it brought the whistles of life to his soul, brought him a tiny doses of envy. But it was those emotions, that kept him going through all seasons despite the obstacles.

His eyes fell on your sleeping face once again, wishing for you to be happy once you see it, hoping that it would bring you the same effect the way it did to him. "(Name)."

"Just give up," familiarity yet indifference laced the blonde haired's aura, her crimson lips pulled up to her cheeks—forming a menacing smirk. "No one would believe you, (Name)."

Rattling orbs shot wide open, your hands clutched your chest—rampant heart behind those ribs vibrating through your eardrums. The dream, no the memories—pulling you back to your ugly reality.

Confused, you raised your eyes—looking for Jay, yet he was nowhere to be found in the midst of the silent space. Your eyes fell upon the clock on the wall before you, it’s arrows pointing towards a sunset hour making your jaw dropped slightly.

2:54pm—exactly one hour left before the fateful hour. You faltered for too long, didn’t you?

"Hey, you're awake." Jay's long fingers fiddled deep his pockets, approaching you from behind.

"Oh, um. Why didn't you wake me up?"

Taken aback but regained his composure just as quickly, "Just.. you've been sleeping really well. So I thought I'd let you get a few more hours, you know."

"Ah," you found yourself a tad bit wavered by his words, tucking the hair strands covering your vision behind your ear. A genuine smile adorned your lips, feeling grateful for his seemingly insignificant consideration. "Thank you.."

“No p-problem, so why don’t you look at it?” Jay's eyes darted over the chair beside him, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked back at you again, on a particular spot on your neck.

Only then you realise the stinging pain on your collarbone. You turned towards the mirror behind you, stroking your finger against the faint red and stinging spot.

It hurts. But it was worth it as the engraved intricate petals adorning your neck, was a sugary sight to your eyes. “It’s so pretty.” you swallowed a lump of saliva down your throat in attempts to prevent the salty tears forming in your eyes, for it truly was breathtaking to look at.

You captured the sight of his familiar beaming smile harmonising with his eyes as always from the mirror's reflection, evidently proud of his artwork adorned on your skin.

Smiling at yourself, you swiftly turn the chair facing him. Standing up on your feet, you leaned in closer—not that close, but enough to take some reaction out of him that you wanted to see once more before you go. One last time.

“Thank you, Mr. Jay.” you said, "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have the chance to.. you know."

“I-it’s my pleasure, Miss (Name).” he looks away, abashed in silence yet the rosy hues on the apple of his cheeks were giving it away for you.

“Well then, I’d have to go.”

You weren't sure if it was a fragment of your imagination—that his dark grey orbs seems to lose sun rays within it. However the twinkles of his eyes returned as he gave another smile to you clenched your heart this time, as you walked through the hallway you entered a few hours ago. Feeling a bit emotional, unfortunately.

Pausing just before the entrance's edge, turning your heels around to take another look at your favourite smile, “I wish you a good day.”

"Have a good day, too." Jay nodded, feeling a bit lost at the sight of the soft strands of your hair flowing down the twinkle of your half-moon smiles as it reflected in grey hues of the sunlight.

Facing the long street ahead of you with a decided destination, you raise your arms—waving your hand at the boy without looking back. You weren't sure if he was still there, maybe.. he wasn't looking anymore. You didn't dare to turn your head so as to not raise any hope, not anymore. Not gonna lie, you wish you could stay a bit more.

A destination that leads to the root of your destruction, would you atleast try to hold yourself? Maybe not, this tattoo on your neck serves a reminder of your ruined life—to finally get it even with her.

Coal washes over Jay's vision like fleeting dust.

He, himself, had always been in a state of dust particles washing over his monochrome vision. Just like right now as he watches your figure walking off the street— fleeting particles follow you from behind, encircling around your motion. The colours he couldn't see are for sure muted and distant, however your energy brought this monochromes into blooming hues.

Somehow it also feels odd to see the flower he adores on a girl he barely knew, a simple name that he can only taste on the tip of his tongue.

But all it was to him, was akin to ashes of coal in different shades. However, you stood and went away in the brightest shade of coal despite the colourless land. Your hair swaying with the breeze as you walk off, the way you carried yourself was something that he couldn't fathom.

Somehow, an ominous thought washes over the back of his mind, constantly pushing it further; would you float away like the passing clouds and never return again? He shakes off the thought, letting out an awkward chuckle. What would he gain from this either way? You were just another client, after all.

Another client.

“Miss!”

Feet stuck on the ground after his voice flew into your ears, your stomach grew butterflies as you turned your head over your shoulder to look at the distraught boy.

“What’s the matter.. Mr. Jay?”

Jay gulped down his throat, avoiding your gaze as he approached you like the motion of fleeting petals. His feet betraying his initial thoughts, causing him to look even more distraught. “I— ah.. forgot to say, but.. you have to come here next week to check your tat twice just for safety measures, you know.”

“Next week?..” raising your eyebrow at the thought, you were appalled that you even hesitated. There’s no more next week, nor a tomorrow—it’s all pointless. Your glistened orbs fell on your dappled yellow shoes. “I don’t think I can. But I appreciate it, Mr. Jay."

His hands behind his back formed into a slight fist.

"B-but.. I don't think the camellia's gonna survive if you let it just like that, you know." Jay took two steps closer, his feet stuck on the ground as the firm breeze brushed the monochrome petals on the side of his neck, just like the freshly engraved on yours. "The colours, I mean."

"Huh..?"

Now that you look at him with the golden hues of the sun infused in his eyes like honey, you've come to notice the desperation, determination and hope evident inside those softened orbs, and most importantly—the silent blooming of affection.

“Would you come?”

#「 talesofyuan 」 fics #enha #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen scenarios #enha fanfic #enhypen x female reader #enha jay #jay enhypen #jay x reader #enhypen jay #enhypen fluff #enha fluff #enha angst

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mysillyside · 10 months

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Was nobody gonna tell me Grelle has not one, but TWO character songs sung by Jun Fukuyama (Grelle's VA)??? And they go so hard both lyrically, musically and vocally???

Shinkou:

Kill in the Heaven:

I added the lyrics below!

Shinkou Lyrics:

The afterimage floating in the moonlit night

is my transient black memory.

In a distorting morning of disgrace,

I sail a voyage of corruption.

If it's an unrequited love,

then at least let us bond in the other world...

I've been making that wish countless times,

like a beast hungry for your blood!

I am after all Butler Death, always ready to kill you or our love.

The curtain that's dyeing the earth red, I'll kick it into pieces.

The cinematic records and the films of souls and memories

are what I earnestly seek, as I strum my blood-stained delusions.

Tonight I've just had a very faint dream,

where I delineate, with my sneering blade,

the eccentricity of the death gods,

in the moonlight.

The old folklore and also some red whine,

please allow me to feed them to you mouth-to-mouth...

As I dye that wish red with blood,

my trap starts to dazzle, as if to numb you.

And still I am Lady Death, always dressed extravagantly.

Being rained down by bloody tears, I dig my nails into the night sky.

In the analog cinematic records, we make lewd noises, heat hazes,

shrouded in drifting ecstasy, inflict woulds to each other, and then start drowning away.

I am after all Butler Death, a brightly crimson butterfly.

As I send a red sigh into the empty air, it blows through and shakes the curtain.

The enticement of love stabs through the cinematic records,

while I simply yearn for a deep crimson dream in the eternity of a brief instant.

Kill in the Heaven Lyrics:

Darling, at some point in the future,

I will sleep in your cuddling hug,

and we will even share the same dream.

I will casually recall and imagine,

from looking at my cup of black tea,

our crimson kiss and rosy secret.

In this eternity of an instant where we've just met,

I'll start weaving our red string of fate.

The feeling of loving you can be summarized as

scorching-hot red blood cells and difficulty to breathe.

If I affix my light-pink heartbeats right next to my window...

Oh my! My heart suddenly feels apprehensive!

Darling, do you feel it?

This miracle that our heartbeats

are horsing around under the night sky.

Unintentionally, I've placed

on the table a bouquet, some lies,

and a crazily raging love song.

I want us to cuddle close in this small red-roofed house,

and together greet the arrival of every morning.

So sweet that I could just die with you,

I'd tickle you into a bittersweet waking in the morning--

--that's how much I'm crazy for you.

In the maze, I murmur to you with my heart-burning tears:

"Ah, in a chapel as white as cotton candy,

I'll walk down the aisle with you in a red wedding dress...

The path would be as radiant as heaven itself...

And then we'll be bonded together forever...!"

You feel both so close to and so far away from me,

and even that aggravating distance of yours is so lovely!

Even if everything were just a dream,

I'll just kill our profusely blooming love in the heaven.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #grell sutcliff #grelle sutcliff #jun fukuyama #💬 katposts #📌 fandom resources

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bluelancess · 3 months

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Midnight Blooms | Elriel AU chapter 2/?

Sports romance, college AU.

