#apprentice yn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sourjinss · 3 months

Text

⁀➷ ‎‎YOU STAY ON MY MIND

➼ CHAPTER ONE ⋆ a happy coincidence ⋆ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

➼ PARING ⋆ tattooartist!taehyung! + bartender!fem!reader

➼ PRÉCIS ⋆ after a rough patch in your relationship you and your boyfriend are finally on solid ground but that all goes to hell when his older brother, taehyung comes to visit.

➼ CAUTION! ⋆ cheating sexual themes verbal abuse toxic relations this is pure fiction does not relate to any idol physical altercations fluffy and sweet (yay) angst (boo) slow burn?? side jungkoook story?

APPLE!! - i feel like the first chapter is always hard to do i hope you guys like it though! it took me while and the writing might be ass (mybadd) but heart it and reblog if you do enjoy !! xoxo

PLAY THIS ⋆ come here by dominic fike , talk 2 you by brent faiyaz

TAEHYUNG had an easy life; he would tell you that himself. but his appearance could tell a different story for anyone who was small-minded.

he could feel the stares from miles away a man around his age who expression spoke envy because his seat partner was too close to drooling on her rather conservative skirt, lust written all over her face.

an older woman, who was disgusted with just being in the same space as him, her daughter had looked at him with admiration despite his tattoos and his many piercings.

he offered her a small smile and looked back out the plane window, he liked a routine he put precision in anything that he deemed worthy.

making a trip to his hometown was not in his plans, not that he was complaining he wanted to see how his little brother was doing but in saying that led him where he is now, trying to find as much peace as he could with his seatmate, jeongguk snoring obnoxiously his thin lips parted like the clouds that they flew by.

taehyung didn't know why jeongguk was so set on following him, without taehyung at the tattoo parlor he could finally act on his crazy ideas.

he chose not to think about too much jeongguk was already tired of being nagged by the elder.

mingyu, his little brother suddenly came to mind he was much like his apprentice. “kook” taehyung whispered as he reached over and gently shook him on the shoulder

jeongguk ignored him and turned his head the other way his voice coming out slurred and groggy “is the plane going down?” taehyung smirked and shook his head looking at the people passing them both to board off “well fuck off” “m’kay” taehyung leaped up out of his seat happily and grabbed his suitcase, leaving the stubborn kid by himself after a minute he had realized and cursed at taehyung under his breath, running to catch up with him.

“bitch what?!”

noelani looked as if you had a red ball on your nose and a rainbow wig on. “there’s no way you took his bum-ass back” feeling the heavy embarrassment creep up on you like a bad cold you turned around bringing your focus back on the glass you were previously cleaning.

but you knew your best-friend wasn’t having none of that “yn honey are you serious?” “i know you don't have to rub the shit in..” you sighed turning back to meet her ridiculous stare

“what?” she blinked as if she was thinking about the next words to come out her mouth, which you knew she wasn't “is the dick that good?” she said loudly, inside voice never being considered. glaring at her you snatched her glass of liquor “first of all, that’s enough for you”

it was near closing time, there was a few people in the bar and you was almost done with your nightly duties noelani was drunk and you took that opportunity to tell her what had happened with mingyu, praying that she wouldn’t remember the next day if she were sober she would've taken the initiative and attacked mingyu in the back of your head you kind of wished that she did. you wished of a lot of things lately

“okay the only logical reason is that you're with child and he's the baby-daddy” noelani suggested, blowing a tight curl off her forehead, chin rested calmly in her palm “i’m not pregnant..i just forgave him” those words felt nasty coming out your mouth

“what- why do you think what he did to you was worth forgiving yn?” she crossed her arms, swaying gently

you paused, your mouth ajar and before you could answer the bell on the door rung, the cold air being pushed in. two men sauntered inside “fuck its freezing” one of them seethed, combing their fingers through their jet-black hair he was taller than the other, he dressed in all-black attire his hands covered in tattoos, a ring hanging from the corner of his mouth. the other was somewhat similar, dark attire, hands covered in ink, but he had honey blonde hair his appearance to you seemed gentler in a way “your dumbass wanted to drink in the middle of the night”

“you didn’t have to come” in response to that the honey blonde smacked the back of the others head “who the fuck was going to drive your sorry ass home?” he looked around and his dark eyes reached yours and stayed that's when you realized that you were staring at them both quickly you averted your gaze but his eyes stayed on you.

“is that like a turn on of yours or something?” jeongguk mumbled pinching his brows together while they walked to the bar taehyung nodded mindlessly his eyes still perched on your silhouette jeongguk followed his eyes

“dude..am i tweakin' or are you eye-fucking someone” with that taehyung finally removed his eyes

“what are you talking about?” he deadpanned and rolled his eyes “whatever makes your monkey jump..” jeongguk snickered and went back to his phone right when taehyung was about to cuss him out you walked over.

standing in front of them making both of them pause in their tracks to look at you “uhm hi what can i get for you..guys?” either of them uttered a word and it was making you feel extremely awkward pursing your lips tightly you provided a small smile “ill come back later”

“no that’s okay we’re ready” jeongukk vocalized smiling back “can i get a blueberry daiquiri but frozen please”

you weren’t expecting such a fruity drink from him you thought as you turn around to face the other “and you?” taehyung’s hands felt sweaty it was freaking him the fuck out

“i’m actually not drinking tonight” you smiled at him and tilted your head “next time then” when you turned around to make jeongguks order he slapped taehyung on his arm and shook him excitedly taehyung pushed him off him but was secretly geeked out because what did you mean by next time “so how long are you two staying in town?”

taehyung was feeling himself “how do you know we aren’t from here?” he smiled pulling his sleeves up to lean his forearms on the bar staring at your back his eyes trailing down to your ass, which was doing those jeans a favor

“well are you from here?”

that’s when you turned around to face him “i am my friend here isn’t-“ taehyung stuttered, causing jeongguk to laugh beside him, slapping his thigh and sipping on the drink you served him

“what brings you guys here?” wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he grins, hitting taehyung on the back “taehyung here is visiting his baby brother and helping out a fellow artist in the area and i’m here for the ride”

“jeongguk here is the tattoo’s shop receptionist back where we live and he had nothing better to do so he tagged along.” taehyung interjected straight-faced

jeongguk ‘s knowing smile deflated and went back to his drink dejectedly. you laughed and nodded, putting the drinks back in destinated places taehyung found himself wondering if that laugh was genuine and if the smile you shown was real

“i figure you two were artist”

“oh you’re an artist?” jeongguk interviewed in which you shook your head quite flustered “oh no no i only have like one tattoo”

taehyung wanted to know where it was how big it was, how’d it looks on your skin, what it felt like to trace it with his fingers. “i’m close to some artists” that came out like a question out of your mouth.

“really? name some we might know them”

you were about to tell them about mingyu’s work, in the past you had boasted about how hard he works to create art and bring into life, but something stopped you “there's my friend, noelani she's super talented”

as if she was summoned noelani somehow managed to stand on her own and came over “yn i’m going to head to the crib” she slurred but tried to give the impression that she was dead sober

“yeah, no” you said as you grabbed your bag everyone but them had left.

one thing you knew about her is she was really good at fronting, pretending be someone who had their shit together, noelani was one of artist you are close with she is a taller woman with dark red hair tanned skin incorporating many fine line tattoos, color etched in each one she was a few years older than you and both of you were roommates in college and since been inseparable.

“i am not even drunk-” she leaned her hip on the stool and turned to look at jeongguk who was drinking quietly

“what are you looking at?”

his doe eyes widened and blinked you covered your face with both of your hands and groaned internally “ignore her please”

you sighed while untying your black apron and walking over to your friend, wrapping your arm around her waist

“we’re actually about to close.”

“shit- sorry” taehyung said as he stood up burning a hole in jeongguk’s head who was still in his spot, ignoring taehyung he turned to you and pulled out his wallet “how much do i owe you”

“don’t worry about it, hope you two enjoy your stay!” you smiled tightly struggling moderately to hold a drunk noelani up jeongguk bit his lip

“can i at least help with your friend?”

you looked between them “and how do i know you two aren’t like perverts or something?” noelani all of sudden stood up straight and squinted “the tall one is someone i’d still be with if he dogged me out” noelani spilled before going limp into your arms once more

a-beat passed and you kind of wished you died a quick death right there jeongguk smiled awkwardly and taehyung stared at you in disbelief a look in his eyes you couldn’t read

you looked at jeongguk and carefully offered your friend “i have a gun” you lied swiftly as jeongguk gently carried noelani on his back and in response she rested her head on his shoulder, he blushed profusely.

you and taehyung were left alone behind the duo

“if me and my friend make it out alive tonight, i truly hope you and him have a nice stay” you humored.

taehyung looked at you and grinned his lips stretched into a boxy shape

you thought it was cute

“i promise we have no intention to do such a thing” you nodded and shyly tucked a stray hair from your ponytail behind your ear, you were both walking slow and it was nice, talking to him was pleasant “how long have you been a tattoo artist?”

taehyung stuffed his hands into the red leather jacket that hugged his frame and hummed as he pondered

“about five years or so?” jeongguk and noelani had probably reached the vehicles but he couldn’t find a reason to care.

“how long have you been bartending?” “for 8 years or so..” you looked at his coated arms shamelessly and it was like each piece stuck to his skin perfectly

“it was my mother’s bar; she would haunt me if i let it to waste” you kicked a small rock and smiled to yourself an apologetic expression flashed over his face "way to ruin the mood y/n you thought" and quickly raise your hands

“i’m fine it was years ago”

taehyung looked back at the bar, his dark eyes shining with adornment “she would be so proud of you y/n”

a lot of people said that to and you never really knew if what they said was truthful, taehyung made it seem almost believable.

Before taehyung could see how thrown off you were by his statement jeongguk yelled from where he was “if you two don’t hurry your asses up!”

you brushed off the feeling that settled in your stomach and quickly opened the back door to your car helping jeongguk put her in looking at him strangely when he put his coat over her torso.

taehyung raised a brow and looked at him skeptically.

jeongguk only shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck “what? she said she was cold” he then circled around and got into the car him and taehyung rode in

with that you and taehyung was left by yourselves and to be truthful taehyung wasn’t rushing to leave you for some unknown reason you were incredibly interesting to him; the way your hair flowed with the cold breeze, how your arm flexed slightly when you wrapped it around your friend's waist it all drew him in, and that made him anxious hell you made him blush for fuck sakes.

“so um i guess ill see you guys around?” you say with a sweet smile planted on your lips, taehyung only nodded and licked his lips silently.

you turned your back on him but before you could climb in and drive off taehyung stopped you by gently grabbing your wrist.

“if you want anything done— tattoo wise please come by, i'm down the street from where your bar is” he suggested shyly and took his hand off your (he noted) much smaller wrist.

you grinned and climbed into your car taehyung closing the door for you. “that’s nice of you, stranger” he shared the simper and leaned down to your window, his face dangerously close to yours “i have to repay the kindness you showed my apprentice”

“maybe ill use the favor soon, maybe not” you teased lowkey getting into the little moment you both were having

“i would hope so, i hate leavin’ debts neglected”

“it was just a drink-” you started

“i know just lemme repay the favor, ma” he sent his award-winning smile before leaning back up and hitting the top of your car

“drive safe its ice on the road” he offered before going back to his own car, which was much nicer than yours.

but he never drove off, it took you a minute to realize that he was indeed was waiting for you to leave and that made you smile a little bit and while you drove off you waved a hand out the window.

jeongguk looked at him and shook his head “I know you fucking lyin”

taehyung rolled his eyes and drove out the parking lot “what are you talking about?”

“flirted her head off dude knowing damn well she got a man” he stated and looked at taehyung like he had sticky note on his forehead that said ‘biggest dick walking here!’

“she got a boy and he don’t even deserve all that” taehyung knew what he was doing was morally wrong, but it felt right and- hold up

“didn’t you give her homegirl your jacket?” jeongguk suddenly was very interested in the amazing city lights that flew by “how you think yoongi’s shops doing?"

taehyung chuckled and reached over to pinch his cheek “nah nah nah playboy you did that smooth as hell, now she gotta see your dumbass again”

jeongguk grumbled, a warm blush creeping up his neck “if that’s how you flirt i feel bad for her”

he couldn’t stop thinking about you, about your body filled out perfectly in your work outfit he couldn't stop wondering where that tattoo of yours laid, if it was done on a drunken night or were you feeling frisky due to boredom, he wanted study it like he was testing for his license again and he hoped to see you again, even a glance will do..

