#i love writing him he's a blank canvas where i can get silly

[landslided]

slapping dutch's head: this bad boy can contain so many tropes

[mellowwillowy]

Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader HCs

CW: mafia related stuffs

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

Yan! Husband is a gentle soul to you, he can't and will never lay a finger with the meaning to hurt you! He just doesn't have the strength to do so, almost as though he was set to be so. It's another whole story when it comes to the others though, can you guess how many times he has pulled the trigger of a gun?

Yan! Husband who spoils you rotten with everything you could ever think of. Luxuries, reputations but never the forbodden knowledge he has tried so hard to keep away from you. No, he won't clip your wings. You are his songbird who gets to only fly inside the gilded cage but never in the outside world. He will create a stage of the outside world for you, but never the real deal.

Yan! Husband who paints a portrait of you whenever he's stressed over the cases he has to handle. To move the brush without any problem as your form starts to appear on the blank canvas, he has no trouble remembering you. Sculpting is no problem for him as well. He has spent all his lives honing his artistic skill just to eternalize you as pieces of art.

Yan! Husband loves you so much that he deems children as a burden and bothersome (adoptive too). He only needs you to build a family, he had no need for children to continue this lineage. His whole life revolves around you. If you pass away, he too, will pass away shortly after. That's how much he loves you to the point that death cannot separate you two.

Yan! Husband who might not look like he's able to do it but he is actually an S-rank gaslighter. He will trick you into believing that what he is suggesting is only to keep you safe! He doesn't really enjoy taking your autonomy directly unless it's needed (of course, in a way where you will not confront him about it).

Yan! Husband who will cover and remove all your bad track records (if you have any). He has the power and connection to erase any kind of dirt that is on you, you are his pristine pure lily-of-the-valley and you should not be defiled with those records. Live without any worry clouded in your mind dear, the laws will never tarnish your reputation when you have this lawyer backing you ^^

Yan! Husband who adores any sort of physical touch when it comes to you, yes, anything. Even if you hit him silly, he'd still love every moment your skin feels his. He loves hugging you the most, his face buried into the crook of your neck while taking a scent of you.

Yan! Husband who enjoys humming lullaby of yours to the point everyone's ears around him is bleeding from the repeating lullaby. Can this guy please hum something else for once?

Yan! Husband who will read for you whenever he has the time to sleep with you. He doesn't know what to say to you as his work is either foreign to your brain or a tad too shady. Childhood memories are not great too as he has long forgotten about everything the moment he pledges eternal vow to love you. He abandoned everything and lives only for you.

Yan! Husband who prioritizes you as his number one, even above his own well-being and career. He can still live even if he falls ill, his career would never fall out of track as he has the mafia under his grasp, but you can slip out of his grasp. And he doesn't want that to happen again.

Yan! Husband is without a doubt an infamous lawyer. Especially with how many times he has let the ringleader of that renowned mafia group slip out from the prosecutor and judge's grip? If you seriously think you'll be pronounced guilty of that murder, you better throw that thought out just like how he throws all the scapegoats and falsified evidence into the court. (Should I write a fic for this?)

Yan! Husband who will always make time for the two of you. While vacations are not as often as he wishes he could have, cuddles and tea parties sound nice enough for him to kill time with you.

Yan! Husband who has this cute journal that's filled with what you have been doing every day instead of his own daily stuff. Oh, your diary is almost his if you know how he reads it daily like a refreshment.

Yan! Husband who as much as he hates having to show you to the people at the official parties and events he has to attend, he just can't shake away the butterflies in his stomach as well! You are not just some trophy spouse, you are his beloved! A hand on your waist and a face that is seen whispering sweet nothings into your ear with a glass in his other hand. Oh, he looks so o-godly-handsome like a man who comes out from a romance novel!

Yan! Husband who is a man of greed, the embodiment of Mammon. Wealth is not something that he has never not possessed. So whatever the fuck you do, gambling or blowing it off somewhere in a dumb investment or stock, he won't make a fuss out of it. Instead, he'll teach you more about money management instead :/

"Do you want to learn how to invest? I know a way or two from my predecessor."

He will let you play all the money game you want and gives you the illusion of success despite all the trials and errors you made (he's the one who clean up all the mess lol)

I know that this is AFAB! oriented BUT Yan! Husband never wishes to impregnate you even once. No, he doesn't like the idea of you being in pain over a damn baby(ies) that could just take your life as well. He does enjoy fucking you without any protection on but that is after he tracks your safe day (man is literally fighting the fate of having you pregnant). He prefers you to not consume any birth control for just in case it causes harm rather than good to you. (Shots are a pass if you are scared of syringes)

He is A-OK with adopting if you are persistent enough about this matter and is B-OK if you want to get pregnant (AFAB). He just can't refuse and upset you...