Summary: When Elain is told by her father, a ruthless politician, that she is to marry the son of one of his closest friends, Lucien Vanserra, to assure her father’s win on the next election, she has no other choice but to agree. What she never expected was her convictions being tested by a tall, devastatingly beautiful black-haired hockey player who moved in right next door. And if there was one thing Elain was certain of, was that Azriel posed a dangerous threat to the previously dormant desires roaming inside her. And she needed to stay far, far away from him.

Tags: forbidden love, arranged marriage, forced proximity, modern setting, slow burn

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Read on AO3.

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Chapter 2

I notice everything you do or don't do

AZRIEL

Cassian hits my shoulder hard with one of his huge hands as soon as the main door to the girl’s house closes, and none of them are looking at us anymore. He has probably been waiting to punch me since the invite for the party escaped my lips.

Good thing he didn’t aim for the jaw or cheekbone, although we do have a no-face-punching rule, but Cassian tends to forget it pretty often. Or at least that’s how he excuses himself every fucking time.

“What the fuck was that, Az?” He grunts my way. “You want to kill our party before it even starts?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell him, taking a couple steps back, I’m holding my third bottle of beer in my right hand, it’s almost over, the liquid pretty much room temperature.

Last semester, when we lived in that awful one bedroom apartment near campus, parties were one hundred percent off limits. We didn’t even have a living room, for fuck’s sake. The kitchen consisted of the tiniest little oven ever, and a sink that barely fit two plates and a mug. Granted, the rent was cheap. So cheap, we could spend the rest of our money on take-out, liquor and WiFi, which is pretty much all you need to survive college.

But a couple weeks before finals, the whole building was infested with the fattest, and ugliest rats I’ve ever seen, Cassian even made a sport out of getting the little fuckers out of the apartment, and I guess it was a silent agreement that we couldn’t stay there for another year. No fucking way.

So I saved every penny I got from all the jobs my boss assigned me during the summer. Yes, maybe not all of them were entirely legal, but they payed generously and in cash, how was I supposed to pass the opportunity when it got us this amazing house? It is only a bonus that we have three, hot as fuck neighbors. Almost like the universe is rewarding us for all the shit it made us go through when we were children.

About fucking time.

“Dramatic? I’ve been planning this thing for weeks,” Cassian says, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. “It’s the last time I can get properly drunk before practice starts. Coach is a pain in the ass with his no-drinking-during-the-season-or-get-the-fuck-out rule, and you know it.”

“Let’s go inside,�� Rhys says, leaving the end of the sentence hanging unsaid in the air, but I imagine it would go as something like: you uncivilized brutes.

“You’re just proving my point, Cass,” I say, hiding a smile, looking over my shoulder one last time at the house on the other side of the street, I stop on my tracks when I see the curtain of the kitchen window rustle. Are they still watching us?

Is she still watching us?

The pretty, quiet one. Fuck, I couldn’t look away from those big, sweet eyes and those full, pink lips. I’d die to just give them a little taste, a tiny bite until she’s melting and moaning against me. I remember her from last year. We took a class together, I’m pretty sure she never really noticed me. She sat at the front, I sat on the back. She was quiet, so shy, did all the group assignments on her own, and always got the highest grade. The professor used to be a jerk and tease her because she was so smart, but so damn quiet she never showed how fucking intelligent she was to the rest of the class. I had to fight the urge to kick his ugly ass whenever he started his shit with her.

It made the whole class laugh at her expense, the fucking asshole.

I admit my reasons for inviting them to the party were completely selfish. I saw an opportunity and took it. Now, the real surprise would be if she actually shows up tomorrow night.

“I also think it is a good idea to have them over for the party,” Rhysand says, putting one hand on my left shoulder, and the other on Cassian’s, guiding us inside the house. “They won’t call the cops if they’re having a good time. Right, Az?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

“Oh, come on, you two,” Cassian shakes his head like his disappointed. “Always thinking with your dicks.”

“Not my problem that girl is giving you blue balls.” I say, walking a bit faster to get away from him before he decides to punch something other than my shoulder.

Cassian grunts.

“Is that why you’ve been so moody all summer?” Rhys asks lifting a brow, and Cass shoots him a death glare. “Wait, don’t tell me you fell in love with this girl after just one night, Cassian. We’re not fifteen anymore”

“Shut up, asshole.”

“I’m just saying.” Rhys lifts both hands in the air, innocently.

I smile, watching them. We’ve been together, the three of us, since we were little kids. Pretty much fending for ourselves in a world that doesn’t like people like us. Alone, but never really lonely. From foster home to foster home. By some miracle, we were always placed together in different families. Five to be exact. Most kicked us out after a couple months, claimed we were too much to handle, or whatever the fuck that means.

We were children, noisy, curious, maybe a little too energetic, but they wanted us to behave like robots, follow orders to a tee, never complain, and of course, they wanted the government’s money. Turns out, dealing with us wasn’t worth the little compensation they were receiving, so ultimately all of them ended up throwing us back into the black whole we came from.

Everything changed when we got to Gramps and Nana’s house. Recently retired, house empty after their biological kids were all grown up and left, they decided to take us in. Treated us like their own. It was so unlike every single other house we’d been at, the we contemplated running away the first two weeks. It felt too good to be true. Almost like a trap.

Nana won us over with her killer brownies and Gramps taught us everything he knew about hockey.

We wouldn’t be here without them.

“Well, don’t ask,” Cassian starts walking up the stairs, like the subject actually bothers him, which is completely unusual for him. “I’m telling you guys, those girls are going to be nothing but trouble.”

Rhys eyes gleam like he’s visualizing exactly what Cassian is referring to, and he’s up for the challenge.

“Isn’t that the fun of it, Cass?” Rhys teases him.

“When you’re the one walking around with blue balls over that girl, Rhys, we’ll talk.”

“Oh, but I won’t.” Rhys’ voice is laced in arrogant confidence.

“She has a boyfriend,” I remind him, nearing our brand new couch in the living room. It’s dark blue, almost black, and it’s huge. It had to be, if it wants to fit the three of us at the same time. Gramps gifted it to us before we moved here, said he couldn’t bare the thought of us sitting on the floor on such a big house. Is pretty much the only piece of decent furniture we own.

“Not for long.” Rhys shrugs, opening the fridge we have in the living room and grabbing another beer. It seemed like a better place than the kitchen, considering that if we’re watching sports we don’t have to walk all the way there to grab something to drink.

Cassian barks a laugh. “You’re too cocky, is going to bite you in the ass.”

“I happen to enjoy ass bites.” Rhys laughs again, and I’m silently glad we’re not fighting.

We hardly ever do.

We’ve been through so much already, always sticking together, and having each other’s back, that there doesn’t seem to be anything that would be important enough for us to fight over.

Cassian shakes his head, and climbs the stairs like he has so much pent up energy he’d like to release. A couple seconds later, he’s blasting music in his bedroom and to probably hide the annoying noise his rusty-ass treadmill makes. It’s so old the damn thing is practically falling apart by just looking at it.

“If I’d known those three lived here, I would’ve moved out from that rat hell a lot sooner,” Rhys says, sitting next to me, and turning on the television, none of us really pay attention to it. I don’t have to look at my brother to know his eyes are also glued to the window right beside the screen, the one that gives us a front row seat to the house in front.

“They moved in last year,” I tell him, taking the beer from his grip to steal a sip.

“You know them?” He asks me, a curious look in his eyes. I know almost everyone. I like to watch people. Listen when they think I’m not paying attention. I happened to learn at a very young age, that information is the real currency of the world. It can get you pretty much anywhere you want to go if you know how to use it correctly.

“Just two of them.” I tell him, giving his beer back. “The third one is probably a freshman. I’d never seen her around here before.”

“I hadn’t seen any of them around here before.”

“Nesta’s pre-law,” I begin to explain. “Has every loser in campus either shitting their pants on her presence or trying to get into her pants.”

“That’s Cassian’s?” Rhys asks, as if it needs confirmation.

“Yup,” I nod. “And Elain… No idea what her major is. She’s pretty reserved, keeps to herself, doesn’t go out much.” I shrug, pretending she doesn’t pique my interest in the slightest, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “I took a class with her last year, I’m guessing she’s maybe an art major.”

Rhys takes a big gulp from his beer. “That leaves us the third sister.”

“Right, the one with the boyfriend.”

“Love it that you keep reminding me,” Rhys shoots me a not so friendly glare.

“There’s a thousand girls on campus that would pretty much give up their first born to sleep with you, Rhys,” I remind him. “No need to want one that’s unavailable.”

“I happen to like challenges.” His shoulders go tense when the door of the house in front of ours opens, and the girl whose name we don’t know yet walks out, some cash on her hand. There’s a bike in the street, some skinny guy pulling handing her two boxes of pizza.

She thanks him with a wide smile, and Rhys takes a long gulp from his beer.

“Yeah, but you’re a sore loser.”

He smiles wickedly at me. “Which only means I have to make sure I don’t lose.”

I roll my eyes, and he simply lets out a dark chuckle. I’m not joking when I say any of us could get literally any girl on campus we wanted. They’re practically drooling at our feet, mostly after games, and the quota of girls drastically increases if we win it. But, after a couple years playing for the Night Beasts, and getting used to the attention, it has only made it… boring. Predictable.