"this is bad" he notioned the smile quickly being wiped off his face

you chose not drive noelani home instead you took her to your place, your house was your family home you grew up in it, it was left to you by your late mother she knew how much it meant to you.

after a failed call with mingyu and about all your dying strength you got noelani situated in one of the guest rooms, knowing she was going to hot in the middle of the night you took off her clothes and tucked her in, not forgetting to put a bucket with a trash bag by her side and water on the stand.

closing the door you practically dragged yourself to your bedroom, opening to see mingyu sleeping peacefully in your bed, in your room. the same room he fucked another bitch in, the same room you grew up in.

you heaved a heavy sigh and silently got a tee-shirt and closed the door gently

walking back to where noelani remained and threw off your soiled clothes, residing in nothing but a tee-shirt and your panties, climbing into bed with her and resting your face in the hollow of her back

the last thought crossing your tired mind is how taehyung called you ‘ma’ causing you to sleep with a small smile

the next morning you awakened by the sound of your annoying ass alarm, waking noelani up too, “ow ow ow” she winced holding her head with her hands, “fucking hell-” she moaned as she got out of bed and rushed to bathroom which you presumed to throw up and shit.

the winter sun shined heavily into the room, and you founded it irritating, the past few weeks you found a lot of things irritating.

getting out of bed reluctantly, the scent of eggs and bacon forced itself into your nose

did mingyu really took the initiative to make you breakfast?

“mingyu?” you called before walking around the corner, yawning and stretching your arms above your head only to bump into a broad chest.

“fuck my nose-” you whined, now you were not a morning person at all, and you were seconds away from cussing mingyu's ass out for not watching where the fuck he was going

little problem though, you looked up it wasn’t mingyu it was taehyung like the guy who charmed you last night like the same guy with the pretty works of art on his body and even a prettier smile.

you both stared at each other in utter shock, and you swore he could your heart beating out your chest.

noelani came out the bathroom and rubbed her eyes, pausing a few steps away from you both announcing what was going through both of your heads

“what in the absolute fuck is goin’ on?”

#jungkook #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #tattoo artist taehyung #taehyung scenarios #taehyung #yoongi #bts fanfic #bangtan #bts fanfction #bts smut

69 notes · View notes

sunatoru · 1 year

Text

a hopeless romantic all my life.

⇒ osamu x hopeless romantic!reader

summary : struggling to find your true love, you decide to give up on searching for a relationship, turns out the phrase “love finds you when you aren’t looking.” has some merit to it.

warnings : none that i can tell!

genre : fluff , self indulgent asf, maybe a little tiny hint of hurt/comfort?

a/n : sick of men disappointing me, literally am never confessing to a guy ever again. WHY ARE THE MEN IN AUSTRALIA SO LAME WAAAAAAAA

w/c : 1.5k

you were first introduced to love through fairytales and fantasies at the age of five. by the age of 8 you believed you’d get your own fairytale love, you’d expressed your biggest dreams and wishes to the pearly white star in the sky. by the age of 13 you were determined to fall in love with your soulmate, full of hopes that he existed and was searching just as impatiently for you.

by the age of 19 you realised fairytales were a scam and that cupid would not be shooting you, or the stranger who offered his parking spot during your parallel parking struggles, with his blessed arrow of love. you’d done everything to make the process easier for that big-cheeked baby with the heart shaped bow. dating apps and school clubs, confessing to every guy you had feelings for, begging your friends to put in a good word with the cute guy in their class, yet nothing ever stuck.

so you gave up, if cupid wasn’t going to give you the romance anime love you craved so badly, you’d stop trying so hard. you resigned from putting any more time or effort into love, so sure that it wasn’t real and was not worth searching for.

and yet, here you are standing in front of the miya osamu, the cute chef in training at the restaurant owned by your uncle. so maybe the onigiri’s he’d given you during every visit were his way of expressing his affections for you, or maybe he genuinely needed someone to try out his recipes as he worked his way through his culinary course and his job at the ramen store. either way, your heart fluttered as he stared at you.

“i- uh…” your mouth opened and closed in shock, as you tried processing everything that just happened within the short span of five minutes.

8 year old yn would be kicking her feet in excitement, and 13 year old yn would be in awe that someone as handsome and as hardworking as osamu was interested in you. 18 year old yn would’ve been certain that you’d never see the day someone would turn the tables and confess to you instead.

“i’m sorry, it was all kind of sudden, i know. a-and i understand if you're off put by it or if you’re just not interested but-” he stopped his rambling as he noticed the wide grin slowly forming on your face, a bright and genuine smile that made his heart skip a beat and his face feel ten times hotter than it did a moment ago.

“‘samu, i’d love to get to know you better, maybe we could go on a date? when you’re free of course!”

“a date? a date! yes, okay— i’ll get back to you on when i’m free, could i- uh, get your number?”

and with that you secured a possible date with the boy who had been nothing more than your uncle’s apprentice. you made your way home with a satisfied smile on your face and a heart pumping loudly with the adrenaline that still courses through you. nothing could ruin your mood in that moment.

—

two weeks of radio silence from the man who confessed, two weeks of false hope and tears in your room, left to comfort and berate yourself all alone. you felt so stupid, to be crying over some guy who just happened to feed you the best onigiri and ramen you’d ever eaten and had made you feel so special, you just couldn’t convince yourself that he wasn’t worth your time or tears.

you avoided your uncle’s shop for a few weeks in hopes of avoiding samu in the process, however, after two more weeks of that, your luck had run out. your mother left you with the task of delivering the aprons she’d fixed up for the cozy little ramen store.

begrudgingly, you picked up the stack of folded aprons, holding them under your arm as you huffed and puffed all through your journey to the infamous shop.

from the outside, the place brought a great sense of comfort, a paper lantern to the right of the door that emitted a soft glow and warmth if you got close enough. the tiles to the roofing were a midnight grey and the two windows on the front of the shop had the curtains drawn halfway, still allowing you to see the orange glow of the interior lights. the smell of the freshly made ramen had you salivating, the strong smell of sesame oil or the sizzling of the meat being grilled had you reaching for the handle before you could second guess your decision.

“uncle! i brought your aprons—” the man on the other side of the door was, unfortunately, not your uncle. instead, samu stood over the grill with one hand on his hip, the other using a wooden paddle to push around the meat in front of him. samu glanced at the door before looking back down at the food.

“he isn’t here today, sprained his wrist this morning and asked me to watch over the store for the night.”

you blinked, once, twice before deflating. “oh… i’ll just leave the aprons in the back then…” awkwardly, you coughed before shuffling past him and the bar into the back room where the security and staff room was.

with a sigh you dropped the aprons on the cluttered table, not paying any mind to what it fell on or knocked over. what a dick you thought as you ruminate over the short interaction you just had with the main cause of all your dilemmas in the past two weeks. he barely even glanced at you!

you huffed, pouting as you pushed the door open, ready to just ignore his existence and scurry home as quickly as possible. but of course, the universe liked using you as its favourite punching bag, and so instead of sneaking your way out of the store that once brought you great comfort, you run straight into the sturdy and broad chest of the one and only osamu miya.

he stared down at you quietly, a furrow in his brows and his lips pursed. he stared deeply into your eyes with a mix of concern and frustration, he took a deep breath before he finally broke the staring battle.

“if you weren’t interested, you could’ve told me that day, you didn’t need to give me a fake number.” osamu’s voice was quiet, the disappointment and sadness seeping through his words.

you gaped up at him, the audacity of this man! he was the one who stood you up, and yet you’re being blamed?

“i messaged you everyday, miya. don’t act like i was the one who wasn’t interested, when you were the one who ignored me.”

“what? what are you talking about, you never messaged me!” he fished his phone out, opening up the messaging app and forcefully pushed his phone into your hands, the message thread between the two of you being left empty save for the few messages he had sent.

“…wait what?” you mumbled to yourself, pulling your own phone out to show him your own messages.

the two of you stared down at the screens in confusion, you opened the contact information for both of you, staring down at the numbers.

“this is your number right, osamu?” you held your phone up at him, while you looked down at his phone to confirm your number.

…confirm that it was in fact not the right number.

“osamu… why is my number wrong?” you look up at the man incredulously, as he reciprocated the look. “i could ask you the same thing.” he grumbled.

you both stood in silence for a few seconds before he let out a relieved laugh. hand wiping down his face as he walked backwards towards the cooking area. you followed quietly, mind reeling at the thought that this was most likely just a huge misunderstanding.

“i guess maybe in the excitement we both just mistyped the numbers? thank god, you almost broke my heart yn!”

your scoff was mixed with a laugh as you sat on the stool by the bar. “speak for yourself, i was crying for a good week, almost two.” you sheepishly rubbed your cheeks in hopes that your embarrassment would disappear.

the two of you talked as he worked throughout the night, ending it off with him walking you home and giving his actual number, double checking that it was right by calling him before he left. when you walked through the door of your house, you kicked off your shoes in the entrance in excitement, hopping up the short platform and sprinting to your room.

you dropped onto your bed with a squeal, feeling all the emotions of love and envy exploding within you like fireworks. you could feel your younger self applauding you for not messing things up and cheering you on as you worked towards accomplishing her dreams.

with a sigh you glanced outside the window, staring at the bright star in the night sky. “sorry for not believing in you, thanks for listening to my wishes…” you smiled softly before reaching for your phone, pulling open samu’s contact.

‘so, about that date. what about a trip to the aquarium?’

#🌀. dizzy cries #osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu drabble #osamu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader

511 notes · View notes

cannibalsrider · 5 months

Text

Episode two: Euphoria

Previous -> next -> masterlist -> playlist

Tags: @wyrcan @metta-crybaby @kettlepop @phoenix-eclipses

Fun facts for this chapter

Everyone wants terushima to be lobotomized after one time he got mad at yaku for hugging yn Infront of him when she invited everyone for this art show she was invited to and he refused to believe they had been siblings even tho they look identical

I cried four times during the time making this because I broke my earbuds and watched a sad episode of one piece

I cranked this out after downing a 2 ltr orange soda for the caffeine

Yn has a bunch of tattoos on her legs/shoulder upper arm area because she let lev practice on her and she has weird little stick people or big ones when he was still an apprentice

62 notes · View notes

sunboki · 1 year

Text

SEND MY LOVE — 양정인

PAIRING — Healer! Yang Jeongin x f. reader

🖇️ GENRE — royalty! au, angst, suggestive(no intercourse), bittersweet, coincidences, childhood best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint

WORD COUNT — 6.9k ☆ 34 minute read

⚠️ WARNINGS — making out, close to smut, implied fwb

AUG’S NOTES — another thank you for notifying me about an open spot in your collab rin(@hyunverse)!! i would never skip the chance to write for my boys, especially a royal collab eeee so exciting—i knew i could ramble on with this for forever, so i hope i supplied enough closure between yn and jeongin! also, i haven’t wrote for innie separately, so feedback is appreciated：）

PLAYLIST — ꒰ 🧺 ꒱

TAGLIST — @writerracha @princelingperfect @ggundeuri @orithyia-eriphyle @vumiixlyy @luvrhyune @hopeladybug @misitmoonlight @baldi-2 @baddecisionsworld @thetaytayray @midsoulz @hyunverse @realbangchan @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @rachabreathing @nixtape-foryou @ameliesaysshoo @jisungsdaydreamer @https-skzology @day6andetcetera @linonyang @hgema @seoli-16 @bokk-minnie @foliea @amagumorii @nhyunn @ravyaryn @ink-spilled-stars @himarose @sherryblossom @shakalakaboomboo @r-arrh @siriusly1 @catwonwoo @suebinn @foxinnie8

💭 SYNOPSIS — Despite the twists and turns in Iredal Castle, the only world you lived in was a world with Jeongin in it. Once the Healer’s apprentice, now the Healer himself, Jeongin has always been right beside you; tending to you endlessly and in turn, becoming close friends. Perhaps more in the castle’s corners. Except the Royals disregard you, and when you ask Jeongin to run away together, he denies. In turn, you leave on your own and begin working at a pottery shop in the villages, sending him abundant letters. Eventually though he stops replying and you assume he’s simply forgot about you, until he walks into the shop.