So please don't imagine what would happen if darling dies during delivery :)

Yan! Husband who will always open his pocketwatch and kiss the picture of you in his pocket watch. How many times and lives had passed just for him to enjoy the solace of being your husband?

𝐀 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫.

Yulian de Alpheus is a man of ambition. While he does share the same look as his 'father', the ambition he has is the complete opposite of Castiel. Castiel created him to seek the truth of life, Adam existed to be the Genesis of Life, Alan existed to be someone he didn't recognize and Yulian existed to live beneath the shadow of his spouse.

𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Taglist: @vinivave @destructa1 @szde8-blog @luminous011 @ush0 @annbourbon @randomnl @cassanderasblog @maam-appreciator @lem-hhn @fanatic-fan @flesh-eating-ladybug

(send ask/message to be removed from taglist)

[saintobio]

the art of loving, feat. l&ds rafayel.

pairings. rafayel, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+ tags. artist x muse, hints of abandonment issues, clingy bf!rafayel, allusions to nude paintings, fellatio, cum eating, protected sex, praise kink notes. my third l&ds boy :’) there’s a full blown sylus oneshot coming but for now, i have to write abt our cute fish! i’ll continue the jjk wips on the weekend bcos my l&ds hyperfixation is currently taking over 🤧

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who makes you the muse of his paintings. he loves how he can adore your face while turning his blank canvas into something as colorful as you. it all started when he used to sketch you when you’re not looking. and it’s a habit that he, time and time again, still does. whether you’re reading, sleeping, or simply lost in thought, he finds these moments precious and captures them in his sketchbook. he actually has a dedicated corner of you on his mo art studio, where it’s filled with paintings and sketches of his beautiful girlfriend.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who loves to paint with you. he’ll set up a canvas next to his and guide your hands, laughing together as you create something… unique. look, he’s not making fun of your painting. in fact, he’d say you’re actually very talented. “it’s not bad at all,” he’d claim, “it’s an exquisite art… if i close my eyes.” how mean! but honestly, if you were to sell your artwork, he would still be the first person to buy it.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets playful with paint. while you’re on the subject of ‘painting together’, you know how cheeky rafayel is, and when he dabs a bit of paint on your nose or cheeks, the light-hearted paint fight ends in messy, colorful kisses. one time, he even left a purple handprint on your bum, and giggles each time he sees it from behind.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets clingy when you’re busy. he’ll sulk if he feels you’re not paying enough attention to him, often wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling into your neck to remind you he’s there. he can very grumpy, too. like a spoiled brat who he didn’t get what he wants. it’s just that he dislikes the feeling of being ignored and abandoned, so the last thing you knew not to do is make him wait too long on your dates or make him feel like your mind is occupied by anything else other than him. because he’d go as far as pretending to be in a helpless situation just so you’d drop everything and run off to him. how silly!

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who surprises you with personalized art gifts. from small sketches slipped into your bag to full portraits given on special occasions. it’s his way of expressing his love, because he’s very grateful of how supportive you are when he has art exhibits. your presence calms his nerves, and he always looks for you in the crowd to find strength in your encouraging smiles.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to cuddle while discussing his latest ideas. he enjoys your input and loves bouncing ideas off you. his hands like to roam around your body as he keeps you in bed all day, whispering sweet nothings into you ear and making the atmosphere warm and intimate. “i can’t help it!”was his usual excuse whenever you’d call him out for being too touchy. “sometimes, my inspirations come in the form of physical intimacy, you know!”