Too easy.

Rhysand grabs the keys of his pick-up truck that were laying on top of the fridge and hands me his half empty beer bottle.

“Where are you going?”

“To buy the best fucking wine I can get my hands on.”

He leaves before I can stop him, and I’m left on my own in the big, dark first floor of the house, surrounded by nothing but shadows, peeking trough the window like a complete stalker, at the way they’re sitting in the kitchen table, eating pizza and laughing. My eyes glued to one of the sisters in particular, her soft smiles, the curve of her neck, her lips wrapping around the straw of her drink, putting such filthy images in my head I force myself to look away, adjust the bulge on my pants and go take a cold shower.

Fuck.

It’s going to be a long year.

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in honor of time magazine softlaunching elriel i decided to post another chapter! I actually never thought people would read it so i'm glad you guys are liking it<333

#elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #pro elain #azriel x elain #acotar #azriel #elain archeron #elriel AU #elriel fanfiction

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pinkhairedlily · 10 months

Text

🌱sasuke grows a garden🌱

“It’s Karin’s idea, just so you know.” Suigetsu easily offers his teammate as the scapegoat. It’s good to scram as early as now, judging by Sasuke’s furrowed brows.

“It was your suggestion!”

“It was supposed to remain in theory! You didn’t have to go and find it!”

Karin attempts an angelic smile as she turns to Sasuke, “We thought it could make you happy. Besides, it’s Jugo who first noticed it.”

Jugo usually does the right thing, but he makes a point to be annoying today. “Happy birthday, Uchiha.”

“A stick.” Sasuke twirls the gift on the ground, hits it against the rock he’s sitting on, and breaks it into two with his knee. Karin and Suigetsu make the wise choice to flee the maelstrom and find mundane things to focus on. He is pissed, rightfully so. He has thrown his past away, and all the things that tie him to it, including dates.

“We’re no gardeners, but at least you can bring something that reminds you of it,” Jugo shrugs. “You always look like you want to grow them.”

He almost discards the brown carcass when the scent of the sap hits him. A subtle floral. Pink buds on bare branches. A season of blooms. He has been looking at those trees for far too long. The broken pieces lie abandoned in the undergrowth, but a small twig makes a home inside his pocket.

It will dry out from the journey, and many times it will almost lose its shelter. But its final resting place will be on hallowed ground, a marker for the sowed.

Soil underneath his fingernails, he brushes away her tears.

“I think I killed your herbs anata.”

“They’re easy to revive, Sakura. Don’t worry about it.”

“The tomato leaves kept curling.”

“It’s just environmental stress.”

“The yuzu isn’t flowering!”

“It’s still too young to produce fruits.”

“I’m really sorry. It was supposed to be your birthday.”

“You’re lucky you married me, but I might need something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Wild—”

“Wildflower?”

“Hot—”

“Pepper?”

“Se—”

Inside the house, Sarada yells, “Papa, come quickly! Your ice cream cake is melting!”

#happy birthday sasuke 2023 #sasusaku #sasusakusara #uchiha family #uchiha sasuke #uchiha sakura #uchiha sarada #mention of team taka!#sssnippetaday #snippet!pinkhairedlily

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mblue-art · 1 year

Note

It’s- uhh… it’s a bit rushed, but I wanted to write you something that would at least somewhat fit this Valentine’s Day. I hope you enjoy my own little version of Lust, though I tried not to describe him too much, just in case you wanted to make up your own image of what he’d might look like as a fairy. I hope you enjoy <3

♡ﾟ+｡.｡+ﾟ’ﾟ+｡.｡+ﾟ♡

You’d been warned of the dangers of entering the forest. Fairies are hidden behind every leaf, every flower, in the bark of the trees, and the soil of the ground. It was already bad enough that they entered the village to cause havoc in early spring, their tiny, and yet sharp teeth ready to feast on the blood on any unsuspecting folk that passed by. Sometimes, they even snuck into their houses.

And yet, it was as though you couldn’t help yourself. On this day, a day of love and affection, you found yourself alone, longing for someone to share your love with, and it had been as though the very forest itself heard you, for a song, not too different from the clang of a small bell, or the tune of a flute, called to you. And feeling your body move on its own, you allowed yourself to be guided.

None thought to stop you. They couldn’t see the distant look in your eyes, the way your legs carried you with such feathery lightness, that it almost looked as if you were about to fly. Shortly, you passed the threshold of the trees, and the world of the big folk grew silent. All you could now hear was the song, and soon, all you could see was a sunlit clearing, in which a fairy sat atop a fallen tree, covered with moss and mushrooms of various kinds. You stopped walking once the light of the sun kissed your skin, and the fairy stopped singing.

His wings, that of a dragonfly, were lowered and unfurled. He was the size of the big folk, your kind, though shorter, and much more delicate. You’d heard about the fairy’s ability to grow taller with the help of their magic, though you had never seen it yourself; until now, that is.

“I could hear your soul,” the fairy said, and his voice was akin to that of the song of birds, beautiful and light. “It cried so sorrowfully, so desperate for love and comfort. How could I ever ignore such a call.”

Your eyes widened as he turned, and your heart bloomed with warmth. His conjured body reminded you of pink crystals you’d seen on display by passing carriages, though unlike their cold and hard exterior, this fairy appeared soft; warm. His bones were near pearlescent, calling to be touched and caressed, though it was his kind smile that drew you in further; urged your legs to move forward.

Only when you were near did he finally reach out to touch you, his hand laid carefully upon your cheek. The lights within his sockets kept your mind in a soothed state, calming you completely.

“Will you leave me once the day is over?” you found yourself asking, afraid that you might never see this lovely fairy again once the sun vanished over the horizon.

“Of course not, my flower. Once a fairy falls in love, they will never truly leave the one whom has taken their soul into their warm hands,” he said, and slowly; tenderly, he kissed you.

You knew of the dangers that came with interacting with fairies, knew of the mischief they committed, and how they rarely did any favours for the big folk, but… Right now, as this fairy of spring, of love, held you so gently and kissed you so sweetly… How could you ever go back to your old life again?

!!! valacre my beloved, hello!! ;w; 💕

fairy,, ,, 🥺💜💜💜 this is very lovely, ur writing is lovely, thank u sm for the crumbs!! happy valentine's day <333

#(he has taken my heart and apparently so have i..!!)#(ough i dont mind startin a new life with he.........in this au ofc ksdjndfjkg/////)#ask #valacre #mblue talks #scenarios #(ough i need to tag the other ones with that.........)#hvd

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bootlegfrank · 2 months

Note

How about Bob asking bride Mikey about Gerard?

So this got a little out of hand,,,, it's 1.2k and under the cut cuz I'm not prepared yet to put this AU on ao3 shdfjkshf

“Mikey?” You call out, cutting yourself off before you can call her something dangerous like ‘baby’, before you forget what your position is here. You wait until you hear her wet little voice call out for you to come in.

You hear your own bed creak behind the closed door, you can practically see her throwing herself onto it, curling up while she cries. It breaks your heart, the way she ran off and slammed your bedroom door, the way her bottom lip wobbled as soon as you uttered his name. You hadn’t meant to upset her, didn’t know it would do this to her. Your heart contracts and nearly breaks when you drop yourself down onto the couch and bury your head into your hands. Can you even fix this?

It has been rough, getting accustomed to married life, although it barely even is married life. You feel more like a babysitter, unfamiliar with the child you're supposed to be watching and permanently afraid to say something wrong and ruin them forever. It seems like you have said something wrong here, though, and you're hoping really hard that you're not making this already horrible situation even worse for her.

You've never been good with words, and a situation like this isn't going to make you better at it, so you heave yourself back up and make your way into the kitchen. You know you messed up by asking her about her brother, and you want to show her that you're sorry. You put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboards for the carton of tea. You never used to have tea in the house, and Mikey just puts the box back wherever is most convenient.

You end up finding it between your coffee and hot chocolate mix, and you grab one of the bags. You don't drink tea, but the instructions on the box say to brew it at boiling temperature, so as soon as the kettle indicates you pour the water into a big mug and dump the tea bag in. You watch the tea bloom, slowly turning the water a blushing orange, as you try to figure out how to approach this.

You need more than just a cup of tea you decide and you go rummaging through the cupboards again. You find a pack of cookies, soft and pink and the type you know Mikey likes. You put two cookies and the cup of tea on a little saucer and evaluate your work.

Right, sugar. You grab the bag of sugar you've started keeping on the countertop and scoop in three heaping teaspoons of sugar. You prefer your coffee and tea black, but Mikey always puts in at least two spoonfuls of sugar in her tea. You want to make this perfect, want to let her know that you have been listening to her, and you hope you've got everything right.

The tea smells of smooth vanilla as you pick up the saucer and walk over to your bedroom. The door is shut, not locked, but you knock anyway.