“Jeongin..” you whispered, voice coming out in a pitiful croak as you reach forward—making out the shakiness of your hand through tired eyelids. There’s a heavy haze that overtakes what’s left of the broken mind you’ve been gifted, surprised your vision remains intact whilst being unused for such a lengthy amount of time. The world is always new for those who don’t open their eyes. You know this well.

“I’m right here.” A small patch of light sneaks through cracks in the window, illuminating the boy’s features beautifully. He smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners while gazing at you from a squat by your bedside in order to speak at eye-level. When Yang Jeongin smiles, he loses his eyes and his cheeks puff out a bit. You never seem to get tired of it.

Since the day you entered this world, it felt like you had been sent to bed. Always so sick, always too weak to support yourself. Oftentimes you would refer to it as a curse until reminded of Jeongin, transforming the bitter judgment in such a way it felt like fate. A certain obscuring fate you would never manage to hold in both hands, but for you, for now, that was okay. If you hadn’t been ill all the time, perhaps you would have never gotten the chance to grow close to him like this.

Your introduction to Jeongin was well out of the books, having only really gotten to know him and his kindness on a peculiar evening when you were laden with cold. Eleven at the time, your blaring fever having spiked dramatically leading to frantic ushering into the Apothecary. The Healer’s apprentice had been hasty to concoct a sort of coriander mixture in an attempt at lowering your temperature, to no avail. Yet when he rose from his squat beside you, you clutched his shirt with sweaty fingers—pleading with the stranger of a boy not to leave you alone to stifle that same, hollow feeling. As if you were stuck in a glass box, a massive clock displayed in front of you representing time in its never ending cycle. Except the key to the box was long forgotten, and you’d simply waste away there.

Tick.

“Don't leave me, please.”

There he goes with that heart wrenching grin, your introduction to not only Yang Jeongin, but his mystifying characteristics as well — gazing at you like the earth might just break apart. It’s a mystery how one can look into his eyes without crying. Raw, unfiltered emotion that feels as if it penetrates every fiber of your soul, your being. He’s comforting, as if you’ve known him for years. Sympathy in the curve of his brows, Michelangelo's sculpture somehow alive. Breathing, thinking.

Becoming acquainted with him came relatively easy opposed to others, able to carry countless conversations of all and nothing. Spurring recollection to occasions you had sneakily slipped from your stead to visit him in extended hours of eve, where the sky had just barely dappled tawny, soon replaced with a midnight hue. He’d tell you of his days, you would tell him of yours, without realizing you grew up with him in the process. Because when you blinked, Jeongin had transformed into more than a coincidence.

“I have to collect more herbs for your head, otherwise your fever will worsen.” Despite being only eleven like yourself at the time, a brush of his hand on your forehead eased all the worries swarming, the achiness, the pain. Sleep you were coaxed to, waking up and craving his presence, his reassurance once more. That simple gesture, he did it again and again every time you would visit, which was more often than not for that of a sickly child.

When you turned fifteen and your first lover had broken up with you, crying out your heart’s contents in the castle’s botanical gardens. Jeongin had done the same then, gently caressing your head like you were a troubled child while you sobbed into his shirt. Letting your waves crash against his shore. High tide in the late of night, Jeongin welcomed the sound of the ocean.

At nineteen, only a year ago when he’d been your first kiss — a soft touch of your forehead that spoke more than could be said aloud. Something delicate, something irreplaceable. It had been prohibited for one of such high profile to be enacting any sort of association with that of the lower class, especially a kiss. Quite risky, don’t you think? Although the riskiness of it sent a childish plethora of giddiness throughout your body that you hadn’t experienced in years time due to the suffocating confinement of restrictions, dutifully enforced by the Castle. He spoke much without words.

Nonetheless, you were twenty years old now, and no matter seemed to claw you in such a way you wept about it or needed to be consoled because of. You didn’t desire that lingering touch anymore, you had grown. Or your ability to fend off illness developed from a seed into a sprout, but your relationship with Jeongin persisted as resilient as the stone pathway leading out to Iredal’s foliage-inhabited Pleasaunce, cracked and overgrown beyond belief however evermore frivolous and alive. When with Jeongin this was possible. Living in a dream before you had to wake up, that is.

Heavy mist of spring blossomed around the Kingdom, a prime occasion to bask in the sun's rays after a millennium of bitter winds. Basking you did, while accompanied by Jeongin of course. It might have been strange for two people of entirely opposing positions to be conversing and picking at daisies awakening from the long thistles of grass — nothing short of casual for the both of you.

“You spoke of your tutoring session earlier?” The Healer, sitting criss crossed across from you hummed, twining vine into pretty bracelets absentmindedly.

“Ah yes, I was informed on the Victorian Language of Flowers, the topic was of great interest.” He leaned forward, appearing immersed though already knowledgeable of the study. On and on you explained, telling him of fantastical bouquets conveying distinct messages and allowing him to appreciate the excitement sparkling beneath your irises, sporadic hand gestures emphasizing each word slipping off your enchantingly cherry lips he longed to feel against his. Essentially, he did bask in the spring’s sun, your sun. Providing him with all the light and warmth necessary albeit far out in a field. Oh to abandon responsibilities and live like this, with you. One can hope, though hoping is sour upon accepting it won’t occur. Still, he’ll hope.

As for your presumed “friendship”, behind closed doors the average witness would immediately assume you were enacting an affair from the stolen kisses and the recurring suggestive touch. To those in front of the door, you were simply good friends. Good friends with a.. lasting connection.

Daisie picking however met a refreshing end, the dark-haired boy accompanying you back towards the Castle’s nearest entryway before bidding you farewell. There was a fondness gracing his features, carefully tucking one of the countless daisies he had picked into your palm, tickling your palm with soft petals and carving a memento of a day you already wished back.

The following morning however was a daring occasion for “good friends.”

“Oh god..”

His neat white shirt adorned with classical ruffles disheveled along with jet black hair, chasing after your kiss whilst you cupped the sides of his face. Your legs wrapped around his midsection, supported by strong hands sinking into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. Jeongin’s lips bruised pink and puffy from where you had pulled the skin between your teeth, eliciting a sort of adorable whine in return. His descent traveled down to your jaw, stopping to mark a love bite right below the ear where he nipped the soft skin relentlessly until you knew you’d have to be dressed heavily in order to conceal the evidence — loving the dreamy sigh that sounded in response to his attention.

“You.. you locked the door?” You breathed shallowly, allowing him to carry you from the wall to the bed, fervently laying you down on the mattress. He nodded in a hurried manner, maneuvering you to straddle his hips — fox-like, chestnut eyes admiring every inch of you he’d seen innumerable times. He slowly traced the fabric of your gown, down, down, lower. Till your breath hitched and the situation truly inclined into dangerous territory, teetering on the brink of collapse. Each reaction, curl of your fingers, flush of your cheeks. Engraved in his memory for as long as his mind would remember.

“I missed this, ‘missed you my dear. Please let me make love to you..” Soft murmurs mumbled against bare skin recalled times you treasured the most thanks to nectarine sweet talk accompanied by the gentleness of his voice that sailed you away into a new universe. A new universe where you and Jeongin were the only ones existing, not hidden in his room disguised from prying eyes.

“No one is keeping you from doing so.” You giggled, leaning down for an equally sugary kiss. No person might have kept him from doing so, but your impending requested presence at dinner could end up guilty. A long forgotten factor if not noticeable already. Yet selection revealed quite mercilessly that all things come to an end, some quicker than others.

“Hey Jeongin, I need to speak to you concerning-WOAH. Woah.”

In strolls Royal Guard Han Jisung, standing stiffly in the doorway relative to a deer suffering amnesia. Loudly declaring that Jeongin did not in fact lock the door, and a person was surely capable of preventing your love session after all. This was humiliating. The intruder slapped a hand across his mouth, waving quickly towards the both of you whilst muttering a jumbled, “Apologies for interrupting!” Before sprinting away. Momentary silence ensued and slowly, you turned to face the man you had nearly slept with, threatening the burst of laughter creeping up your throat.

“Did we happen to scare him?” You take your turn covering your own mouth, doubling back on the bed from not only the situation, but Jeongin’s facial expression as well. So expressive, added to the list of bountiful charms you discover when with him. At this point you should know everything about him, and you do, partially. Apart from what he doesn’t allow you to know, which, defensively, you uncover on your own.

“Ruined the atmosphere more like it.” He scowled, obviously annoyed by the interruption of his love-making fantasy and bemused by your evident inability to feel even slightly vexed. He found it impossible to remain upset when you were around. A continuously repeated cycle of stealing what wasn’t his, what he wanted to be his, and getting his most precious of possessions ripped out of his fingertips. Jeongin was a beggar in that view. For you, he was a beggar.

Reminding, you tapped his nose, wearing the sly grin he’d once sported like a badge of honor, “You poor thing… someone is grumpy.” Earning a pouted reply despite happily anticipating the peck you planted on his cheek as an estranged form of compensation.

“I’m not.. ugh, I find it best to leave before he tells the whole Kingdom about us.” About us, he said. About your adoration, heavily harbored passion. About us, what you could be, what you were, what perception told of. Quizzical. Unaffected, he gives your hips a quick squeeze, allowing you to leave the bedroom first prior to exiting himself.

Low and behold stood the interruption, appearing far too pleased with his latest discovery while he tapped his foot- a bad habit of his- incessantly. The mere thought as to what Jisung’s business here entailed failed to materialize in his mind, a heavily disregarded prospect after being so violently thrashed from paradise, left to drift off at sea.

“Mayhaps..”

“Say nothing more.”

“I wasn’t going to mention your affairs! This concerns Y/n.” Han appeared feeble observing the younger perk at the reference to you, attentive to whatever he was saying once you were involved. He beckoned Jeongin to follow him, adding on to the suspicious layering of what exactly they would be discussing upon arriving on the far side of an open corridor, located on the left wing of the Castle — vastly distanced considering where you would currently be rushing to dine with fellow Royals. The space void of any lurking ears awaiting to hear something they could use to either upgrade their status or stake down someone else’s. Hierarchy in its boldest font and ever apparent in the depths of Iredal Castle.

“Have you taken notice?” There’s a crease in Jisung’s forehead relating to the question. Tentative, like a cat studying its unsuspecting prey residing on a fence post. If Jeongin were a cat, his fur would have bristled apprehensively.

“Taken notice of what, exactly?” A sort of nervous pique to his voice gave away the Healer’s compiling tension, prominently oblivious. Jisung cleared his throat, lowering his tone that ushered his counterpart closer.

“Have you perceived Y/n and the Royal Family-“ Before the Royal Guard managed to pronounce his finishing words, the black-haired ran a hand through his hair, boisterously indifferent.

“-Whatever the Royal Family fancies is not my business and not something I want any association with. You know this.”

“Yes yes I am aware but it would be favorable if you listened for a moment, please?” Jeongin nodded curtly.

“There’s a disconnect, Changbin and I keep seeing it. As if they don’t even acknowledge her. Aside from there being some disconnect since Y/n’s the King’s Goddaughter and all, it has significantly worsened.”

The latter’s brow furrowed, perturbed. He could picture it so realistically — your downcast face, how you would fiddle with your fingers thoughtfully. Fiddling the way he’d seen a multitude of times when you were younger. Your signature mechanism of aiming to ease the discomfort you felt in that moment. He hurt, knowing you hurt.

“..Has she said anything to you about this?” A quiet break in the stillness that had occupied its way between them earned a solemn shake of the head. Of course you hadn’t said anything. You’d keep it bottled up in your heart until the dam broke, and he’d be the one racing to scoop up the water. Always.

Alas, the fiddle of your fingers bared its ugly face, distracting yourself with the rough texture of the tablecloth’s fabric beneath you. Evening’s feast carried on like usual, just as Jeongin had predicted. Except you didn’t rush there, aware you would have in the case of your earlier affair going further prior to being interrupted. Time that could have been spent elsewhere ghosted by, including snide comments easily discarded by each person attending that added to the flavor of pig's blood jelly majestically advertised in the center of the long table. Family friend Madame Belmore tapped her fingernails repeatedly along a decorative wine glass, sparing an excessive margin to clear her throat. One’s next words could not have been dreaded more.

“Speak of yore, I happened to deduct intriguing insight on Your Highness’s God-Daughter Ms. Yn Ln. For I hadn’t been told of your association with erm.. Yun, Yin..-“Yang Jeongin.” You abruptly voice, audibly calm opposed to the exasperation settling itself in your stomach at a bewildering rate. The woman had always inhibited her suspicions just as everyone did. Unlike everyone though, her suspicions were her prowess, her sickening joy.