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who can’t resist kissing you passionately when he’s inspired. he sketches you in intimate moments, letting you lie beautifully naked in bed and with only a blanket to cover the lower half of your body, like a vulnerable mermaid looking to be held by her prince. he’ll pull you close, hands covered in paint, leaving colorful fingerprints and delicate patterns on your skin as his lips capture yours in a heated kiss. he would peel the blanket off you slowly, taking his sweet time as if memorizing every dip and curve to later recreate in his art. his touch is both tender and electrifying. and his expressions, both raw and passionate as he eyes every inch of your body.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whispers his deepest desires in your ear. his voice becomes husky with emotions, telling you exactly what he wants, and leaving you blushing and eager to feed him the attention he seeks. he’s very needy, indeed. but most especially in bed. he’d often grab your hand, allowing you to brush it against his toned chest and down to his… aching member. it’s begging to be released, you both know it. and so when he guides your head closer to his crotch, you already know what ‘job’ you had to do for him.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whines a lot while you’re pleasing him, but in a cute way. he’s just very vocal about it. he’s incapable of keeping his little moans whenever he feels your tongue rolling around his tip, your lips leaving open-mouthed kisses along the sides of his length. it’s like suction when you fully take him into your mouth, the image of your head bobbing to suck his cock is extremely vivid in his head. “mhm~ don’t stop.” rafayel loses his mind over it. “my darling, lover girl. you’re so pretty, my baby.” and when you’d allow him to cum inside your mouth, he’s a weak man watching you swallow every single drop.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who respects your boundaries and doesn’t push you to try things in bed that you’re not comfortable with. when you told him he can’t do you raw, he willingly obliged. so, lo and behold the huge box of condoms on his nightstand. he believes in practicing safe sex because you both aren’t ready for that kind of responsibility yet. but that doesn’t lessen the frequency of your activities in bed. in fact, his beloved box of rubbers would easily run out after 2-3 weeks.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to be praised when doing the deed with you. it’s just innate in him. you have to let him know if he’s doing good, have to let him hear how great he feels inside of you, how pretty he looks when you gaze down on him, and how amazing his hands are in finding your most sensitive places. “raf, you’re the best at this,” you’d moan into his mouth, the sound of skin-slapping echoing across his studio as you feel him racing through his climax, “s-so good, ngh~” he’s one to smile at your little whimpers. “yeah, you like where i’m hitting it, baby?” “haa—i do!” “thought so.”

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who wants to be displayed all over your social media accounts. it’s as straightforward as he is—he wants his face to take over your account. he wants to know that you’re proud of him and that you’re showing off your handsome boyfriend whenever you can. he also wants you to interact with his posts, leave comments, and hit the heart button. every. single. time. he gets easily sulky if sees you ignoring his cute posts about you. that’s just how he is, and it doesn’t frustrate you one bit, because he just loves being the center of your world in exchange for treating you the center of his. that was the art of loving rafayel.

[elliedearest]

Do you take requests?! If so.. Imagine being a student of professor snape's (or fellow teacher if you're not comfortable with that) and always being a bit cheeky such as chucking in innuendos during class, leaning in really close to him, cornering him in dark hallways to ask 'educational related questions' and one day when you're both alone you basically end up just jumping each other's bones? Thanks!!

I meant to answer this with a story when I first received this request, but roughly afterward JK showed her true colors and I lost all interest in writing anything for HP.  However, I didn’t want to delete it because you took the time to request this and I felt guilty.

So I thought I would share how I would have handled this request. 

I’d make the reader a fellow teacher and set during the Triwizard Tournament so they’re a foreign teacher. I’d think it’d be hilarious if the reader was from Beauxbatons because, after the dancing display, he might write them off as silly and frivolous and not worth any attention. Though to be fair, he doesn’t like Durmstrang either. 

The reader is friendly and flirts as frequently as they breathe and hardly mean anything by it.  If they can flirt with Dumbledore, they can flirt with anyone. This, of course, doesn’t win them any favors or good opinions from Snape but the reader doesn’t know. He’s not really on the reader’s radar until a random day in October when the reader is having a lovely conversation with some of the Hogwarts staff when they tell the reader about Snape being notoriously hard to make smile or even seduce. The reader is intrigued but doesn’t think much of him until they actually have an encounter with him.

He’s not condescending which would have immediately made him enemy number 1 in the reader’s eyes, but he was slightly rude. There was something amusing about the Potion Professor’s attempt at showing decorum (Because McGonagall will kill him if he ruins relations with the schools when she coordinated most of this with the Ministry) but also showing his disdain. The reader casually throws him a flirty line to see what he would do and they’re amazed at how quickly his face blanks like an unused canvas. 

And then he walks away. 

The little interaction was amusing but the reader moves on with their life because they have students to take care of in a foreign place. They do, however, wink or flutter their fingers at him when they pass each other in the halls but the reader doesn’t approach him again.

The reader, however, is put in a situation where they need a potion done for a class and while they have most of the ingredients and are fairly decent in potions, it requires an advance and steady hand. They go to Snape. As payment, the reader brings a cactus to him(a cactus is great for many medical potions from detox or purifying the air to lowering blood pressure and cholesterol). Snape does it for them and the reader cannot resist flirting with him a bit. Snape gives them a sharp but witty reply that has them laughing.