You nudge the door open and swallow harshly when you see her. She's wrapped in your covers and the only thought in your brain for a second is that she looks perfect in there, that you wish you could get to be in here with her more often, before your eyes slide over to her face and you feel your heart break all over again.

Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, glasses thrown on the floor. Her hair is messy and there's a red spot on her bottom lip, like she'd bitten it. You want to hug her, offer her comfort, but instead you stretch out your arm with the saucer. “I made you tea,” you say, and watch as her shaking hands take the mug from you. “To say sorry,” you add on, before you forget, before you get too caught-up in looking at her.

She nods, and blows on the mug. You put the saucer down on the bedside table and reject the urge to sit down on the edge of the bed. You already messed up enough, and you don't want to overstep again.

You can hear Mikey sniff while you look at her fingers curled daintily around the mug. Her nails are short and bitten, but her fingers are soft and lithe. Every part of her makes you feel oversized and ungraceful.

She sniffs again. “I’m sorry for running off,” she says, voice nasally and rough. You can tell she's trying to sound mature, can tell that she's tapping into rules and manners that have been drilled into her. You can tell that she's forcing herself to not cry again. How much more can your heart break?

You try to gather your thoughts, try to say the right words, but all you do is falter. You sigh and sit down on the bed anyway, needing the support. “No- Mikey,” you try to look at her, even when staring right into those watery eyes makes your hands itch to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks. “Mikey please don't be sorry, you had every right to.” You kind of feel like you're parenting her, teaching her things she hasn't had the chance to learn yet- and it makes your stomach turn. “I’m sorry for overstepping,” you say, slowly and carefully, making sure you say exactly what you mean. “I didn't mean to make you upset, and I'm sorry I didn't consider that I would've.”

She nods again, taking a sip of the tea. You can tell she's thinking, can tell that she's trying to accept your words, trying to go against being made to feel at fault her entire life. “Okay,” she says eventually. “Thank you.”

You nod back at her, not knowing what to say. Every conversation with her feels like this; both of you way out of your depth, both of you in territory completely unknown. You rub your hands on your jeans, “can I-” you start, but stop yourself to rephrase. “Would you want a hug?” You ask instead.

You can see her bottom lip wobble as she sets the mug down on the bedside table, next to the saucer. She takes a deep breath and nods, like she's trying to stop herself from crying. “Please…” she whispers.

You feel your eyes prickle as you listen to her soft, wet voice. You swallow and scoot yourself up the bed, awkward and uncoordinated. You lean up against the headboard next to her and slide one arm behind her back, pulling her close to you.

She goes willingly, falling against your chest and curling her hands in your hoodie, burying her face in the fabric. You wrap your other hand around her, hold her close. You can feel her chest expand with every breath, can smell the scent of her shampoo, and you lean down ever so carefully to press a kiss to the top of her head.

She exhales a slow breath, shoulders relaxing, and even though everything is far from okay right now, you feel like the two of you are heading uphill. You close your eyes and don't let go.

#i love her so much #bob bryar #mikey way #bob x bride mikey #girl mikey #you know who #bootlegfrnk fanfiction #asks

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house-of-stone-at-sunrise · 5 months

Text

Spotify Wrapped 2023: The Rose

The Rose steps deliberately into frame next to the burning house at her fingertips. Off-camera The Rose steps back from the house closer to the bundle of flowers blooming at the intersection of Sunset & Vine. (Question: can an American tell me if there's actually a Stop sign on this intersection?)

The Rose is a figure clad in a patch-worked version of all of The ME! suits over a pink shirt with a large pink rose hiding their face, there is a ring visible on their right pinky finger. Pink roses are said to represent; love, beauty, gratitude, grace and femininity. Pinky rings are a classic "hiding in plain sight" queer signal [1] as is tailored menswear worn by women. And Me! has the classic "one of these things is not like the others, Like a rainbow with all of the colors" lyric from Lover.

The Rose seems as if they're standing guard, first by moving in to stand by the burning house, and then by looming over the street/stop sign next to the three Dahlias. There are at least eleven references to Roses in Taylors songs, but no Dahlias. The word Dahlia means valley flowers, and in 'flower language' it represents: fresh starts, diversity, kindness in the face of adversity, and a commitment to goodness, the pink varieties in particular represent feminine beauty. [2]

The obvious song references are to ME! via the outfit, and to Gorgeous via the street names. Gorgeous is either a song about initiating a new romantic relationship while you have a beard, or, a song about cheating on your boyfriend. "I got a boyfriend, he's older than us. He's in the club doing, I don't know what … guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats alone unless, you wanna come along?" I've always interpreted it as the former and the flower symbolism (fresh starts, diversity, and feminine beauty) seem to back up that interpretation.

A goldfish (a symbol of the fishbowl of public life) hovers near The Rose, while a mirror ball bops over the dahlias, reflecting back at whomever looks in that direction.

So does The Rose represent the part of herself hiding in plain sight, protecting The House (her empire,) and whoever/whatever relationships are represented by the Dahlias by remaining masked and providing plausible deniability?

I made a list so I may as well share it...

Song references to flowers from Debut to Midnights:

Should’ve said No "Strange to think the songs we used to sing the smiles, the flowers, everything is gone"

Our Song "I almost didn't notice all the roses" (orange roses)

Christmas Must be Something More "Would you still wanna kiss without mistletoe" "please take down the mistletoe"

Back to December "you gave me roses and I left them there to die"

Superman "Right here wishing the flowers were from you"

The Lucky One "Chose the Rose Garden"

Blank Space "Rose garden filled with thorns"

Wildest Dreams "Red lips & rosey cheeks"

Clean "the flowers that we grew together died of thirst"

Don’t Blame Me "I once was poison ivy but now I’m your daisy"

Call It What You Want "All my flowers grew back as thorns"

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince "running through rose thorns"

Cornelia Street "a place on Cornelia St" (note cornelias are flowers)

The Lakes "I want to watch wisteria grow" "a red rose grew out of ice frozen ground"

Gold Rush "rose blush"

Maroon "carnations that you thought were roses, that's us." "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw top rosé"

Lavender Haze "lavender haze creeping up on me"

You're on Your Own Kid "So long, Daisy May"

The Great War "My knuckles were bruised like violets" "All that bloodshed, crimson clover" "Place a poppy in my hair There's no morning glory"

Slut! "love thorns all over this rose"

Flowers in TS lyrics: roses, mistletoe, poison ivy, daisies, cornelias, wisteria, carnations, lavender, violets, crimson clover, poppy, morning glory.

Please let me know if you see any floral references I've missed?

[1] https://www.vogue.com/article/why-i-started-wearing-a-signet-pinky-ring

[2] https://warwickdahlias.com/shop/dahlias/anna-cornelia/

#gaylor #lgbetty

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iwritetopassthetime · 2 years

Text

home to you (1/9)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x fem!reader

PROLOGUE // Masterlist // Next chapter

Wordcount: 3.8K

Summary: When two people are meant to be together, fate will always find a way to bring them to each other. It's just that sometimes it's not under the normal-est of circumstances. But a flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all, and Bradley will be ready to go through anything for the love of his Blossom.

Warnings: some Bradley and Amelia brother/sister fluff, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, mentions of grief, Bradley has a lot of feelings, themes of abuse/domestic violence

Song inspiration: Home to you by Sigrid

When you're waitin' for a voice to come

In the night, but there's no one

A-don't you feel like a-cryin'?

Don't you feel like cryin'?

A-don't you feel like a-c-cry, c-cry, c-cry-cry

Cry, c-cry, c-cry-cry, cryin’?

Bradley bobbed his head like the bird he was nicknamed after as he belted the last lines to Cry to Me. He had wanted to test the new sound system in the Bronco on his way from base to Penny’s… and possibly annoy every 16-something brat blaring DJ Khaled in their dad’s BMW M5. So far he’d passed at least three of those types. The satisfaction he got from the boys’ annoyed, little pimply faces was the reason he decided to keep the hood down even though it was a surprisingly cool evening for mid-May.

Despite the chill in the air, it was still a pleasant enough evening. The sky was awash with dark pinks that transformed into purple and navy blue the further up you turned your gaze. A thin line of light lingered on the horizon where the sun had dipped over minutes ago, making this the perfect time for a walk, a drive, and especially for a barbecue in Penny’s backyard.

Her and Maverick had made that a weekly occurrence since the mission, inviting Bradley over since he was stationed on North Island for the time being along with the rest of his new squadron. They would sit on the old picnic table in Penny’s backyard with burgers, and grilled veggies, and cold beers that she’d picked up from the Hard Deck after closing for the night. And Bradley would usually bring a starter or a side dish. The bowl of potato salad that he’d pledged for tonight was wrapped in cling film on the passenger seat.

The beginning notes to Boogie Wonderland were suddenly interrupted by Bradley’s phone ringing in its dashboard holder. The obnoxious ringtone that Amelia had picked — and Bradley couldn’t change — mixed with the disco anthem in a horrific remix; thank god for the red light ahead so Bradley could stop and pause the music to take the call.