“Yes! Yang Jeongin, the Healer. About him, I couldn’t help but ponder your… how do I put this, relationship.” Each piece of Madame Belmore’s puzzle fell into perfect place — mirroring the exact moves you had been taught playing Chess. The sight utterly chilling, watching her ferocious glinting sneer scream “Checkmate” right in your face, breath hot with the overwhelming scent of overly sweetened wine.

She thrust her hands forward, clasping them oh so tightly as if she were praying. Praying for something you couldn’t guess, but most likely your demise on first thought.

“You see, to an uneducated eye it may seem unusual I suppose. Reassuringly we are nothing apart from saved and savior. Were you not disclosed of my childhood illness, Madame Belmore?” Narrowly escaping to an empty square on the Chess board, you tip your head to the side, openly inviting the woman to interject. No, she wouldn’t. Madame Belmore wouldn’t dare to allow her sacred suspicions to deliberately falter.

“Oh allow me!” The Queen dramatically gasping her anguish spurred the dissipation of Madame Belmore’s pretentious glare, beginning to enlighten the “uneducated” on your tragedies. Rising aversion to the instigator wasn't much disliked though, comparing the belittling to ignoring. Ignoring in terms of absolute abandonment of your being, not a glance in your direction for a reason you didn’t know. What you did know was the behavior began becoming increasingly prevalent, and that this exact banquet would become an entire accusation pinwheel after the introduction of your saved and savior relationship was provided so diligently to Madame Belmore by the Queen. “Best to flee.” Jeongin had told you that once, after he had snatched a casserole you’d asked about off the Baker's tray. Young then, without thought of genuinely meaning you would run away. Without a need to run away, apart from fleeing from small mishaps.

“And you are not attending dinner, why?”

You’d leave it to the imagination to assume you deserted the feast or caused a scene, storming into no other than Jeongin’s Apothecary before the feast had officially concluded. Escape. The Apothecary was a momentary escape, upon investigation by officials though the forbidden cove would be revealed, unraveling something disgustingly disastrous.

At this time in the evening the Healer was well versed knowing you would be eating with the rest of the elites, afterwards skipping back to his Apothecary to inform him of the gossip you had overheard while there. Scheduled, like usual. This time howbeit things were contrasting to this long running schedule. Divergent in terms of the atmosphere, your body language, the timing. It was unsettling.

“I’m pained because of them. It is much the same as being invisible. Not only that, but Madame Belmore is plotting a distasteful act for me.”

Jeongin’s lips pull into a tight line listening to you. Madame Belmore had always been alternatively plotting, but you would always state your desire to complain about her then forget. To be so troubled by it, furthermore to enter his Apothecary so frazzled confirmed the urgency. Seeing you like this, curled up in a ball on the patient-bed you had basically grown up in, stirs an ugly nostalgia to froth. Grateful his back is facing you, concealing his transparency. He can’t say anything. Not about his gnawing guilt and chiefly not about his previous conversation with Han containing the exact details you’re speaking now.

“Innie, would you run away with me?”

His hands abruptly stop their shuffling, deciding against turning around to face you. Never did he expect such a preposition. Continuously caving when it came to you, too blinded by fondness to register what he was getting himself into before the thicket became too dark and suffocating that he’d reach for you to pull him to safety. Never did he expect such a preposition he would have to reject, indirectly saying to him that if you weren’t to close the book yourself, the pages would be ripped to pieces by someone else. That nickname, “Innie.” Only you could call him that.

This time though, a fine line had been drawn. One half his side, one half yours. Yours with the need to be free, his with the need to be with you. His of which wouldn’t allow a caged bird to venture out. Greater precaution told him he should’ve known that you were both walking a tightrope that would eventually lead to stumbling. He did know, however he didn’t acknowledge. The prospect was nauseating.

“I’m afraid.. I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

Eardrums buzzed, he hears you move. Hears the patter of your shoes on the stone flooring as you approach him. Your arms wrap around him, burying your head into his back.

“You know I will go through with it.”

“I do, and that is what breaks me.” His words falter, yet you don’t look up, aware it would be too much to watch his face crumble. Perhaps make you change your mind. Your best friend, the Healer of Iredal Castle, changed your mind with ease. Perhaps that’s also why this hug feels so bittersweet. You don’t want to let go, worried he’d slip through your fingers like sand upon separating. Bittersweet. There’s a slight croak, the man dissolving into billowing sobs. You carefully turn him around to face you, gazing up at his immeasurably enchanting face that you begged yourself not to see, not to give in to. Yet you did, every time. Clammy thumbs brush stray tears from his cheeks, watery smile disguising a throbbing ache settling inside of your chest. You’ll stay solid in order to keep to your word of running away, but dear is it challenging when Jeongin cries. If you could give him the world you would, despite that world being one without you in it disparate of what fantasy foretold. For Jeongin you would give anything, give in to anything. Anything except this.

“Tomorrow,” You await a sign he’s listening, his shaky hands reaching to hold your own that are cupping his face. He nods, big, emotion-filled globes for eyes shrieking a thunderous volume. Those chestnut orbs have always been mesmerizing, especially now when on the verge of breaking down. What a shame things are so pretty seconds before defeat.

“Tomorrow I will be gone, okay? And I’ll send you letters, Jeongin, and I want you to write back.” You’re coaching him through this, a second attempt to overshadow the feelings you’re experiencing of which you can’t describe. Feelings that harken an unpalatable sound from you you hardly recognized. It’s your turn to begin shaking, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood in order to contain yourself along with the cry clawing at your stomach.

“You.. You promise to do that, to write back, okay?” Subtle repetition of words betray you, but you don’t pay mind, or care to pay mind. There’s fervent bidding, holding him close a little longer, wishing for a little longer that things could be different. Except each night the sun set below the horizon, and you would follow accordingly.

The following morning consisted of sitting with Changbin in your room, him gaping at the shamelessly decadent assortment piling into a burgundy chest. You wanted to thank him for helping you cope like this, staying quiet while you packed even though the roaring man would have talked your ear off if preferred. He had a misunderstood demeanor, but Seo Changbin was a good listener. Not as good as Jeongin, but a good listener.

“Are you planning to leave for fifteen years-“Shh!”

Cowering slightly, the Royal Guard mumbled out hushed “sorry”’s as you checked through your belongings, ensuring each and every necessity was visibly there.

“..Alright. I pardon that’s everything.”

Uneasy quiver to your voice betrays you for a second time, lugging the massive chest downstairs with the help of your brown-haired emotional support. Ironic how the foyer stayed empty the entire time, not a soul peering from wooden doorways. Possibilities are limitless as you stand at the entry gates, patting the man’s shoulder farewell and prompting him to tell your acquaintances goodbye in your stead. You could run back, discard all your packaged belongings on your bed like it would make a difference due to primarily sleeping in Jeongin’s Apothecary. You could scream your lungs out and throw the wine Madame Belmore had sipped so precariously last night all over her satin white dress. You didn’t, finding no reason to disorient an outcome gradually worsening without needing your aid.

“You be safe now. ‘Get yourself into trouble and Han and I will go hunting you down.” His words grumble and you crack a ghost of a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, Changbin doesn’t mind.

The village is relatively small compared to the grandeur of Iredal’s Castle, nothing that you hadn’t anticipated before — and not in an arrogant, castle-grown demeanor — instead quaint, peaceful. You arrived by horseback, memorizing individual landscapes you pass on the way to scribble into a letter for Jeongin. Tell him of your trials and tribulations migrating to this foreign land, a prolonged explanation of what actually occurred that would hopefully earn his pretty laugh. A pretty laugh you already missed hearing.

Soon enough you settled into a comfortable household. Settled swiftly conducive to deterring your mind of returning to both the boy you loved and the home you had always known. Moving on was unyielding, this time though no one was glowering in your direction or expecting nothing, your only responsibility being to reach your own expectations. Those expectations built up in the process of working at a pottery shop on the northside of town. Additionally, November, paired with the bustle of customers and climbing income, became favored upon receiving a letter in the mail. Jeongin’s letter, and your first reply.

My Dearest,

How are you faring in the villages? Are you nourishing yourself? I’m hoping this is delivered to you at a suitable time and that you don’t miss me too greatly. Iredal Castle runs as usual without much squander, though I would prefer if you were here as well. The servants have successfully concealed your presence as a “sudden departure” so no need to fret. I cherish you deeply, please know I think of you endlessly and wish you well my dearest.

Sincerely yours, Yang Jeongin 양정인

Crouched over a desk in the pottery shop's backroom, your fingertips bunched the inked parchment, taking extra time to memorize the signature curvature of his “s” and how he would linger the feather tip a tad bit longer to achieve a darker hue on his periods. This was the first letter of what seemed like hundreds. Back and forth back and forth you wrote, on occasion locking yourself in the nearest isolated place to collect your rampaging thoughts. Discovering Jeongin’s confidence when writing relative to his meekness in real life bemused you in the sense of his compelling grasp of literature, example being his innate ability to have you holding onto every word. Oh how you yearned to visit him without constantly daydreaming the interaction. You wonder if he’s changed. If he’s forgotten about you, fallen in love- no. Pondering poorly is rotten for the mind. A worm coring an apple. Mental impressment.

Lovely, awakening to his appearance through letters in defiance to physical interaction, because he was there. You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was there. Thinking of you while writing, listening. In spite of that, the certain comfort obtained during your letter exchange paused abruptly when the letters instantaneously stopped. Throughout the span of nearly eight months, his letters simply stopped. Initially you had assumed deliveries were slow, until you started asking the Postal if they had any letters assigned under your name on the daily. None. It left you somewhat starstruck, how rapidly your reality could be twisted. The worm wedging inside your simultaneously rotting apple of a brain you had smothered away days earlier. You wanted to convince yourself he was busy, to ease the worry, arguing that Summer was approaching and hay fever could be assaulting members of the Castle. Summer passed though, and so did the Mail boy carrying no “Yn Ln” assigned letters in his leather satchel.

Next was the anger, the ache. Childlike confusion as to why, when. Jeongin was not one to stop writing back without prior notice of his situation. But like you had fretted, in those eight months he might’ve changed. Yang Jeongin, your Yang Jeongin, might have changed into a spiteful man. Worst case being he forgot. Gradually, he would forget. About your love, about growing up together, about you. Nonsensical anxiety began wading itself through your veins, infecting your head. Furthermore, your anger persisted. Considering your anxiety was infectious, the anger was parasitic. Flaming and unhinged to where you were left no choice after long summer days waiting for a response but to find your own solution to the ghosting.

. ..

“Han Jisung I have every right to talk to that son of a bitc-''And I have every right to give you a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you cannot see Jeongin right now.” He butts in, addressing your flailing arms with a sheepish expression. Sheepish. Han Jisung is sheepish when he’s making excuses. You’ve determined that rather quickly. Taking a perplexed step back, you cross your arms over your chest, regarding the walking excuse impatiently.

You’ve been sleepless for two weeks now, arranging a time and date as to when you would finally show your face at the Castle’s gates again to confront Jeongin only to be told he was unavailable. Being impatient was a given.

“Enlighten me.”

A big sigh.

“Please don’t misinterpret this, I’m sure he would love to see you, talk to you and all the things a person does with their lover that I know of because of romance novels I’ve read in my past time and oh no I’m talking too much but um, he is quite occupied at the moment.” Along with tapping his foot, Han’s habit you’d learned from Jeongin is he rambles ceaselessly. Only problem being you can’t tell if it’s simply a trait of his or nervousness due to confrontation. You don’t buy it either way.

“And? What has been keeping him occupied if I may ask.” The unconvinced stare etching your face earns lifted brows, and it’s the Royal Guard’s turn to flail his arms, the clank of his metallic armor loudly echoing — causing once calm birds to strike to the skies fretfully.

“With all due respect, do you really believe he would tell me what he’s preoccupied with?”

Hm. That is fair. Jeongin has always been a quiet one apart from conversing with you, his necessary antics placed at the top of the list. Somewhere, you hoped you’d be on the top of that list too, a fleeting thought you knew would be recurring.

Trivial deciding between going back to the village to wallow in your own self pity or make an equally pitiful sprint to Jeongin’s Apothecary to wring the man, luckily, the former reigned supreme in decision-making on this particular occasion. You breathed a long puff of air through your nose, shifting your weight into your heel from one foot to the other thoughtfully.