This moment opens the floodgates for the reader. They decide to actively flirt with Snape. Not necessarily as a challenge but the reader wants to see what kind of response they’ll get the next time. It goes on for weeks. The reactions range from eye rolls, acerbic quips, a blank stare, a glare, etc. etc.  During this time, they do end up hanging with each other more and more first out of necessity (there’s a lot of potions needed for what the reader does and the carriage is not the best place to do them in so the reader uses the potion room) and then out of a tentative comradeship.

The student body and the professors quickly become aware of the crazy wixen that is flirting with the Potions Professor. The Weasley twins have monetized on the situation and are making a lot of money from students guessing how this would end. Some think Snape would hex them when he got tired of the Beauxbatons professor, most think he will humiliate them so badly that the professor will head back to France.

No one thinks Snape will flirt back. Except one. 

People were expecting something to happen at the Yule ball, but the two professors didn’t interact at all. Snape spent his time prowling the courtyards, ruining make-out sessions. While the reader was stuck in their room, finally succumbed to sickness because of the harsh Scotland conditions.

He visits them later, once all the children are in bed, with potions to help alleviate their symptoms. The reader is grateful. He’s slightly uncomfortable with the gratitude and tries to leave quickly. The reader stops him asking if he would stay for a bit. They hadn’t seen anyone in two days and they were growing bored of sleeping all day. Snape begrudgingly stays.

The reader asks what he had done at the Yule ball and laughs when Snape informs them about being forced to dance with Trelawney. He accidentally mentions the students he caught messing around and prepares himself to be flirted with, but the reader doesn’t take it. Instead, the reader asks if he was using the cactus they gave him. Snape is surprised but tells them about the potions he’s working on and the thief he has this year who keeps stealing his potion ingredients. The reader tells him they’ll keep an eye out. 

The reader decides to stop flirting with the guy after they hear a conversation between Snape and Dumbledore. The reader never wanted to make him uncomfortable now that they consider him a friend. So, they stop. They’re still friendly and still hang out with him in his potions room, but no more romantic undertones. 

Snape is completely thrown off by this and sends him into a spiral that he doesn’t understand. He should be happy but he’s not. It goes on for weeks and he’s starting to miss it. 

They’re in the staff room. The reader is grading papers while Snape is trying and failing to read his book. Snape approaches them and asks if they want to play chess with him when they’re done. The reader immediately agrees, wanting to take a break from grading, and joins him on the other side of the room. He attempts to flirt with them midway through the game. 

At first, the reader doesn’t register what’s going on, but then he does it again with this look in his eyes, and then, the reader understands. They’re completely floored. And flustered. Snape is smug by this. Doubly so when he also wins the game. 

Snape decides to turn the tables on the reader and finds it intoxicating and fun how flustered the reader gets. He ends up kissing them in his storage closet when they suggest a dark and barely legal spell to track whoever has been stealing from his closet. 

“If I’d known it only took listing dark spells to you to get this kind of reaction, I would have done it so much sooner,” the reader said breathlessly, before pulling him into another kiss. 

And they live happily ever after!

Until the Dark Lord rises.

(As for the bet, all the students and staff that took part lost, except for Dumbledore. He bet that Snape would return the flirtation.)

[theepisceswriter]

STALLION’S 600 MILESTONE EVENT.

♡ Request: hi!! can i get dreads with clips? :-) ♡ Dreads: Shigure Sohma  ♡ Clips: Cockwarming 

TW: chile Shigure Sohma is a trigger warning of his own, cockwarming, teasing, slight belly bulge and size kink, kinda mean Shigure, reader has titties and vagina but I would say gender neutral for the most part, MINORS DNI!

WC: 866 something sweet and short

“G-Gureee...”

Your whines fell on deaf ears no matter how loud and distracting you attempted to make them. Not even a glance into your direction or a hum to acknowledge your presence was given to you to soothe the ache of being practically ignored by the one who’s attention you wanted the most.

The author chose to focus on the blank canvas in front of him being filled up with Japanese characters with each flick of his wrists painting a scene of one of his latest romance novels.

 It was funny how the moment you had expressed your want for him he suddenly had the muse to spring into action and start writing, a task that only happened once in a blue moon even when Mitsuru showed up at the front door begging him like a woman gone mad. And knowing Shigure, whatever he was writing down was probably nothing more than gibberish just to tease you further like he always did, only giving in to your wants and needs if they were just as convenient for him as they were for you. 

Only Shigure would go the extra mile to ignore someone who was sitting directly in his lap; sunk down on his cock with your warm velvety walls encasing it and clenching around it every time he leaned forward or switched positions to “focus” on what he was writing. Your bare nipples were mere centimeters away from his lips, but still he looked over your shoulder like you weren’t there. By now the arousal dripping out of you taking the form of wetness had made a mess all over your inner thighs and left the green scrunched up fabric stopping just at his abdomen a damp mess. 