Maverick’s name was above a picture of him giving the camera thumbs up from the cockpit of his P-51 Mustang. The edge of Penny’s helmeted head poked from the edge of the screen. It was a picture that Bradley himself had taken after he and his godfather finished putting it together before Maverick’s test-flight-slash-joy-ride with Penny.

‘Hey, Mav!’ Bradley called after pressing the answer button and putting the call to speaker. ‘I’m on my way now. Is there anything else you guys need?’

‘Rooster, uh…’ Maverick’s voice sounded uncharacteristically unsure as he began and it gave Bradley pause. He immediately clicked the indicator for a right turn, opting to take a shortcut through Penny’s neighbourhood instead of going the usual way. If this was an emergency, he had to get to the house ASAP.

‘What’s happened?’ He asked worriedly.

‘Penny and I have to go to Los Angeles. It’s urgent.’

‘Is Penny okay?’

‘Yeah— no, she’s fine. It’s uh… it’s something else. Bradley, can you come and stay with Amelia for the night. I don’t know how long we’ll be and…’

‘You got it, Mav.’ Bradley stepped on the pedal as soon as the light switched to yellow. Whatever the situation was it merited some degree of alarm. He tried elevating some of the tension. ‘You know Amelia is not the type to need a babysitter?’

Maverick huffed, ‘Yeah, yeah. She told us as much. But she likes having you around and you two can catch up on whichever TV show you’ve been watching lately.’

‘That’ll be Friends. We’ll just have to finish the potato salad on our own, too I guess.’

There was a pause on Maverick’s side of the line as they supposedly got in the car and started speeding away from the house. Bradley heard him muttering something to Penny. Her voice — although Bradley couldn’t detect what she was saying — sounded high-pitched and worried. It struck him as extremely odd how the usually chipper and confident owner of the Hard Deck sounded on edge, even downright panicked.

‘Penny and I are sorry for having to skip on tonight. It’s just that—’

‘Mav, there’s no need to explain,’ Bradley stopped him. ‘We’ll postpone to next week or whenever you guys are available. Whatever this is… comes first. Alright?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Bradley heard the door slam on the other end and figured they must already be leaving the driveway. ‘I’ll drop you a line when we get to Los Angeles.’

‘Thanks! I’ll take Ames for pancakes tomorrow morning, is that alright with you and Pen?’

Maverick seemed to pull the phone back so he could relay the question. Bradley heard Penny give an affirmative reply although her voice still sounded emotionally distant. ‘Yeah, she’s cool with that. Just nothing with nuts, unless you have her EpiPen at the ready.’

‘Got it! I’m nearing Pen’s driveway now, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah… see ya, Rooster.’

Maverick was the first to hang up and the silence lingered for a few moments before Bradley turned into Penny’s driveway, his headlights illuminating Amelia’s figure huddled on the front porch. He grabbed the bowl of potato salad from the passenger seat before getting out, then jogged up the pebbled walkway and the short flight of stairs to get to the teen.

‘Hey, Ames! Looks like I’ll be your babysitter for the night.’ Bradley tackled her in a bear hug, one arm squeezing her to him and the other keeping a steady hold on the ceramic bowl.

With her free hand Amelia pointed a finger to her mouth and feigned gagging at that which ultimately made both of them laugh. Bradley released her and handed her the potato salad. Amelia grinned wider and licked her lips like a cartoon wolf when she greedily grabbed the bowl.

‘Pop that in the fridge, squirt!’

‘Nuh-uh!’ She cradled the bowl. ‘We’re sharing this while we finish season four. I want to know if Rachel gets to Ross’s wedding on time.’

Bradley chuckled; he knew he really shouldn’t be spoiling anything, especially not about those last two episodes in particular, but half the time it was just too hard. Part of the magic of introducing Amelia to Friends was enjoying her unadulterated first-watch reactions to the classic sitcom. And it also meant that she’d understand some of the pop culture references he made on a daily basis.

Bradley shut the door behind him and followed Amelia into the house. He toed off his Timbs and placed them neatly on the shoe rack. He made his way into the kitchen where Amelia was fishing in the utensil cupboard for a pair of forks.

‘Hey, Ames?’

‘Yeah?’ She said between two big mouthfuls of potato salad.

‘Do you know why Mav and Penny are driving up to LA.’ He was quick to add, ‘It’s alright if it’s a personal matter and they told you not to tell me.’ He leaned against the granite island and bit the inside of his cheek. ‘I just wanna know if it’s something serious.’

Amelia nodded, swallowing down before speaking. ‘Yeah, they didn’t tell me much either.’ She pursed her lips in deep thought as she took a seat on one of the nautical style stools across from Bradley. ‘Mom got a call when Maverick and I finished cooking the burgers— Oh! By the way, there are burgers in the fridge, if ya want any!’

‘I’ll keep that in mind, Ames.’

‘Right so… mom got really serious all of a sudden. She sounded… really worried, and her voice got all high and pitchy which I’ve heard only once and that was when I got a severe allergic reaction. She told Maverick that she needed to get to Los Angeles as soon as possible. Something about the daughter of a friend of hers being in trouble.’

Bradley nodded along to her retelling of the events. He then gave the teen an uplifting smile. ‘Well, let’s hope it’s nothing serious. How ‘bout we put on the show now before you get a food coma and pass out on the couch like last time.’

‘Hardy har har!’ Amelia jumped down from the stool and snatched the bowl from the countertop before Bradley could take it. ‘This is mine now, jerk face.’

‘Hey! I made it, so it’s at least fifty percent mine, smartass!’

In the end, the two spread out in two opposite directions on the couch with the potato salad placed between them. Their forks were moving in a repetitive motion from the inside of the bowl to their open mouths as the two watched Friends.

It was Amelia’s newest favourite TV series, Bradley had grown up it with it. He had binged it with his mum when he was little and then again around the time when she got really sick and he wanted to lift her spirits.

It always felt bitter-sweet watching it after Carole’s death, being reminded of those moments he wished he could relive with her. Now, it meant spending time with Amelia, forming new memories, something he found he enjoyed since his stationing on North Island and his unofficial inclusion into this family.

It had been a mere month since the mission, since his and Maverick’s reconciliation, since Maverick and Penny’s decision to give their twenty-something year long on-and-off relationship another go. And in that time, seemingly so much had happened. The weekly barbecue, evenings at the Hard Deck, weekends at the beach. Amongst all those interactions, Bradley and Amelia struck up a friendship that quickly developed into something akin to an older brother-younger sister relationship.

Amelia was happy to have someone around when her mum was out of the house “relighting the fire with her old flame”. Someone who was willing to get on her level without patronising her. And Bradley, who had spent his entire life without any siblings or cousins, was happy to have something of a little sister in Amelia.

Some time after finishing the season finale and moving onto the next season, Amelia checked her phone to find a general lack of messages of any sort from her mum. ‘You’d think they reached LA by now.’

Bradley patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about that now. They could be stuck in traffic. Mav will text me when they reach your mom’s friend.’

‘I’m not being unreasonable in being worried, right?’

‘Of course not, Ames!’

‘And you’re sure Maverick will text you.’

‘He definitely will.’

‘Okay,’ Amelia switched her positioning, grabbing a cushion and placing it against Bradley to use it and him as a head rest. ‘It’s just… I don’t like seeing mom worried. I’m used to her being the cool-headed woman she always is, the one that my friends at school are jealous of. And I can’t help her.’

‘Amelia, you’re fourteen.’ Bradley softly reminded her. ‘You should remember that from time to time. I know you’d rather grow up fast and help you mom. Even boss her around.’

Amelia laughed at that.

‘But I know from experience that trying to grow up too quickly will worry your mom more. She’ll want you to stay her child for a while longer and take care of you. So enjoy it, you’ll have all the time in the world to take care of her later.’

‘Just have to wait till eighteen, I guess.’

Bradley laughed good-naturedly, he knew there was no point arguing further if Amelia had reached a conclusion. He’d do better to argue with a brick wall.

Sometime around the middle of the fifth season of the show, Amelia had fallen asleep — just as Bradley had predicted — with a belly full of potato salad and her arm loosely wrapped around the now empty bowl.

Bradley made sure she wouldn’t startle if he moved it out of her grasp to put away. Once he had the sofa cleared and the TV turned off, he carefully sneaked his arms underneath Amelia’s huddled form — one under her back and the other under the backs of her knees — and picked her up.

He carried the teen to her room, gently kicking the door to open it. He put Amelia down on the bed, making sure to tuck her in with the massive fluffy blanket she had laying at the foot, seeing as he couldn’t pull the duvet without eventually disturbing her.

Once he’d made sure she’d be fine, Bradley left the bedroom, his retreat only followed by the soft click of the door closing behind him. He went back to the kitchen, intending to clean the salad bowl when his phone vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans. Bradley fished it out and saw that he had two messages from Maverick.

Mav: Sorry, I forgot to text when we arrived.

Mav: Everything’s okay, we might not be back till the morning.

Bradley opened his phone to see the grey ellipsis at the bottom of their chat. He waited a few seconds when a third message appeared.

Mav: We gotta take Penny’s friend’s daughter to the hospital and then to the police.