“Then, can you inform me when he’s not preoccupied?” No, you’re not giving up, simply rescheduling. Venturing back to the villages to await a letter from anyone, telling you the man has gained enough confidence to make room for you, that he had “rescheduled.” Han flashes a small smile, ruffling your hair kindly unlike the same sheepish contortion gracing his features. He doesn’t have to say anything to understand, to know of your struggle. You also know he sees your roaring anguish. Han Jisung has always been like that. Empathetic to a fault.

Changbin as the good listener, Han as the empathetic, and Jeongin as the man who was preoccupied.

Another optic of contemplation negotiates that you should have brushed the doubts away, decided against putting so much into gaining a single letter back. Nevertheless, it was impossible to both diminish the doubts and will a letter, and most certainly to ever let go of Jeongin. Perhaps he could manage to let go when it came to you, but it would never be the other way around.

Eventually you learned he surely couldn’t be that occupied, you mean, if he had the audacity to show his face in the pottery shop his list of priorities couldn’t be that time consuming now could they? Days from breaching a year without even seeing him and the one responsible for your misery causally entered the exact shop you had fled Castle life for. Referring to “eventually” as in right on time to absolutely wreck whatever fragments of acceptance you had gathered during his absence. Jeongin was good at making you lose, almost as good as he was at changing your mind.

Had Han said something to him about your visit? It seemed not, since the man didn’t pay any mind to you, like you didn’t exist just as the Royals had done. Your blood ran cold, standing frozen behind the front desk, eyes glued to the figure who casually strolled through the front door as if he hadn’t shattered your soul into a bountiful disarray a year in advance.

“Why are you here?”

“To get a jar.” He bites back coldly, bitter. Quick upon answering without consideration, not even turning to look at you.

A stranger, Yang Jeongin, is the exact figure who had walked through the door. Not someone you knew, but a stranger, a mere customer with a crude attitude.

“You’re aware you could have sent Han to get a new jar for you, like you had him tell me you were occupied with your duties, right? I see through-“No you don’t!”

Everything seemed to go rigid. Jeongin never raised his voice. But he did, and his mouth lay agape as he stared at you. Eyes blazing with something unreadable. Your hands tremble by your sides, fighting to maintain a composed expression as you stare back. This time, you compose with a heavy tongue, mouth just as dry as before.

“Are you going to say because of your position you could not even bother to acknowledge my feelings, couldn’t respond to my letters? Because you are the Healer and I am the invisible god-daughter you cannot just tell me what is taking up your time? Stop hurting me, please Jeongin.”

His jaw clenched. Pausing, then resorting to stepping over to where you stood and harshly sitting the clay jar atop the counter without a word. Jeongin spoke much without words, today, you didn’t want to listen. Hushed, he parted strawberry lips you’d kissed more times than healthy and there you are, hanging on with the feeble belief this is Jeongin you’re speaking to and not a stranger.

“… I knew if I sent out another letter I would come here, see you, fall all over again and have to stay. But I presume in the end my feet always lead me back to you.”

You feel your heart shattering into a million pieces, worried he’d crumble like a year ago and you’d pathetically follow suit. Instead, you smiled. A real smile that hurt your cheeks because you missed him, missed this even if it was an argument. Missed the hurt and the denial and the rawness of it all. Most importantly, missed your best friend and the love of your life.

Forgiving. You allowed yourself to forgive too easily with Jeongin.

In order to make eye contact you peek beneath dark strands of hair, adorning a big smile while gazing at him you can’t believe manages to appear when you should be fuming.

“You have grown so handsome, Innie.”

Because he has. His jawline has grown sharper(maybe it’s your lack of inspection) and his once tightly cut hair has become overgrown and unkempt, somehow foolishly infatuating. He looks older, he looks lonesome.

Stalling, he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes unevenly flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“.. May I kiss you?”

Considering it, you should’ve pushed him away, drilled him about how cruel he was to you and then shun him from the shop — shouldn’t have smiled or complimented him. Shouted at him for the Summer he left you waiting, wanting. For the never ending worrying he’d burdened you with. Sensible, but not the outcome you favored. After all, it was a refreshing time of year and opportunities like this were a bit too tempting to resist. He gave the impression he felt the same sort of gaping hesitance anyway.

“Just once.”

It’s his turn to laugh sadly, and he does kiss you. Slow and careful like you were a porcelain teacup, like the first time. Like he’s sorry, meaning it without an excuse. And miraculously, Innie had returned to visit you too. The one you knew, not the stranger nor a customer. Not the man who stopped sending you letters, not the one who raised his voice.

“Will you come back to visit? Or is this a fleeting chance?” Thick lashes dust fervently upon pulling apart, attempting to clear his rosy-hazed vision while listening to your whisper. Sneakily, his hand slips forward, spinning the jar sitting between you while another occupies itself on your cheek, caressing the skin he’s dreamt of.

“For another jar and ingredients, certainly.”

You’re quick to shove him, dubiously irritated by his ability to carelessly tease. Charming, but you won’t let him know that.

“Take this seriously!”

Giggles fill the expanse of the pottery shop as you playfully banter back and forth, drinking in the raindrops after your lengthy drought. Omniscient is the mutual unspoken sorry he mutely confessed to you, over and over with his affection, his words, his touch.

“However I have yet to let my unanswered letters go disregarded.” You perplex, Jeongin’s smile a risky jargon — concealing some sort of mischievous intention.

“Don’t fret yourself love, I’ll make up for all the responses you weren’t delivered.” He leans across the wooden panel, ushering a kiss you stubbornly resisted. Finally he maneuvers to your lips, snatching chaste pecks here and there as you struggle, laughing all the while. As if he’s carefully scouring back all the times he could have savored your lips in your time apart.

“Every day,”

Kiss.

“I will deliver a response,”

Kiss.

“With a flower attached from the shop next door,”

Kiss.

“Until all the letters I didn’t answer are answered.”

He’s satisfied with himself after you affirm the decision with a subtle chuckle, patting him on the shoulder and slipping his earlier payment into a compartment below the counter.

“I said you could kiss me just once, but I’ll look forward to my letters of compensation.”

Goodness, have you given enough credit to his smile? No description could possibly describe its beauty. One of his many factors you missed dearly. Imagining the future, you wondered if you would be granted the ability to witness them — all the pieces you thought you had lost after eight months. Time would tell. He left, except his departure wasn’t heartfelt. Instead it felt as if he would drop by tomorrow like back in the Castle, like things were how they used to be.

Awakening the following day, you figured Jeongin had been joking, not anticipating him to immediately write back and definitely not anticipating him to attach a flower alongside. Apart from the many miles separating the villages from the Castle, where he found the time to answer so many letters and supply flowers stood challenging to comprehend. Although you were proven wrong when the Postal service slipped a pristinely pale envelope into the shop's mailbox in the midst of your shift, mesmerizing White Orchids embellishing the visual. And for a moment, your mind streamed clearer. There he goes, leaving you breathless again.

The field chatter, the daisy bracelets. He proves you wrong a second time. He had listened. Listened to you talk all that time ago about those flowers and their meaning, otherwise he wouldn’t have added it with the letter you sent exclaiming your frustration about his sudden unresponsive state. Listened unlike the Royals had. Listened like a best friend, like a lover should.

White Orchids symbolize “I’m sorry.”

The next day, then the next. More letters passing by your window, beneath your door, in the mailbox or by hand on your way to the stalls. Petals littering the floor the only trace of your not-so-secret admirer. Twenty days later, they keep arriving in a constant and you’re left to ponder if perhaps he had planned this. Planned to apologize, planned to respond.

Friday. Pink Camellias symbolize “I missed you.”

Occasionally he would stay a while and watch you read his letters, scooping you up in his arms or wistfully chuckling from afar. Drinking in the time he was longing for and awaiting the time he’d experience now that he had you. And despite being Sunday and early at that, the letters continued to pour. Except today, unbeknownst to you, happened to be your last letter among hundreds, and a knock at the shop's door hadn’t gone unnoticed in the midst of your daily shift. Stirring you awake from whatever illusions had pulled you from the world's atmosphere. Walking outside to see what was the matter, you gasped, shocked by the large bouquet of vermillion flowers the man held that nearly concealed his face due to their abundant size. Jeongin, clad in a clean tanned trench coat, grinned a saccharine beam as he spoke, squinted eyes and puffy cheeks just as you remembered.

“This is your last letter, I hope I can make up for everything I’ve missed, my love.”

The flowers he held?

Red Chrysanthemums.

Red Chrysanthemums symbolize,

“I love you.”

feedback much appreciated :)

264 notes · View notes

kingdomhate · 11 months

Text

Destined

You didn't specifically know what it was that caused you to believe so firmly that you loved Darth Vader, because it's preposterous in itself. You, a lowly Stormtrooper, who has never ever done anything, never majored in anything. All you knew is how to operate a blaster and follow orders. That's all. But you had the audacity to fantasize of yourself with your own Lord? A Sith, with a tragic past, one strong with the Force, one who you weren't even sure noticed you. But you found yourself thinking you could fix him, make him love you. What you didn't know was that Vader could sense the nervousness that seemed to encourage you not to look at him whatsoever. He could sense every one of your emotions without you knowing, you weren't really good at hiding them, even under the Stormtrooper mask. You wandered the halls of the Death Star aimlessly, pretending to be on patrol, when in reality, you were clearing your head. "Hey, YN-447, are you off duty?" Another Trooper asks you. "Huh? Um... nah, not at all." You reply, looking up at the Trooper. "Lord Vader's supposed to be coming down here, I think." The Trooper glanced around. "W-what? Why?" You ask shakily, blushing. "Dunno." The Trooper shrugs. A second later, you hear a scuttle of footsteps and the iconic sound of Vader's breathing, and you felt your breath speed up slightly. Draped in all black, stepping with an unspoken authority and an aura of badass. "What is your business, Troopers?" He said, with a sort of bored tone. "I was going on a walk, My Lord..." You said, the prospect of lying to him was absurd, as you knew he wouldn't fall for it. "Were you given permission?" Vader asked, his head tilting toward you, you looked up, to lock your eyes with his, even if you nor he could see the other through the black lenses. "No. It was supposed to be quick." Vader sighed, obviously it was annoying to him to have to deal with you. "I see. Clearly, you've no sense, Trooper. What's your name?" You took a second, a second too long perhaps. "YN-447." You replied. He doesn't respond, but just nods, and he sweeps away. You stared after him in awe and felt your face heat up again. A few days later, you were called to report to Vader's chambers, in account for getting in a bit of an argument with a fellow Trooper (Aggressive negotiations). You entered and took off your helmet, you noticed he was staring outside, at Space. "YN-447, I trust you know why you are here." He spoke. "I do, My Lord." He turned to you, his hands clasped securely behind his back. "Would you like to tell me how you got the Lightsaber?" You looked up at him. "I snagged it, from a Jedi I killed." He nodded. "How did you learn to use it?" You took a deep breath. "I didn't. It came... naturally." He said nothing, and looked away from you, back out the window. You moved closer, but only slightly, not entirely sure of what to do. Did you upset him? Offend him? Make him sad? Your eyes shifted around the room nervously. "Do you know what that means?" He spoke after a seemingly forever-type pause. "No?" You tilted your head. "You are to be trained in the ways of the Sith." Vader turned to you. "What?" You said, dumb-founded. "I hope I did not stutter." He said, his voice sounding quite sour. "A-as your apprentice? Or...?" He scoffed, not even attempting to answer that question. He looked at you, (or at least you thought he did) and said to you possibly one of the softest tones he could manage. "It's your destiny."

#star wars #darth vader #sith #comment\like for a potential part two!#darth vader x reader #sith apprentice

29 notes · View notes

corporatefrog · 1 year

Text

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: tricking team stan into thinking you're a magician ✧.*

✧.* tags: college au, ✧.* Characters: kenny mccormick, kyle broflovski, stan marsh, butters scotch a/n: i just feel like they all had magician phases and moved through them differently. where's the magician episode of south park i demand this content NOW!

masterlist

Kenny

Believes you INSTANTLY

You don’t even have to do magic for him.

“You don’t want to see a trick or anything?”

“Oh no, fuck that. I don’t want you cursing me or something”

“Kenny i mean like card magic-”

“There’s a difference??”