It’s Shigure’s promises of edging you for the rest of the week that kept you squirming in his lap and not daring to go overboard with your movements knowing that he would keep his promise of punishing you and more. 

Something the conniving man will never get tired of, always getting a rise out of, is seeing your squirm and clench around his cock in limited motions. Going crazy with lust and sore from being stretched out by his protruding cock while he went on with mundane tasks like it was nothing. 

Keeping his cool with that signature sly smirk on his lips while you were going absolutely feral in his lap with each passing minute.

“You’ve made a mess all over me, dear y/n.” It’s the first words he’s spoken to you in over thirty minutes but knowing that he was finally paying attention to you gives you a euphoric rush like no other. Your eyes lighting up with something close to relief as his eyes finally make contact with yours.

His fingertips trail along the soft flesh of your tummy until it reaches a bulge in your abdomen that quite obviously is from the stretch of his cock inside of you. No matter how many times you had taken him or how he had your pussy trained to swallow him whole in one motion; his size was something that couldn’t be denounced and your body made sure to show your struggle with it in ways such as a belly bulge. 

“Shigure, I need you badly.” You decide to beg once more now that his attention was on you once more, hips grinding against his in a way that has grunts spilling from his lips despite his best effort to hold them back. 

The hand he has over your belly bulge presses down on the area to keep you from moving your hips any further and soon he lets go of the pen in his other hand so it can assume a position on your other hip, thumbs and pinky digging into your love handles.

“You need me badly, do you?” He muses with a purr, closing up the gap between you too and leaning in to the point where his lips were ghosting over yours. 

You could taste the familiarity of his lips being on yours without them even being on you because it was a motion and taste you had witnessed multiple times. It never got old, every time feeling like the first time, and you were happy to indulge in the action once more. But when you puckered up your lips expecting to be met with the soft flesh of his, you were unpleasantly surprised to find that he had pulled away the moment you did. 

“I think you could wait a moment’s more while I finish up this chapter, can’t you?” And as if the sinister way of his actions weren’t enough, his hips buck up against yours for a deep long thrust until you’ve taken him to the hilt.

Purring in amusement at the way your thighs clench against his sides and your toes curl from pleasure. This was all just too much fun for him. 

“And then, after that,” he speaks up, moving your hair away from your neck to leave gentle pecks until he reaches your ear, “If you can stay behaved like you have been, I promise I’ll fuck you silly until you’re begging me to stop.”

[the-lonelybarricade]

I totally stole this from one of those writing prompt blogs, but can you do Rhys and Feyre going to couples therapy together as a joke when they only just met?

Okay my love, I literally just finished writing this and haven't actually proofread it. It was meant to be silly and jokey but ended up being a bit more serious than I intended, but I'm a sucker for fake dating tropes so maybe I'll continue their story at some point. Anyway here's a modern Feyre and Rhys going to couples thereapy together (whilst not actually being a couple):

Feyre was absolutely determined to prove Nesta wrong. Usually her sister’s grating comments didn’t penetrate Feyre’s hardened demeanor at home, but something about their stint yesterday had thoroughly gotten under her skin. Nesta had a talent when it came to barbed words, so it was the casualness with which she’d said Feyre was boring and predictable that had kept the words ringing between Feyre’s ears. They lacked the usual bite and venom that was characteristic of Nesta, and somehow that made them impossibly worse.

Was Feyre a creature of habit? Sure. But she had always been content with her quiet, unassuming life. They’d grown up poor, with little luxury, and as a little girl Feyre had always believed all she’d need to be happy was paint supplies and enough time to get lost in a blank canvas. Feyre had that now, and she was happy. She spent almost every day in her studio, a paintbrush in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. And that was fine. She may not spend a lot of time with other people, but that was fine.

Routine is fine. Being focused on your career is fine. So why did the implication that her life is stagnant rile her up so much?

Feyre couldn’t articulate what, exactly, had bothered her so much, since she was perfectly happy with the current state of her life. Yet the next morning she’d woken up, vowing to take a day off and spend the whole day being entirely unpredictable.

She was going to pull a Jim Carrey in Yes Man. She was going to seize this damn day. And any voice in her mind that pleaded her to stick to her comfort zone was going to be diligently ignored.

When she set out to get her morning coffee, she ducked into the first cafe she came across without checking the reviews. And instead of ordering her usual chai latte, she asked the cashier to make her their favorite drink. She sat at a booth and sipped it experimentally. It was sweet and tasted of caramel; she decided she quite liked it. So far so good.