Mav: Don’t worry. I’ll explain more tomorrow.

Bradley’s brows furrowed at the last two messages. It obviously wasn’t all okay like Maverick said, otherwise they wouldn’t have to take that friend’s daughter to the hospital and the police. He contemplated phoning Maverick out of worry, but resined himself to just wait until the morning for him and Penny to come back.

If things were as serious as he believed them to be then calling Maverick to just pester him with questions like a worried mother hen wouldn’t be helpful at all.

Instead Bradley replied with a few short lines, letting his godfather know that he understood and to let Penny know that Amelia went asleep alright after finishing half a bowl of potato salad. After few seconds Maverick responded with a laughing face sticker which effectively seemed to end their correspondence for the night.

Bradley went back to washing the salad bowl, leaving it on the drying rack when he was done. He then grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked out onto the back porch to enjoy the peace and quiet of the neighbourhood.

Just beyond the relatively short back fence, Bradley could watch the dark expanse of the ocean the waves of which lapped at the shore with a repetitive hum. The nature choir of cicadas, crickets and the early summer breeze prevailed over the distant noise of the city beyond the confines of this fairly peaceful corner of San Diego.

Penny’s backyard wasn’t much to be fair, she’d even said it herself once two weeks ago during the barbecue. The grass was uneven and displayed the usual signs of being burnt by the near constant California sun. Off to the side there were flat stones organised into flower patch borders without any flowers behind them save for one overgrown rosemary bush near the back stairs. And the picnic table sat close to the porch. Penny said that she just never came around to hiring someone to give it some major TLC. But goddamn — the view was what made that backyard so special.

Bradley continued staring off into the distance, periodically bringing the bottle to his lips to sip on the bitter drink. For a moment he felt the acute sting of loneliness deep in his chest as even the insects chirps dulled down and silence overtook him. The sting planted roots in his chest and started to grow until it pretty much occupied his thoughts.

He had something resembling a family which included his friends from the squadron — even Hangman, on very good days — but he couldn’t help but feel the want for something more, for someone.

It’s not like it’d be hard for him to date, there were plenty of women in the area if his former Hinge profile was to be believed. But he didn’t wasn’t a meaningless fling or a one-night stand. He wanted someone to have, to care for. Someone to love. For god’s sake, he was thirty-six! Shouldn’t these things get easier with time? Mav and Penny certainly had no problem.

Bradley thought about his mother at thirty-six, just a year shy of her terminal diagnosis. She never even reached forty. Hadn’t gotten whites in her hair, nor wrinkles and age spots. Hadn’t gotten to properly live her life since she became a single mother at twenty-five.

But she’d had someone, she had Nick “Goose” Bradshaw and she still had him after his death if her stories were to be believed. Stories she told Bradley when he was younger about how she could still feel him with her. That he never truly left her.

As he grew older, Rooster began to understand that those were her ways of explaining it all to him and handling her grief which never left her either. Instead it lingered like a pestering relative that hadn’t got the cue to leave. And once Carole was gone and buried with Goose in their family plot, that same grief latched onto Bradley, too.

And in those moments when he felt well and truly alone, Bradley wished he had asked his mother more about how she pulled through it all. How she managed to lose someone so important to her and still carry on with living.

Around the time of her death, Bradley was filled with so much rage and confusion. Maverick pulling his papers at the Academy only seemed to fuel that rage. Bradley sped through his twenties, never really having a proper relationship, never settling down like many of his colleagues. He knew of love, he loved his mother and he sure as hell loved his friends. But he never found someone to love in that very particular way that doesn’t compare to any other love.

Carole had once promised him that; that he would find someone that would make him as happy as Goose made her. Don’t you worry your little head about when and where, it will happen and that’s a fact, she’d softly told him once when he’d childishly pestered her about not having a girlfriend in pre-school.

But at thirty-six, Bradley still hadn’t found that person, that love that did not compare to others. You could call it impatience, but what truly plagued him was the loneliness. The emptiness he felt after every mission and deployment when he had no one to come back and hold on to.

With a familiar heaviness in his chest, Bradley went to have another sip of the beer only to feel a single drop trickle down the neck of the bottle and onto his lips. He took one final look at the peaceful landscape before going back inside, leaving his self-deprecating train of thought on the steps to the backyard.

Bradley, being not that deep of a sleeper, was shaken awake by the sound of Penny’s jeep pulling up to the house. He instantly sat up on the couch, rubbing his face and the sleep from his eyes. There was a knot in his back from the uncomfortable position he slept in, but he was unwilling to let that bother him right now. Although he lamented that he hadn’t taken the bed in the guest bedroom instead.

It was early in the morning. Not so early as to be still dark outside, but early enough to feel like he was back at the Academy and was rising at first light for training.

The front door opened with a subtle click and creak. Bradley could hear Penny saying something to Maverick, then to someone else and he assumed that they were accompanied by whoever they’d gone to help in LA. He impatiently treaded over the living room carpet, before deciding to go into the kitchen and make coffee for everybody. Penny and Maverick had had a long night and a pick-me-up would do them good.

Bradley was about to put in the coffee pot in Penny’s coffee maker when Maverick walked in the kitchen, his feet dragging along the floor until he reached the island and dropped into a barstool.

‘Did we wake you?’ Maverick asked tiredly.

Bradley turned around once the machine started buzzing and a steady stream of coffee started dripping into the pot. ‘Don’t worry ‘bout me. I was practically already awake. You good?’

Maverick rubbed his face and Bradley took notice of the haunted look in his godfather’s eyes. They were dark and troubled like they’d seen more in one night than they were prepared to. Bradley turned off the coffee machine once it was done and pulled the three cups from the cupboard above his head, placing them on the counter and pouring equal amounts into each one.

Maverick didn’t wait for Bradley to offer him milk or sugar and downed half of the steaming coffee. Really not good then, Bradley thought with worry. He went around the kitchen island and sat next to his godfather, quietly sipping on his own coffee and waiting for him to speak whenever he was ready to.

‘I don’t think I can talk in detail about last night right now, but I… I need to ask you a favour.’

‘Shoot.’

Maverick looked towards the door to the corridor, probably waiting to see if Penny would walk through. But she was most likely still upstairs.

‘Penny’s friend’s daughter… we brought her here, couldn’t leave her in LA. She has no one,’ Maverick explained.

Bradley nodded along.

‘The favour I want to ask from you is… well, I might be asking too much of you. Can you hang around the house for a few days? Penny and I think she could use a friend right now and you’re… about the same age. You might be able to help her more than we do.’

Bradley simply nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to ask but her name which Maverick quietly supplied.

The older man continued drinking his coffee and the two sat in silence for a while.

‘It’s not my place to talk about her affairs.’ Maverick broke the silence. ‘But she was in a… very physical argument with her ex-boyfriend. Managed to get away at some point and call Penny. She was so frightened, she didn’t even want to go to the police. Penny and I didn’t know what to do,’ he mumbled more to himself than to anyone else, eyes still horribly lost.

Bradley inhaled sharply. Although he knew nothing more than the girl’s name, he felt a twinge of anger at the thought of any sort of abuse befalling her. Someone might say his mum raised him properly, Bradley would argue that he was just a decent human being.

‘I’ll do my best, Mav.’

Maverick finally looked up towards Bradley, his upper lip curling in a semblance of a smile and some of the light returned to his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he patted his godson on the shoulder, thanking him for his help. The two then returned to their state of quiet while sipping on their coffee.

Next chapter

(Taglist is open and I've made a Google Docs form to make it easier)

tags: ...

#home to you #iwritetopassthetime #Bradley Bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw

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soxma · 2 months

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It Was… ⋆·˚ ༘ *

by: ouma

authors note: hi whoever is reading this, i write a lot of short stories and i wanted to at least publish one cuz the idea of the concept was smthn i was proud of, if you ever do read this thank you so much! :)

grammars kinda ass but its wtv 🙏

word count: 607

It was summer… the warmest time of the year, where grass was a more vibrant shade of green, where the sun rays at you wherever you may be, where the breeze softly ruffles your hair. This season is typically loved by many. It was loved by you. Walking hand in hand as you spoke about how much you loved this time of the year, and every time you did I couldn’t help but look at you and think how much I loved you, as you looked at me with so much gleam in your eyes as you happily spoke about what you loved. I, on the other hand, never liked summer—it was too hot. The light from the sun angrily aims its rays at you, as you can barely see whilst the heat is drowning you from sweat. I hated summer, but I came to like it because you did. Every summer time we came to this small hill. It wasn’t far to the point where it was too quiet, nor was it too loud either. You can still hear the trains, and the cars passing by. The tree formed a perfect shade for us to sit under as the wind was blowing just right–you loved it, and I loved you.

It was fall… It had turned a lot colder than you’d imagined. The leaves were auburn as they fell to the ground, everything looked a lot more orange, red, and brown, no hint of green ever since summer had passed. You loved the idea of fall, just not the cold and flimsy weather that kept messing up your hair due to the rain. Fall was my favorite season, the coldness was just right as I typically am rather fond of the rain. It gave me a reason to stay inside with you, as we slept through the rain in each other's arms. The raindrops formed a euphonious melody outside. The blanket provided us the right amount of warmth, as you laid in my arms and everything was just right–I loved it, and you did too.