Moral of the story: he is terrified of magic

Probably because he’s already cursed

But he LOVES good party trick!

His favorite is when you pull the really long piece of fabric out of your sleeve

It just keeps going????

His dream is to be one of those magician assistants

Because you could literally cut him in half and he’d be back on stage in like 30 minutes

Kyle

bull. Shit.

Doesn’t believe it for a second

He knows all of the secrets

(because he absolutely had a magician phase when he was younger)

The type to call out the secret in the middle of a trick

Like a fucking PARTY POOPER

So you head deep into the #magicianarchives and find a trick he definitely hasn’t heard of

“Where did you learn that one?”

“What do you mean? I’ve always been able to do this?”

“...what are you talking about.”

“Yeah ive been able to do this since i was like 6”

He doesn’t sleep that night because he’s thinking about how you did that trick

Stan

He also knows how a lot of tricks work

(he was kyle’s assistant)

But he doesn’t know the full secrets like kyle does since he was mainly helping set things up during the tricks

Doesn’t care much at first

Because magic is for babies

And he’s a BIG KID (because adults obviously call themselves big kids. Sure stan.)

But then you do a trick he hasn’t seen before

And he is TERRIFIED

Tries to laugh it off

But he’s freaked the fuck out

“How…what…what-how-did you…”

“A true magician doesn’t need a ‘how’, stan”

“Yeah but there’s a trick to it, right? A string or something”

“True magic isn’t a trick, it’s magic :)”

“YOURE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE”

He pukes.

butters

Definitely just LOVES magic

Magician butters was a huge hit at the senior centers

So when you offer to show him tricks, he is just happy to see some magic tricks

But then you do something that he hasn’t seen before

And he has NO clue how you did that

Asks you to do it again

And again

And now he’s convinced that you’re a wizard.

There is no other possible explanation

“Oh great yn, please teach me your ways!”

“I’m not really accepting apprentice applications right now”

“PLEASEEEEE”

“...okay fine”

You hate to see him sad

#south park headcanons #south park #south park x reader #corporatefrog #butters stotch #stan marsh #kenny mccormick #kyle broflovski

116 notes · View notes

soranihimawari · 1 year

Text

Stick Together

A story about a hat, a tailor, and a jailbird

The first BSD fic I wrote & it is centered around Chūya Nakahara

Word count: 3.6K

Pairing: (port mafia!) Chūya x (tailor-gifted) reader

Rating: CNF (Chūya Nakahara Fluff)// strangers->lovers

Warnings: mentions of poverty, growing up around drug users (none used by principal characters) , reader and Chūya do fight, mentions of Dazai

Sitting in a jail cell is not how one Chūya Nakahara thought he’d be spending his afternoon, yet here he was. A recon mission for the Port Mafia had gone awry after a client of the Armed Detective Agency had their cover blown by his fellow cohorts. Unfortunately when the battle had settled and cleared away via the local authorities, only a high ranking member of said mafia was apprehended.

Though the use of one phone call to his boss and another to a trusted lawyer, Chūya paces his holding cell now, hoping to change out of the dreadful ensemble jumper he had forcibly been told to wear (his signature top hat would only be returned to him after being released). Thankfully, his gloves that kept his power intact were allowed to be kept on his person.

The hat, though a stylish and signature wardrobe piece, had a tale uniquely its own. Perhaps if Chūya ever bothered to listen to his dear ol’friend Dazai more often, Chūya would have taken better care of it.

Once, when you were five, a teenage boy stopped by the city slums. Your parents were nowhere to be found, probably getting their fix on some gifted-approved uppers. The teenage boy arched his eyebrow at your direction as you unashamedly brought little straw dolls to life. You were a little puppeteer and you even chased the pigeons away with said talent. Magic was never lost in the eyes of a child, at least that was what the boy was thinking. He knelt down and beckoned you to come closer. Surely, you knew not to trust strangers, but with his charming grin and alluring smile, you couldn’t help approaching the older-young man.

“I’m Dazai.”

He extends a bandaged arm and hand to you.

“YN, mister dazai.”

You enthusiastically shake his hand. He chuckles at your eagerness to make a new friend—you stay out with him exploring the slums, making straw and paper-debris dolls, he fills your head with stories about the city he’s heading to for work. With the lights of the sunset reflecting upon your face, you notice a small black hat a few paces away. You run to grab it and give it to Dazai. Your smile is infectious for one who seems to have gotten lost in the wastelands.

Sometimes, you wonder what ever happened to the teenager with playful jokes and charming grin; other times, he wonders if you ever made it out of the slums. Your name never appeared in the obituaries over the course of the years—post wartime, post formation of the Port Mafia, and Armed Detective Agency. Imagine the surprised look on an older Dazai when he spots you chatting with his old apprentice, Chūya, in a tailor’s shop.

Dazai notices the hat Chūya is wearing, surely you’d know whose hat that was. He enters the building undetected wondering how this will play out:

“That’s not your hat sir,” you are stubborn in your tone. Chūya looks offended as he scoffs.

“Oh, and pray tell,” Chūya squinted and read your hand embroidered name on your worker’s apron. “YN, who’s hat is it?”

“An old friend of mine! I-I-I haven’t seen him in a while,” you now your head in defeats. A quivering pout forms on your lips and you muster up your resolve to explain how you were a child of the slums, the teenage boy you befriended, the hat, and that one blissful afternoon you were able to be yourself.

At this admission, Chūya removes his hat and scratches his auburn head.

“And this guy…did he have a name?”

“Dazai-san. Do you know what happened to him?”

Chūya glances up to see the person in question hiding behind a coat rack; Dazai blinks back in a code only Chūya deciphers as, ‘tell them I’m ok. I made it out of the slums at that point in my life just fine.’

You fiddle with the ties on your left when Chūya released a resigned sigh.

“He made it out of the slums just fine,” he relays the message through gritted teeth as his former boss and mentor leaves through the alternative side door entrance of the shop. Your eyes widen when this intriguing man not much older than yourself allows you to hold the hat.

“Y’know he was supposed to come find me?” you fiddle with the brim. “I was five years old, making dolls that could move on their own with paper scraps…”

You glance down at the hat with misting eyes.

“He never came back, did he?” Chūya inquires. He didn’t want to take too much longer since he was supposed to be at the drop location (for his current next mission) in under an hour and fifteen minutes.

“No,” you hand him back the hat with a short lived sniffle. You sort of let out this soft laugh. “Dazai was unique, to say the least. He did have enough gall to encourage me and…”

A few dolls made of excess yarn and thread held up several push pin needles thus freezing the port mafia man in place.

Of course this was a sting trap. Why couldn’t Chūya see through this? Or wait…

“You-you think I killed him?” He nearly doubled over in laughter when he locked his eyes with your stone cold ones.

Your anger and shortened fuse cause a few of the dolls to deliberately take a fighting stance. Your hand came into contact and thus you struck the Chūya Nakahara, upper rank in the Port Mafia, across the cheek with a slap. Your hand was calloused and roughened from years of living in the slums, only to be discovered for your needlework by an embroiderer who let you inherit the tailoring shop after her retirement. Chūya was caught so off guard by the physicality of your slap he nearly lost control of his gravity gift for a moment there.

“No,” your voice is icy and there is a fist of yours that nearly collides with his other cheek. “I just think Mister Dazai wouldn’t let such an idiotic member of the port mafia wear the hat I gave him.”

Chūya grabs your wrist and forcibly twists your arm behind your back as he stands behind you, urging you to calm yourself.

“Sweetheart,” his tone changed from that of a thief to a serial murderer. Your blood doesn’t run cold at this nickname, rather your brain and your heart chose to follow two very different paths: the first is telling you to at least elbow him in the ribs and give him some sassy remark; the second chooses with every inconceivable thump of blood in and around your body, decides the next words to fall out of your mouth.

“Yes darling?” your arm is rigid in his bruising hold.

Chūya’s suit jacket grazes your lower arm close to the wrist behind your back as he straightens up with you in front of him. He inhales the scent of freshly rained lavender from your clothing, from your hair, you excite his need to flirt with you longer with the way it twists and turns into a lowered braid, now draped over the opposite end of your back.

“Dazai would have mentioned you to me if you were so important to him back then, wouldn’t you ag-ack!”

You stomp on his foot, causing his hold to loosen enough for you to lunge forward and have your small army of threaded men ready their push-pin needle weapons at the largest threat you might face: a gravity manipulating monster.

Chūya hears you hurl insults at him in a language he thought he had forgotten: it’s a lost and dead dialect of those who grew up in the slums. Broken Japenese mixed with a few French words and hyphenated with English terminologies made him reassess the situation at hand. All he had wanted to do today at this tailor’s shop was ask for a new pair of pants that went well with his winter’s coat. Instead, he finds you, a loss last connection to his former mafia ‘big brother’ at the cost of not revealing the understanding fact Dazai had been keeping some tabs on you since you had parted ways all those years ago.

Dazai is a man of many talents and connections, such a feat would be possible even if you were never to be found again. After all, since the president of the Armed Detective Agency had been recruited as part of the team which busted the trap house your junkie parents had overdosed in, Dazai had been put in charge specifically looking into those next of kin whose loved one had since died during the siege. Apparently, your photo when you were five had been shuffled in with the rest. The president nodded when he had finished wrapping up the report with the authorities, however considering one member of his team had been thinking about how well a young orphan was doing in the streets, it is fair to say Dazai had been keeping track of you.

When you were done calling him every name under the sun, Chūya stood back and dusted off his suit. It wasn’t as wrinkled as he had thought, yet on the sign of good faith, the thread-men army you had created had slowly begun to unravel.Your frustrated tears had subsided thus leaving Chūya staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. His hat was still on the table from where he left it and his brilliant eyes shine with curiosity.

“YLN?”

The blood in your face drains a bit when you stumble backwards.

“I haven’t been known by that name for quite some time,” you breathe a little easier. “How did you know my family name?”

Chūya wants to tell you the truth, the whole part about his life prior to Dazai up until the mad lad left the group; he wants to tell you about how a few years after the trap house bust, he probably saw you trying to sell your wares in a flea market at night in another town. Sure you donned what the shelter would have given you, yet you made it your own (and no one would think twice about the embroidered flower branches covering a year’s long seam rip). Akutagawa and his faction were watching for any signs of the were-tiger in said night market, yet luckily for those who had gone on ahead, no one seemed to have taken note of your little kerchiefs. All but one, if Chūya were to be completely transparent with you. You dry your own tears, just like you did that first day when no one chose to buy any of your goods, yet now as you look on at the redhead, you hold your wrist. Dark splotches of light red and purple begin forming an imprint of his hand; feeling of guilt is not a foreign concept to Chūya, yet you allow him to approach you.

You’re hugging yourself, insulting yourself for almost attacking a customer in your store, one who knew of the teenage boy who took you far away from the location where your guardians were too busy trying to find their escape in lethal doses.

For once, Chūya doesn’t say anything brash. There is a stillness he brings when he sees how fast you can calm yourself, and yet when he glances at your arm, he chooses to show a bit of mercy. All this for a hat, huh? His inner thoughts scoff at him. Ever so curious, Chūya takes a short step of faith toward you.

“YLN?” he asks in such a voice laced with a false sense of sweetness.

“Go away,” you’re stern and deliberate in your dismissal.

If looks could kill, Chūya would be dead on the ground at that very moment. Your eyes are growing colder every second that ticks by. Chūya himself might have just shot you because you immediately begin to tune him out even as the words of apologies flutter about and out of his mouth hoping to reach your ears.

And yet, three days later, you don’t listen. Not even when you’re told about the news when you clock in to the seamstress office that morning. From what your co-workers had told you, there was a raid on a Port Mafia safehouse not too far from here. Apparently a deal with the Armed Detective Agency might have turned sour with the arrival of another organization threatening the life of the Gifted.

“...thank goodness none of us are Gifted,” an older co-worker says as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah. I think we’d lose so many customers, don’t you think so, yn-san?” the other seamstress that morning chides on.

You fix yourself a cup of coffee as well humming along, not willing to expose yourself as one of those they say with a disdain in their tone. Honestly, with those three days, now four, without hearing back from the intolerable redhead, you wonder if he was swept up and caught in the whole affair.