She sat wondering what brave venture she should do next, something that would be worthy of telling people about. Something so brash and crazy and unexpected Nesta would eat her stupid, truthful words.

“Mind if I take this seat?”

The voice was like smooth velvet. Feyre glanced up to meet a pair of eyes that were such a deep, peculiar shade of blue they almost looked violet. She was momentarily stunned speechless, which caused the impossibly handsome stranger to lift one of his perfectly groomed brows in question.

“Of course,” Feyre answered, her mouth feeling a bit dry. She quickly took a sip of her coffee to quell this strong reaction her body was having to this man.

She’d been expecting him to take the chair to sit elsewhere, but he slid into the chair at her table, directly across from her. Feyre spared a cursory glance around the cafe. Customers milled about, but there were plenty of empty seats strewn here and there. It was far from necessary to share a table with a stranger.

Her interest piqued, Feyre turned her attention back to this strange, alluring man.

“I’m Feyre,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt. But today was about branching out of her comfort zone. Making the first move with an attractive man certainly qualified.

“Rhysand,” he answered with a charming grin, extending his hand into the space between them. Feyre accepted it with a mirrored smile, for a moment marvelling at the way his hand completely enveloped hers.

Feyre cleared her throat. “So tell me, Rhysand, what brings you to this table in particular?”

The way he wrinkled his nose was unfairly endearing. “Call me Rhys,” he said. “I only really use Rhysand in a business setting. And I chose this table in particular, because I saw a beautiful woman sitting here and was feeling especially forward.”

Feyre laughed in surprise. “Forward, indeed. Well, Rhys, I have spectacular news for you.”

“And what’s that, Feyre darling?” the suggestive tone to his voice sent shivers down her spine and instantly those warning bells in her mind were blaring. This man was too handsome and he was a complete stranger.

“I’ve decided to do something completely stupid and spontaneous today, and you’re officially invited to join me.”

Rhysand grinned, his eyes flickering with mischief at her proposal. She supposed that should be concerning, too, but she felt her pulse quicken. “And what stupid, spontaenous thing will we be doing, darling?”

Feyre leaned back, trying to regain composure by taking a too casual sip of her coffee. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m open to ideas.”

Across the cafe, a man stood up so quickly his chair tipped over with a loud thunk. Rhys and Feyre both whirled their heads at the commotion.

“This is why we need to go to therapy together!” the woman across from him screeched. “You can’t control your stupid temper!”

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he growled. “I’m not going to sit there for an hour so you can manipulate some dumb bitch into agreeing with you!”

“It’s not about sides,” she groaned. “I want to work through this with you!”

Feyre felt a tug of sympathy at the desperation in the woman’s voice. She could feel her pain and frustration second-hand, having been in similar shoes herself.

“Fuck this,” the man grumbled, storming for the door.

The woman followed after him. “Our appointment is in 10 minutes! Please, let’s just try it.”

The door swung shut behind them. Feyre watched the couple continue their walking argument down the city pavement, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Feyre sighed. “Man, that poor woman. It sounded like she really wanted to work things out.”

“That guy sounded like an absolute ass, maybe it’s for the best,” Rhys said. Then, his eyes lit up and he turned to Feyre with a slow, conspiring grin. “It does give me an idea, though.”

“What’s that?” Feyre felt a bit intimidated by the roguish expression on his face, even if it did make her feel breathless.

“Well, I do happen to know there’s a psychiatrist's office right above this cafe. If I had to guess, that’s where our friends were going to have their first session. And from the looks of it,” he nodded towards the couple, who were now striding in opposite directions through the city, faces flushed with anger, “they won’t be attending.”

“And your point is…?”

“Let’s go in their stead. Make a game of it. First person to break character loses.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“Well, if I win, then I get to take you to dinner.”

Feyre considered for a moment. Dinner with a handsome man certainly didn’t sound like losing to her. “If I win, then I get to use you as a model.”

“You’re a photographer?” His brows rose in interest and Feyre summoned all her will power not to blush. Since when was she bashful about her career?

“Painter.”

Rhysand grinned. “If you win, you can use my body anyway you wish, Feyre darling. Nude would be best.”

And that was how Feyre had ended up in Dr. Suriel’s office, Rhys by her side on the sofa. It was perhaps the most adventurous thing she’d ever agreed to.

“So, Mr and Mrs Mandray. Apologies, I didn’t get your names on the forms.”