It was winter… the snow poured in, as the time of our favorite season has come. The season of joyfulness and holidays. I loved the cold, and you loved the snow. You loved Christmas music, and I loved hearing you sing it. I loved hot chocolate, as you loved the little marshmallows on top. You loved building gingerbread houses, as I loved eating them. You loved receiving gifts, and I loved giving them to you. You loved Christmas, and I just loved you. I decided right then and there, New Year was when I was gonna propose to you, and I bet you’d love that too.

It was spring… gardens were in full bloom, as the flowers in my hand were too. It was the perfect weather. The breeze blew just right, as the pink tinted leaves fell gracefully; it looked like a scene from a movie. I loved meeting you by our spot, as it reminded me of the memories for when I fell for you first spring. Up on this small hill are the memories of all the seasons I loved you. Every conversation we had filled with all the things we both loved, and I loved you the most. The blooming blossoms landed perfectly alongside you. I sat beside you as I took out the small box from my pocket, as I placed it right by your grave. You loved the idea of marriage, as I just loved the idea of being with you. I would’ve loved to marry you, and I bet you would’ve loved it too.

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life-and-love-in-a-myst · 3 months

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A little Valentines Day story...

Hotch gives Kez flowers for Valentine's Day but in an unusual manner. Each flower has been picked because of the meaning.

Word count - 908

Kez found the first one on the kitchen table early in the morning. It was a single, deep red rose. There was a note attached to it with the word ‘one’ written on it. The handwriting was small and cramped but familiar. Kez filled a small vase with water and placed the rose in it.

‘Two’ was also a single red rose, found on the porch railing, tied in place with a piece of white and red twine as she walked out of the house. Kez knew the handwriting. She had been working with the culprit for 2½ years.

‘Three’ had been slipped inside her locker, was a peony. Kez found it when she went to put her workout clothes in the locker for later. Oh, he knew her routine a little too well, not that it was a bad thing, Kez thought. Just like she knew his routine – Aaron usually got up at 5am to go for a run, was back at the house by at least 6:30 am, has a shower and is dressed by 7am, has breakfast ready for Kez and the boys before leaving the house at 7:30am.

‘Four’, another peony, was in her desk drawer. That’s when JJ noticed the two flowers on the desk. “What’s with the flowers?”

“Found two red roses at home, then the peonies here,” Kez said.

“They were at your house?” JJ didn’t even look concerned.

‘Five’ was delivered to her an hour later by Anderson. It was a bunch of red carnations. “I was told to give you this,” he says handing the bunch over. “Thank you,” Kez said. Anderson nodded and left the bullpen, not before you caught a glimpse of a smile on his face.

‘Six’, which was the first red tulip, was found being ‘guarded’ by her Jack Russell Terrier stuffy when Kez returned from lunch with Penelope and JJ.

‘Seven’ was on the filing cabinet when she got back from her self-defence training with Morgan. It was the second red tulip. She sighed as she tucked it into the ever growing vase of flowers on the desk. Even though Kez knew who it was, she enjoyed playing the ‘I don’t know’ card when someone asked her about the roses. She suspected that Morgan, JJ and Reid knew that she was lying, but some of the other agents within the unit didn’t know her that well, other than Anderson and Stevens. It was that one that Kez noticed something else about the little notes left with the flowers – in the bottom right corner was a hastily drawn heart.

‘Eight’ was in her purse when she left. It was a pink rose. She stood in the elevator with the vase of flowers, which attracted a lot of strange looks from other people, though they didn’t ask questions. Kez knew that there was a reason behind the flowers – not just giving them because it was Valentine’s Day, but he wanted to say something more.

‘Nine’ was another pink rose in the passenger seat of JJ’s car. Kez silently slipped the flower in with the rest and climbed into the car to head home.

‘Ten’, Alchemilla mollis (or lady’s mantle), was in the mailbox, the mail set below it. Kez carefully placed the sprigs in the vase. The chartreuse yellow flowers provided a nice contrast to the red and pinks of the other flowers

‘Eleven’, a bunch of amaryllis blooms, was on the back porch. Kez saw it when she walked into the kitchen. She lifted the amaryllis out of the snow on the table and was surprised at how warm it still was. She went back into the house and added them to the other flowers in the vase. It was getting dark but the day wasn’t over. The boys were with Aunt Jessica for the night. Kez made herself comfortable on the couch.

‘Twelve’ was held in a hand that Kez knew really well. She smiled as Aaron walked round the couch and knelt in front of her. He held the red rose out to her. As she took it from him, he held onto her hand and pulled her up as he stood up.

Kez kissed him then. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was surprised it didn’t burst right out of her chest. His lips were warm and firm against hers, they probed against hers with a confidence that didn’t surprise her but made her want more. She parted her lips and he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept past her lips and he tasted like coffee, another thing that doesn’t surprise her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and she ran your fingers through his hair and he groaned. She felt one of his hands on her ass and she couldn’t help but smile against his lips. He pulled away and grinned down at her. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap, so that she was straddling him.

“You’re lucky, Mr Hotchner, that Jessica has the boys,” Kez said as she looked down at Aaron. He smirked before he pulled her down to kiss her deeply. “Oh, I know how lucky I am, Mrs Hotchner.”

She was above him now, wrapped her arms around his neck she dropped her head back down to his so their lips were only inches apart before she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Aaron.” Then she kissed him again.

#aaron hotchner #original character #criminal minds fic #valentines day

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akihabara-division03 · 11 months

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Anika Kiyozaki

"A girl who is going to do big things cannot let small things get to her."

Etymology

Anika means "love, affection" (愛) (a) and "二" (two) (ni) and "flower" (華) (ka)

Kiyozaki means "holy" (聖) (kiyo) and "blooming" (咲) (saki)

Character Information

Kanji: 聖咲愛二華

Romaji: Kiyozaki Anika

MC Name: Rush Hour

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 28

Birthday: November 22

Star sign: Sagittarius

Blood type: A

Occupation: hypnotherapist

Division: Akihabara

Team: Pixel Syndicate

Height: 163 cm (5’4) / 168 cm with heels (5’6)

Weight: 46 kg (101 lb.)

Hair color: coffee brown, aquamarine, rosewood pink

Eye color: coral

V/A: Akari Kito

Rap voice: Eunjung Ham

Stage actor: Exy (WJSN)

Appearance

Anika is a slim woman of average height with rosy skin and doe-like coral eyes. Her wavy coffee brown gradients into an aquamarine on the right half of her hair, and a rosewood pink on the left half of her hair. Her bangs are parted to the side and her hair is styled into a half ponytail. In the 2022 birthday event, it is revealed that she has long, jagged scars running up both sides of her legs, waist, shoulders, shoulder blades, and across her parietal. It is also revealed that the area below her right knee had been amputated and she generally sports a prosthetic leg with a high heel attachment during the day.

In public, she wears an off-white silk camisole with a lace embellishment on the neckline. She tucks her camisole into sleek dress pants with two zippers below her pockets. Her staple piece is an unzipped yellow and black cropped biker jacket with a mandarin collar, pinned in place with an indigo and silver puzzle piece-shaped pin. She finishes off her look with black pumps with stiletto heels and chunky silver chains serving as a strap.

At home, she dresses in a grey sports bra and a pair of tangerine-colored fuzzy shorts.

Personality

While Anika is kind-hearted and also quirky, she is somewhat laid-back and tries to avoid troublesome situations. Despite her generally playful attitude, she is capable of switching to a professional and diligent persona when she needs to. She is apparently more perceptive and knowledgeable than she lets on.

She is an observant woman who cares greatly for the wellbeing of others. She assesses people and situations, seeking someone to rely on while also wanting to be the strong one. She is committed to her clients and friends and is a reliable person, serving as an older sister figure for Shian and Makina.

Though she has mellowed out considerably since her racing days, she is shown to still have some remaining short temperament. This side of her with the low patience is solely directed to her biological family and she is rather keen on keeping them away from Makina. Otherwise, unlike her former aggressive and arrogant self when she was on the race tracks, she now wishes for peace for others as well as herself.

Ability

Her rap ability, Trigger, has different effects, depending on certain key words incorporated into her rap verses.

Trivia

Anika is right-handed.

She likes house decorating, perfume, and action movies while she dislikes cold weather, people yelling, close-minded people, and large group settings.

Her favorite food is fried rice while her least favorite food is leeks.

Older clients tend to look down on her due to her young age.

She retired from racing at age 16.

Anika reveals in the division leader shuffle event between the Akihabara and Tokyo Division that she is deaf. She has about 40% of her hearing on her right side while the hearing on her left side is nonexistant.

She is fluent in Japanese Sign Language, but she prefers to speak out loud and communicate by lip reading or texting.

When at home, she chooses to keep her prosthetic leg off and hop around instead.