So Chūya sits in his cell’s bunk bed, waiting for a lawyer or another grunt worker to come bust him out of jail. He wants to ensure the hat, his hat, can be returned to you in one piece for repairs. Chūya’s thoughts drift every now and then back to you; did your bruises heal? He still wishes to apologize to you, for angering you, for annoying the crap out of you, hell, for even calling you ‘sweetheart.’ Chūya’d run through the entire city if it meant you could be his, and he wonders now if leaving the life of a mobster behind is a path open to him.

“People with likened minds, who share sorrows, or tales of hardships, will gravitate toward the other,” Chūya whispers this to the nothingness of the cold concrete walls of the cell.

Tonight he will play nice with the guards, tomorrow, he’ll stop by the tailor’s shop hoping against all odds you’d join him for tea.

A sudden crash and surprised shouts of the guards outside the highly defended unit for the Gifted can be heard about thirty feet away. There is gunfire and even more shouts as the sirens blare.

Turns out, Chūya doesn’t have to wait for long at all. If there is one thing you’d learn about Chūya and his subordinates in the Port Mafia is that they are loyal to the elders for as long as they are willing to obey. Under Akutagawa’s orders, Chūya was supposed to be freed one way or the other and the current Boss would clear up any misunderstandings calling it a ‘peaceful protest’ gone awry on local news that late evening.

Currently, Chūya rides in the back of a taxi, finally changed out of the tragic sham of a jumpsuit, with his faithful hat in tow. Forty city blocks are cleared in a matter of minutes as the getaway cab had it’s driver and passenger breaking the speed limit within normal parameters so as to not disturb the citizens (best they can). Yet, the driver is a familiar face and though Chūya claims he never wanted his help, Dazai just smiles away in the rearview mirror.

“Make up with my old-new friend,” Dazai has a serious expression on his face. “YN-san hasn’t been dealing well with the new regulations for the GIfted and might have been found out tonight.”

A bandaged hand throws back a smartphone with the article of business listings with gifted employee members both known and unregistered ones. The tailor’s shop is listed there within the first column, in the middle of said list, and Chūya swallows nervously. His hat is upon his head when Dazai pushes the brakes too hard. Chūya doesn’t say a word until he opens and slams the door shut behind him yelling a word of thanks over his shoulders as he runs the rest of the way.

It is nearly eleven at night when you’re about to exit the store when you hear a pounding on the front glass. All those early hens had decided to leave early once their latest projects were done, so it was just you who had left the cashiering duties until the end of the night. The lock for the safe had already been bolted, your apron had been hung up almost immediately after the last customer left for the night, so imagine your surprise when you see what, or rather, who, was making such a ruckus.

You roll your eyes, not ready to deal with this jerk on the other side of the glass. Suffice to say, until he types out a message on his smartphone and holds it up to the window:

‘Open up. I think my hat needs a repair…Please?’

You read as promptly as you can before unlocking the front. Chūya passes through with ease and he hides in the corner of the shop away from the searchlights of helicopters and other law enforcement vehicles flashing their sirens down the quiet streets. He waits for a fifth police car to ride past before reaching over to where you stood, holding on to your hand with his gloved one. He holds it as firmly as you hold on to him, a worried brow raised at him. You know what you want to ask, however, you acknowledge there will be time to explain everything from the top when the coast is clear. With his free hand he makes a sign to stay as silent as possible to move within the shadows of your shop, guiding you back to the offices where the soft glow of the desk lamp lit the back office.

“You got any alcohol?” Chūya inquires as he motions for you to have a seat.

“No, only coffee,” you shrug your shoulders before running a hand nervously through your hair.

“Bah, I don’t drink the stuff, but I suppose you might enjoy it,” Chūya says, leaning on your desk.

You glance up from his shoes to his face, you notice he might not be as tall as you recall from a few days ago, yet he is strikingly, robustly, handsome. Sure, a few patrons of the store did have their preset preferences, but now, in the late evening, amidst the glow of the lamp, does one Chūya Nakahara tell you about his life both before, during, and after meeting Dazai.You sit back and listen, fixing yourself another cup of coffee as he comes clean about every little detail he could think of about Dazai’s time within the Mafia family.

“...and that’s why I stopped here earlier last weekend…”

“Because you had a mission in the next town over?”

“No,well, not really.”

Chūya hands you a note in Dazai’s script instructing the red head to keep an eye on a person who looks like the composite sketch the note is written on. The sketch must have been made by one of those with a gift for sketching or one of the many who can recall with photographic memory the countenance of a person with only a few descriptors to go by.

“Uncanny, ain’t it?” Chūya chuckles when he sees your lips turn slightly upward.

“There is something written on the bottom, right?” you ask, seeing a few light pen parks on the bottom left of the page. Rounding the corner by the desk your company leans against, you take a final sip of your beverage before joining him on the side there. Chūya still holds the sketch in his hand.

You and Chūya are in close proximity to each other, so much so your lips graze his jaw when you read the inscription to him.

“Stick together.”

Chūya turns to you suddenly, not realizing how close you truly were because though he felt your lips graze his jaw, he was not expecting his own to become pressed to the top of yours so suddenly. It takes a half a minute to realize what had transpired, yet you don’t push him away, much to his surprise. Rather, you pursue his lips again the moment you feel his free hand turn your chin more toward his face. He wishes to heal some wounds of your past over and over again the longer you let him linger there.

“Is your arm ok?” he deftly asks, placing the paper on your desk so as to trace over the yellowing marks covered by your shirt sleeve.

“Mmhm,” you nod against his forehead. “I think it’ll heal faster if you kiss it.”

“Hah,” Chūya pecks the corner of your mouth, sneakily raises your injured arm to his shoulder. “Are you flirting with me dear?”

You shake your head, defending your innocence. “I wasn’t the one who leaned in first. Heh.”

Rolling his eyes, Chūya smirks before peppering your arm where he had his hand been wrapped, clearly smitten by the sudden attention he was given. You tried to hide behind your blush, yet he genuinely smiles when he pauses, curling his forefinger to trace your cheekbone.

“You’re much more beautiful than I thought,” he confides in you.

You’re still a few inches shorter than he is, but nonetheless you relish in delight, thus causing a small number of thread people to be created on a whim. Purple satin ribbons with a star design are soon being fabricated as a secondary option to the tarnished yellowing one on the hat at the furthest corner of the table.

“And you’re not as lethal when you’re docile like this,” you let him kiss your knuckles before you shy away.

Chūya presses his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath leaving your hand against his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he exhales.

“Stick together,” you say to each other like a secret.

Sirens and search parties can be dealt with in the morning, for now, you enjoy this slice of paradise for as long both of you can.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #sora scribbles 2023 #🔎bungou stray dogs: chūya x reader🔍

7 notes · View notes

tobacconist · 1 year

Text

(constantine is suffering from leprosy and has summoned physicians to his court to cure him)

DOCTOR Mynnav gweles agas dowr i would like to look at your water hag y'n eur na an emprour and in that hour the emperor a'n jevydh gorthyp y'n kas shall have an answer in this case

JUSTUS my a brederis henna i have thought of that y uryn yw otta omma: his urine is here: towl yn dha weder glas throw [it] in thy blue glass

DOCTOR (examining the urine) hoc unirum malorum.... et nimis rubiorum... aha! my a wor yn ta aha! i know well deus omma bacheler jenkyn come here, bachelor jenkyn [his apprentice] mir war-vann, dreva dha vin! look up, raise up thy lip ay, lok up, byscherew tha! aye, look up, beshrew (thee)! anodho na gemmer gloes thereof do not take pain kynth eus ganso sawer poes though there be with it a heavy savour gorr dhodho nes dha frigow put thy nostrils nearer to it hemm yw mater tykkli... this is a tickly matter... lemmyn my a wor, devri now i know, certainly pandra yw an klevesow what are the diseases

#chucklesome #kernewek #kernowek

9 notes · View notes

aajjks · 1 year

Note

TC!Jungkook, no, please don't kill yourself when I'm gone. Don't let me die in vain, please. I want you to live. Forget about her. That servant is probably long gone. We'll never know what kind of poison was in that cup so we can't possibly find a cure without the physician here. It'll take him days to get here from the nearest village, but perhaps his apprentice might know what to do. Who knows, maybe it's just sleeping medicine. Yes, sleepy... I feel weak and sleepy... I want to sleep now love

“But there’s no point for me to live w-when you’re not with me yn, my life will be in vain! No I can’t I’m sorry, even IF THAT SERVANTS GONE TO END OF EARTH, I’ll make sure to find her, I’ll kill that bitch with my bear hands, no baby that’s not true, I’ll fetch another physician for you, I’m pretty sure she’s on her way, look, please keep your eyes open for me… yn baby no you CANT sleep. TALK TO ME!”

#ask: tc!jungkook

6 notes · View notes

wave2love · 1 year

Note

OKOK I HV STH! producer!reader and idol! … idol ☠️ writing this while listening to nights - frank ocean i might call it that 😆

ALR SO. it starts when idols still in his trainee days and its not going well. a few of his friends j debuted without him and hes feeling p awful so he slips out for a walk in the city an yk. finds someone to sit and be alone for a few hours . but then after a while someone asks if he can sit w him and idol agrees and he doesnt know it yet but its YN!!!! they share life stories (idol tells him ab the failed trainee stuff and yn says hes an apprentice music engineer still trying to find his place) and talk for HOURS and hours and hours. its all nice and yn comforts him a lot / helps him feel better ab not debuting . its leaves a big impression on him when he goes back and it stays w him for a very long time even if they (think) they’re never gonna see eo again. 👍👍

FASTFORWARD LIKE 3 OR 4 YEARS.. idol is a super megastar successful soloist!!! always dubbed the one of the strongest figures in the industry!!!! and the one thing that never changes is that w every comeback he always makes sure to mention somwhere that the release (whether its an album or ep of single or whatever) is dedicated to the stranger that helped him to keep going and not quit, even if they only met once. yn is doing well too!!! one of the producers with the most credits listed to his name 🙏

then . Then . idol is planning his comeback and his team r like……. we hv someone new to work w you this time!!! we think you’ll rly like him!!!! so hes like ok and when he goes to meet him in the recording room ITS NONE OTHER THAN YN!!!!

they dont recognise eo at first but theu get rly close while working on the album and then blaj blah blah falling in love its cute its fun and then they both talk ab the one stranger they talked w one night that made them want to work harder and keep going and they finally realise its eo . its cute blah blah blah (2) THE END!!!

a mess truly 😞 i dont know which idol to wrie this 4 so ermm if u can think of someone pls share!!!! but also i rly want to make it for someone in nct 😭😭 i was kinda thinking hyuck again LMAOO but i will hear u out bsf!!! ur opinion >

this is so.. AHHHHHH i love it so much whay the fuckity fucking fuck!! this is acc so cute ilysm like ure so big brain

so for like idol mayb huening >_^ or beomgyu. pls i am very uncreative today 👊 if i think of another idol i’ll lyk bsf!!

i live for ur fic ideas

#holds ur mind so gently…#karma no 1 PB…#🫧 — jj best friend #🫧 — karmas moots

2 notes · View notes

queenimmadolla · 1 year

Note

wait I think tattoo apprentice yn would totalllllly have her nipples (and maybe clit?) pierced….. omg. can’t wait to read more

she wore daisy dukes that were definitely up her coochie, i dont know if that would be super comfy with a cl!t piercing lol, she's not all that punky so no nips yet but maaaaaybe in the future, we'll see were my typing takes us!

#$ replies #Between the Lines

3 notes · View notes

young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Empowered by wine and having faced her past, [F/N] ties up her final loose end and confesses her feelings for her Master.

Trigger warnings: alcohol, confronting abuser, abusive older sibling, implied parental abuse, implied emotional incest, blood, slight violence

With the warm feeling of mutual respect and understanding, you'd practically reached nirvana. But, as was a constant in your life, your happiness was just a momentary commercial-like blip. The wine was your hourglass.

Of course, the force equal and opposite to your hope for the future was your loose ends from the past. You could have honestly spent the rest of the evening mutually tipsy and laughing at each others' stupid jokes. But the universe had other plans for you.

"I know you implied that you weren't going to be around much anymore," you said, the alcohol bringing your disappointment to center stage. "But when the Borderlands movie comes out, will you go see it with me?"

Master Strange chuckled. "What's it about?"

"Like…" you searched around for any words. "Yeehaw, but in space."

"Like Star Wars?" He raised his eyebrows.

"No, no." You shook your head. "Think like Texas, but in outer space."