“I’m Feyre, this is my husband Rhys,” Feyre answered, thinking it lucky they didn’t have to guess at the mysterious couple’s forenames.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Feyre and Rhys. What brings you to my office today?”

Rhys immediately slipped into his role of the concerned husband. He placed his arm around Feyre’s shoulders and tugged her close. Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it, glancing at Feyre hesitantly.

“My wife and I have been getting into a lot of… disagreement lately,” Rhys answered carefully, and already Feyre thought this was going much better than it would have if the actual Mr Mandray had turned up.

“My husband,” Feyre said flatly, channeling her inner Nesta to put venom into the word. “Is insisting on painting our house purple.”

“I see,” Dr. Suriel says, assessing the displeasure on Feyre’s face. “And I’m assuming you want to paint the house a different color.”

Feyre pressed her lips into a thin line. “See, that’s just the problem,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s exactly the color I would want to paint our house.”

Dr. Suriel frowned. “So you do want the house to be painted purple, as does your husband. Am I understanding that correctly?”

“No,” Feyre sighed. “He wants to paint the house blue, but is insisting we paint it purple, because he knows it’s what I want. This bastard refuses to be anything but accommodating.”

“We’re going to try to refrain from name-calling in my office,” Dr Suriel said calmly. “So, Feyre, you are clearly unhappy that Rhys wants to paint the house purple. What color would you paint it?”

“Blue,” she answered. “I know it’s what he secretly wants to paint it.”

“She doesn’t see the hypocrisy in what she's saying!” Rhys complained. Then, he turned to Feyre, looking impossibly serious. “Darling, I know you want to paint the house purple, and I already told you I’m fine with it.”

Feyre groaned. “I don’t want to paint the house purple! I want to paint it blue.”

“You’re only saying that because you think I want to paint the house blue.”

“Do you?”

Rhys hesitated. “No.”

“Don’t lie in front of our therapist,” Feyre said with narrowed eyes. “We promised to tell the truth while we’re here.”

“Then you tell me the truth, Feyre. Do you genuinely want the house to be painted blue?”

Now it was Feyre’s turn to hesitate. She could see the corner of Rhysand’s mouth twitch as she did so. “No. I mean yes! I do!”

“It sounds like at the heart of this argument, you are both ultimately concerned in pleasing the other person, is that fair to say?”

Feyre and Rhys glanced at each other, then nodded in agreement.

“Do you think there’s a color you could both compromise on, so that you don’t feel as if your partner is the only one making a sacrifice in this decision?”

Feyre met Rhysand’s brilliant violet eyes. In truth, she’d blurted the color purple because she’d been thinking about the color of his eyes. She'd never seen eyes that color, and they were wonderfully vivid. Feyre was lost thinking of painting a world in a monocrhome of violet, like a city that lived within his gaze.

Feyre realized she’d been momentarily swept away, snapped out of it by the humor that washed behind those starry irises. She blinked back the haze and tried to think of an answer to the question.

“Mustard yellow?” she proposed.

Rhys pursed his lips in mock consideration. “Mustard yellow,” he agreed with an emphatic nod of approval.

Dr. Suriel blinked in surprise. “All right, well I’m pleased we could solve that issue. Is there anything else you’ve been arguing about?”

“Yeah, actually. My wife,” Rhys gave Feyre a pointed glance. Somehow, despite being strangers, hearing Rhys refer to her as his wife sent waves of pleasure jolting through her. She felt her stomach flip on itself. “Isn’t satisfied with our sex life.”

Feyre instantly flushed at such an accusation, however fabricated.

“Is this true, Feyre?” Dr. Suriel turned her eyes towards Feyre and she shifted uncomfortably at having to make up stories about her sex life with Rhys. Making Feyre imagine rolling in a bed with him was certainly his goal, and she’d lie to say it wasn’t affecting her. Rhysand looked absolutely delighted to have made her squirm. Fine. Two could play at his game.

“Y-yes, well,” Feyre stuttered, the burning in her cheeks condemning. “I keep telling Rhys that 16 orgasms in a session is excessive. He’s much too generous a lover and he never lets me give as good as I get.”

Feyre felt satisfied with the way Rhysand’s face went crimson.

Dr. Suriel’s brows rose. “This seems to be a common theme in your marriage. Rhysand, would you say that you’re often prioritising Feyre’s desires over your own?”

“I think Feyre sorely underestimates how much pleasure I take from satisfying her desires,” he answered, his eyes flicking to Feyre with enough of a sensual promise that her heartbeat turned staccato.

“Rhys, it sounds as though your generosity is part of the way you express your love, is that safe to say?” Rhys nodded. “And Feyre, it seems as if you have trouble accepting your husband's generosity, both in and outside the bedroom. Do you feel that’s a fair statement?”