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic arb #hypmic arb #akihabara division #pixel syndicate #anika kiyozaki #character profile

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scattered-stardust · 2 years

Text

Drowning in the night

this is just angst, there’s a hopeful open ending, at least i think it’s hopeful.

There’s an ache in Kim, it’s always been there, and it doesn’t stop.

Sometimes it grows into a beast with claws, with teeth that are made to devour. It growls in his chest, a growl that reverberates, thundering against his ribs until it fills his ears, and it becomes the only thing he hears.

When he has a guitar in his arms, when his fingers press down on piano keys, it moves with the eb and flow of the music. It stays gentle, becomes an accompaniment to the notes filling the air.

Before, before his mother died, before the kidnapping, before everything, it used to purr when it was content. When he had his mother close, when her arms were wrapped around him, when she sung to him before he fell asleep. When Kinn and Tunkhun were still allowed to play with him. When Kinn showed him how to play guitar and Tankhun sang along before it dissolved into a cacophony when someone got out of tune or messed up the rhythm. When they were allowed to exist with each other and didn’t have roles to fill.

The ache still settles in his chest when Tankhun talks to him, when Kinn tries to show he still cares. In those precious few seconds, he allows himself to be in the main house, because he can’t be there for longer than that. Before he starts to imagine the blood on his hands, on everyone’s hands and it paints them red. Before he starts feeling like his father’s tool again. He hopes that he wouldn’t jump if his father ordered him to.

But it’s in this place that Porchay now lives. In this wretched place that ruined Kim, that allowed the beast to run freely, made it almost depend on blood instead of the notes that his guitar produces. In this house where blood flows freely if you only know where to look.

It’s in this place, in a room he hasn’t seen in years, where he accidentally comes across Porchay again. He doesn’t dare to let his eyes linger on him. The wallpaper is still the same, white with little pink flowers that bloom between green leaves. Bookcases pushed against two walls. One wall is empty, it used to be a couch, now it’s empty. A desk by the windows with light flowing in. Books are gathered in a messy stack on the desk. Porchay sits with his back to the door, to Kim. He hasn’t noticed him.

Kim stands frozen, the door handle still in his right hand, his left flat against his leg. He doesn’t want to do something stupid, like reach for Porchay, like he still has a right to that. His heart beats in his chest, the ache in his chest dissolving into longing that has the potential to destroy him. His hand falls from the door handle and his rings knock against the wood of the door.

Porchay turns around and Kim subconsciously takes a step towards him. Hopelessly stuck in Porchay’s orbit. Porchay looks at him, his eyes flitting over Kim’s frame, until they land on his eyes. Kim doesn’t know what he’ll find there.

Kim looks at him, at the dark circles under his eyes. His hair isn’t blue anymore, but it still carries a blue hue. Kim can’t forget the way he looked under the club lights, almost ethereal.

His shirt threatens to fall of his shoulder, Kim feels like he has seen it before, but can’t remember where. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and drag Kim’s attention to his forearms, to his wrists, to his hands resting on top of the book he was reading, to his bruised knuckles. Kim wants to reach out, fall on his knees and kiss them.

“P’Kim,” he hears Porchay say, and he drags his gaze up towards Porchay’s face. His eyes are shiny, but his jaw is set, his mouth a hard line.

“Chay,” he says and immediately regrets it when Porchay slams his book closed. A breath, a beat where Kim tries to think of what to say. To find the words to voice his regret over his actions, how he hurt Porchay. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Porchay’s face has turned hard, showing all the edges that weren’t in his face two months ago. Kim doesn’t know if it’s because of him or his family. He doesn’t know which is worse. Porchay takes a step forward, takes another and another until he stops in front of Kim. Kim has his eyes stuck to Porchay’s. They’re cold. The brown that turns gold in the sun is now harsh and unforgiving like stone. He clenches his left hand in a fist, willing the want to touch Porchay to go away, knowing that it won’t work.

“Get out of the way,” Porchay says, his voice hard and unforgiving. Kim wants to stay where he is, wants to fall on hands and knees to make his regret known to Porchay, tries to forget it won’t help. He is only kept standing by knowing that Porchay would just step over him and leave him there.

“Can I talk to you?” He forces out of his mouth. His right hand twitching to touch Porchay, he brings it up letting it hang between them. A frown appears on Porchay’s face, Kim wants to smooth it out. Porchay grabs his wrist, pushes it against Kim’s chest and in the same move pushes Kim against the wall left of him. Porchay curls his left hand around his wrist until Kim’s sure that he can hear the thundering of his heart. His callouses press against his skin and Kim stops a sigh from leaving his mouth. Porchay presses his left hand harder against Kim’s chest, his right comes up to rest on Kim’s neck. Thumb pressing under his chin and fingers spread out against the side of his throat, pushes his head against the wall and just looks at him. Looks at him and Kim feels a tremble run through him. Knows that Porchay must also feel it. He uncurls his left hand and resist the urge to press it against the wall, resist the urge to touch Porchay back.

“Why would I want to talk to you?” Porchay asks, harsh, a note in his voice Kim hasn’t heard before.

He closes his eyes, can’t bear to look at him any longer.

“You made it clear that you want nothing to do with me anymore.” Porchay’s thumb presses harder against his chin, makes Kim lean a little harder into the wall.

“Didn’t you say that my business is mine from now on? Not yours, not anymore. Maybe you should take your own words to heart.” A harsh breath follows those words. Porchay lets him go and Kim immediately feels cold. He hears Porchay’s footsteps fade away and only then does he open his eyes. His head still tipped back, resting against the wall, his breaths the only thing he hears. His right arm is still pressed against his chest, moving with the harsh breaths he manages to take. His skin is burning cold with the absence that Porchay left. Kim moves his left hand until it’s curled around his wrist, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. He tries not to think about the hand around his throat, the way it pressed down, the delicious way it pressed down and left him wanting to surrender to Porchay.

He blinks, slowly, tries to ignore the longing that tries to take over his body. He aches, he almost forgot how bad he misses Porchay when he isn’t around. He lets himself lean against that wall for a while, until his legs stop trembling, and he feels like he can breathe again without longing swallowing him whole. He doesn’t look at the book Porchay was reading, doesn’t look at the jacket he left on the chair.

Takes a breath and pushes himself away from the wall, wills his hands to stop shaking. He walks out, signals to someone to get his car upfront and leaves.

His heart has stopped thundering in his chest. His hands still shake. He drives and drives until he feels steady again.

He goes home and doesn’t think about the time Porchay was here, about how it was raining so hard that they were both drenched and Porchay had to borrow his clothes. He can still remember the way the shirt threatened to slip of his shoulder.

Porchay hid the pictures while Kim was in the shower, trying not to be giddy that Porchay was seeing this part of him. He came out and Porchay hooked a finger through the necklace Kim had just put back on. Pulled him closer and kissed him, close mouthed. Threaded his hands through Kim’s hair and looked at him like Kim was a gift he could look at forever.

A tear rolls down his cheek, his hand comes up to catch it. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. Another tear falls down. Now that he’s alone, standing in his appartement he drops to his knees. Another tear, it falls on his jeans. He swallows, he hasn’t even taken of his shoes, his leather jacket feels heavy. His hands are shaking. He can’t forget the feeling of Porchay’s hand around his neck.

God he wants, he has never wanted like this. Has never been as desperate as he is now. Sitting alone on his knees in his appartement, tears rolling down his cheeks. His longing aches. It feels too big to exist in him, it claws against his bones and howls. It reverberates through him, pushing against his bones, urging him to do something to stop making Porchay hate him. But he can’t. he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He wanted Porchay to hate him, to stop looking at him like he’s a wonder. To see Kim as he is at his worst.

The problem is that Kim wants to learn to be gentle, wants to look at Porchay like he’s the best thing he has ever seen, because he is. Kim wants Porchay to look at him, wants him to put his hands on him. Wants to know everything there is to know about Porchay.

Kim wants to make music with him, wants to hear him sing, wants to see him play guitar. He wants to hear Porchay play on his guitars even though he gave him his own. He wants Porchay in his space, wants to let him see Kim and still want him.

He gets of the floor, gets his shoes off, leaves his leather jacket on the couch and digs the shirt Porchay left at his house out of a drawer. He takes a shower, turns the water a bit too warm and stands there for a second. Just, letting it fall.

Gets out, puts on Porchay’s shirt, a pair of boxers and nothing. Goes to bed and stares up at the ceiling. He can’t bear to think about the way Porchay looked at him.

He briefly thinks about calling Tankhun but decides against it. If he hears his voice, Kim will crack and he can’t deal with that right now.

Somehow, he falls asleep. At least he must have because he wakes up with Chay’s name on his tongue. His hands clenched in his sheets and his breath a shaky thing.

His phone screen is lighting up.

It’s three in the morning, a notification banner shines in his face. Chay.

Chay sent him a video. A video, he blinks, confused.

He’s tired, his heart is thundering, he clicks on the video anyway.

#stardust writes #kim theerapanyakul #kimchay #kinnporsche

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