He paused. "Yeah, I'm gonna need you to explain that better when we sober up because all I'm picturing is Leia kissing Luke in Empire."

You snorted. "I said Texas, not Alabama."

"Okay, but what's the plot? Who are the characters?" He pressed. "Details, [F/N]."

"Are you Miss [F/N] [L/N]?" The waiter asked, tapping you gently on the shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes at him, mostly just to keep your vision straight. "That depends. Who's asking?"

The waiter opened his mouth but your drunken word association decided to speak first.

"Oh, sure sir!" You rambled. "I'm Alexander Hamilton, I'm at your service sir. I have been looking for you-"

"I'm getting nervous." Master Strange mumbled from across the table.

"He didn't give me a name, Miss." The exhausted waiter said before you could complete the entire musical as a one-woman show. "He just wants to meet you at the bar."

"But we're still waiting on our bread pudding." You said. "And I really don't trust him not to eat it all if it comes and I'm not there."

"Ouch." Master Strange laughed.

"Please, the man at the bar insisted he talk to you." The waiter said, hurriedly. "He seems like he's on a ledge."

"Wait." You put your hand up. "Is this guy, like, five eleven? Slightly wavy hair? Scar on his right cheek?"

"That would be the man, yes." He nodded timidly.

You slid your chair back and abruptly stood up. Smiling cordially at your master, you excused yourself.

"Excuse me, Stephen." You said in a sickeningly sweet voice. Emboldened by the alcohol, you stood up straight. "I have a loose end that I need to push off a ledge."

Sure as fuck and shit, sitting at the bar was Jason. Hardly five foot eleven, greasy haired, pedo-stached Private Jason [L/N].

"[F/N]." He tried to disarm you with a smile. "You look well."

You placed all your weight on one leg and folded your arms. You let the silence speak for you as you glared daggers through his soul.

He cleared his throat. "Coach Malcolm told me you were in town."

"Right." You said through gritted teeth. "Because New Orleans is such a small, unpopulated nowhere-town that some washed-up high school football coach can find anyone without trying.”

Jason sighed. "He was worried about you."

"Just because he slept with mom doesn't make him dad." You rolled your eyes.

"He was right." He eyed you up and down. "You really do look like her."

You wretched. “I’m choosing to ignore the implications of that.”

“Why are you here?” He asked, as if he had any right whatsoever to do so when he was the one intruding on your dinner.

"I wanted brisket. Now why did you pull me away from dinner with my ma-" you cut yourself off before reaching the end of the syllable. You could write it off as drunken forgetfulness. "Dinner with my boss?"

"You need to come home." He said, plainly.

"Well, well, well." You snorted, leaning against the bar for balance. "How the turntables."

Jason frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nevermind." You folded your arms. "The irony would be wasted on you."

"[F/N]." His voice hardened. "When you said we'd never see you again, mom didn't actually think-"

"That after letting you ruin my life, I'd want to stay as far away from you as possible?" You finished, anger calibrating your drunken mind.

Jason growled like the petulant crybaby he was. "Do you want me to apologize? Admit that I was wrong?”

"Too little, too late." You spat, getting up from the bar stool.

He grabbed your wrist before you could leave for the dining room, sending you into immediate panic mode.

“[F/N].” He nearly shouted. “Please. For mom.”

You snatched your wrist from his grip, your face contorting into a scowl. “I have no mom. And I have no brother.”

Your well-earned statement of independence triggered Jason’s spoiled only-son instincts. In the absence of drywall to punch, he slammed his fist against the bar. “God fucking damnit, [F/N]!”

He picked up a rocks glass, white-knuckle gripping it and chucking it in your direction. You braced yourself for impact. When the impact didn’t happen, you opened your eyes and saw the glass suspended in the air just a few inches from your face. As quickly as it stopped, it fell straight down and hit the tiles with a resounding smash.

“What the fuck-?” Jason said, meeting eyes with the other diners to confirm that it did just happen. Nobody seemed to notice the metaphysical anomaly, however, and just went back to eating their dinner.

“[F/N], there you are!”

A hand found your shoulder and pulled you in close. You breathed in the familiar scent of your master, thanking the powers that be that he decided to intervene before Jason could reach peak temper tantrum.

“Stephen!” You took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He took you protectively under his arm.

“Come on, buttercup.” His thumb drew comforting lines across your shoulder as he spoke. You appreciated the slightly-more-romantic take on your usual nickname. “Your bread pudding is getting cold.”

“Hey, man,” Jason objected. “I don’t want any trouble--”

“Trouble?” Master Strange raised his eyebrows, a threatening edge to his voice. His eyes fell to the ground and he nudged a shard of glass under the bar.

Jason took a step back, then yelped in pain. He quickly removed his shoe, only to find that beneath his blood-soaked sock, a piece of broken rocks glass was embedded in his foot.

"How'd that get in there?" You whispered, giving his hand a squeeze.

"How did you-?" Jason stammered, switching his gaze from the gash to your master. "You-"

"Eeugh, that looks painful." He said through a cringe.

You held back a sadistic laugh at your bleeding brother's expense. "You said the bread pudding was here?"

He held out his arm for you. "I'll lead the way, my dearest."

Two orders of bread pudding and a few glasses of dessert wine later, you were still laughing.

"That fucking troglodyte just ran out crying." You said between ugly laughs. "He probably wanted his mommy to kiss his booboo."

"I don't usually like getting involved in other people's personal shit," he began. "But that was fun."

"Thank you for having my back out there." You said, sincerely. "You didn't have to pretend to be my boyfriend."

"Oh, come on." He chuckled. "That's the fun part. If you can't make it fun, it's just petty revenge."

"Revenge is fun." You admitted, through a poorly-timed yawn. "Even if it's just petty."

He smiled warmly at you. He leaned over the table and brushed a stray blade of hair from your face. "Sleepy?"

You begrudgingly nodded your head. "The wine isn't helping."

"I don't think the cast of Hamilton would appreciate a wine-drunk [F/N] upstaging them from the audience." He suggested. "What if we just went home?"

You nodded. There was nowhere else you'd rather be as long as he was by your side.

You noticed as you wandered aimlessly back into the New York sanctum that you were once again compelled to the piano. Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol; finally ready to perform with your inhibitions dulled.

"God damn it." You cursed, sitting down on the piano bench. "We were right next to the Southern Candymakers and I didn't pick up any cherry licorice ropes."

"That can be rectified." Master Strange said, hands shakily reaching to open the eye.

"No, stop." You laughed, grabbing the eye. "Put the time stone down."

"I don't suppose you have the energy for a song?" He asked, taking a seat next to you.

You held up one finger and smiled evilly. "Pick one."

He cringed. "I don't think I can."

"Come on." You swiveled around and your fingers hovered over the keys. "What do you want to hear?"

"Dealer's choice." He smiled, kindly. "Whatever is on your mind."

"That is a door that once opened, cannot be closed." You said, only half-jokingly. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He nodded. "Show me what's going on in that head of yours."

He asked for it. He really did ask for it. You had no choice but to provide.

Your fingers slowly danced across the keys. You resisted the temptation to embellish-- there would be time for that later.

"I used to hear a simple song,

That was until you came along--

Now in its place is something new

I hear it when I look at you."

Were you really doing this? Confessing your feelings for your master through a gratuitous piano song? You felt the tightness in your stomach loosen with every note that passed; it was honest. It was real.

"With simple songs I wanted more

Perfection is so quick to bore.

You are more beautiful by far--

Our flaws are who we truly are."

You almost tripped over the last few words and overcompensated with little runs and grace notes to give the simple melody a little flourish. You began to crescendo, mentally preparing yourself for the outpouring of emotions that the next verse would be. You wanted to conjure an entire orchestra. Then you could show him the extent of your feelings. But you were just one out-of-practice pianist with two hands.

You gave it all you had to give.

"I used to hear a simple song-"

You projected as much as you could without shouting. One hand kept steady on the low tones while the other flew between keys, pounding out a series of short but rounded triplets.

"That was until you came along,"

You weren't quite sure of what your fingers were doing anymore. You were either operating on autopilot or you'd lost control of your body entirely. But it was beautiful.

"You took my broken melody-"

The world caved in around you, but you would go down like the band on the titanic. If this was your last song ever, you were determined to make it a performance worthy of the name.

"And now I hear a symphony-!"

You just couldn't help yourself. You unleashed the depths of your vocal range and projected up to the high heavens while you still had the good sense to forget you were confined to four walls.

"And now, I hear…" the words tumbled from your mouth as the last bits of air trickled from your lungs. "A symphony."

You stopped to catch your breath. Insecurity and fear returned alongside oxygen.

Why the hell did you do that?! Your conscience shouted. Now that he knows you have feelings for him, he's going to throw you out.

You turned around, and with some reluctance, asked. "What did you think?"

Whatever far-off world you inhabited while singing, he must have visited while listening to you sing. His eyes were fixed on the palm of his hand--

--where the goddamn watch was resting.

"Sorry," He lifted his head, revealing a face full of pain. "It was beautiful. You're incredible."

His words rang hollow. You weren't on his mind at all. You just scored his flashback. A horrible reality finally began to settle. It would never be you. It was and always would be Christine.

The mirror dimension was like a pane of two-way glass; you could see what was happening in the real world, but nobody in the real world could see you. All you wanted to do was quietly slip into the mirror dimension for a little cathartic late-night piano playing without waking anyone up. You hadn't even gotten to the bridge of On My Own when Master Strange suddenly appeared.

Your face drained of all color and you slammed the piano shut. You stumbled to apologize for waking him up. Then you made up some bullshit story about why you were working through the "forever alone" playlist you made in 9th grade. But he didn’t see you. A thin dimensional veil separated you.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop. You really didn't. But he looked so irreparably miserable. He sat in his chair, the Eye of Agamotto in one hand and the watch in the other. A glass of whiskey sat coaster-less on the table beside him.

"Why did you put a piano in the library?" Said Wong, effectively ripping Master Strange from his state of meditative misery.

Master Strange was affronted by his crass boldness, but not surprised. "Entirely to piss you off. You're welcome."

Wong approached the chair and looked over his shoulder. "You know, Sorcerers Supreme of the past have given up their earthly possessions. To represent their severance from the material and devotion to the spiritual."

"Interesting." He said, drawing out the vowel sounds to convey his frustration. He took a long swig of whiskey. For what felt like five solid minutes, he stared at the watch and said nothing.

"How long has it been?" Wong lowered his head in respect.

"Exactly two years today." He said, as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask all day.

"And how much have you had?" Wong asked, eyeing the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey.

"Enough enough to make a really bad idea seem palatable." He admitted, taking another swig of whiskey.

The side of Wong's mouth turned up into a smirk. "Famous last words."

Master Strange swirled the whiskey and watched it circle the glass. "Could you oversee [F/N]'s training if I decide to pursue said bad idea?"

"I don't want to encourage any impulsive decisions that may be in the very near future, but," Wong sighed. "If it comes to it, sure."

"She's the only thing keeping me here, y'know." Master Strange admitted, drunken candor in full swing. "[F/N]."

"If the responsibility of taking on an apprentice is the only thing standing between you and descending into murderous madness," Wong raised his eyebrows. "Might I suggest taking on a few more?"

"It's not that." Master Strange shook his head. "It's… her. She makes me happy. Like, the kind of happiness I felt when I was with Christine."

Your heart straight-up stopped beating and plopped out of your chest. You shut the lid over the keys and slid to the edge of the bench.

"And that's why I have to leave."

The emotional whiplash that came with these two connected clauses was dizzying. From the look on Wong's face, you could tell he was just as confused.

"I, too, like to run away from things that make me happy." The sarcasm in his voice was thick as molasses and cut like a knife. "Because that is a perfectly reasonable and not-at-all insane thing to do."

"Shut up." Master Strange waved his hand dismissively in Wong's direction. "You know what I mean."

"I don't, actually." He shook his head. "But who am I to question the will of the Sorcerer Supreme?"

"The Sorcerer Supreme's best friend, maybe?" Master Strange shrugged. "And, like, 90% of the Sorcerer Supreme's impulse control?"

"Well, I'm going to start the kettle." Wong said with a quiet impatience. "I suggest you come along before you do something... reckless."

He peered at the time stone and tightened his grip on the watch. He had a decision to make.

#doctor strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x apprentice #apprentice yn #reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel what if #what if marvel

62 notes · View notes