“I-I suppose so.”

“Sometimes people have trouble accepting their loved one’s generosity when they feel like they aren’t giving something in exchange. It can be hard to accept that kind of love when we don’t feel like we deserve it. Do you feel like this could apply to your situation?”

Feyre blinked. This was meant to be a gag, something daring and experimental. She hadn’t expected to be psychoanalyzed by Dr. Suriel, or at least for her analysis to hit so close to home.

Rhysand shifted forward on the sofa. “Is this true, darling?” he asked, sounding concerned. He took Feyre’s hands in his own, brushing his thumb along her skin as he met her gaze. “I think you deserve the world.”

She would almost think he was being genuine if she hadn’t met him only an hour ago. Feyre marked the conviction on his face, those burning pools of earnesty in his eyes, and marveled at what an incredible actor he was.

Somehow she ended up blurting part of the truth. “My family life growing up was kind of tough and I’ve never really known what unconditional love was like. I think a part of me still believes it's something I have to earn.”

“That sounds like it must have been very hard, Feyre. But it sounds like Rhys loves you very much, and that this is an issue the two of you can overcome together. When you feel the instinct to reject his generosity, try to remember where that message is coming from. And Rhysand, try to keep in mind that this is something your wife is still working through, and be patient if she feels more comfortable giving you something in exchange. This is her way of expressing love, too. At the core of your issues is both of you thinking about the other person, try to remember this when a breakdown in communication occurs.”

Somehow they’d lost control of their therapy session and were receiving actual therapy, which wasn’t part of the plan at all. But somehow, despite not actually being married to Rhysand, what Dr. Suriel said was reassuring.

Feyre turned to Rhys and smiled. “I think I understand better, now. You’re free to give me as many orgasms as you want, honey.”

Rhys grinned fiendishly. “And I’ll let you reciprocate in whatever way you feel comfortable, darling.”

Dr. Suriel clasped her hands together in approval. “Excellent. I think so long as the two of you take measures to accurately communicate your needs, you’ll find these breakdowns will occur less frequently. And that’s it for our time today, but I am happy to have the two of you back any time.”

Feyre walked out of the session hand-in-hand with Rhys, feeling a bit dazed. It had certainly gotten more serious than she’d expected, but perhaps her judgement had been misplaced in thinking therapy could be anything other than serious, no matter how joking the complaints.

“Well, that was certainly stimulating,” Rhys quipped once they’d left the office.

“And it seems we’re at a draw, considering neither of us broke character.”

“You do play my wife convincingly well,” Rhys practically purred, “perhaps I’ll let you take up the real role, if you feel so inclined.”

Feyre laughed. “I’m expecting a few other offers to come through. Give me a few days to look over the applicants, then I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay, well how’s this. I’ll give you my number, you can wait until all those applicants come back to you, and once you’ve decided that I’m clearly the obvious choice, you can call me.”

Feyre smiled as she pulled out her phone and handed it to him to insert his number. “You do make a very convincing husband. Perhaps I can hire you for weddings and Thanksgiving dinners?”

“Real husband, fake husband, a partner to do spontaneous, outrageous things with. You call me, and I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Feyre.”

It was perhaps the strangest and most generous offer she’d ever been given. When they parted ways, Feyre thought that she’d certainly filled her quota for an interesting story to tell. And maybe, most likely, she’d be calling that number very soon.

[makoodlesarchive]

when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

-

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

[honeytae]

hi it’s the anon from a few minutes ago! my request was artist taehyung or vante x reader! i think it’s cute and i haven’t seen a lot of writers really do many pieces on this au!

Did Monèt finger paint?

hi lovely anon! i’m SO sorry this took so long for me to write but each time i sat down to write this, it just didn’t flow right. this ended up just being a very simple and domestic artist! taehyung x reader piece..hopefully that’s okay!

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy

genre: fluff

warnings: i’ve never written an au before please take it easy on me.

word count: 1.8k

At first, you didn’t know anyone was home at all.

It was silent, the embodiment of peace. The windows were open, the curtains freely flowing into your home carrying the fresh smell of blooming flowers and the sound of chirping birds; all the familiar signs of spring.

Your tired shuffling around the house was uninterrupted, place spotless as you’d left it for work this morning. That was, until you passed Taehyung’s art studio, quickly catching his figure hunched over one of his newest pieces out of the corner of your eye.

You smiled fondly at the sight, leaning against the doorframe silently so as not to disturb his work.

You easily associated the painting propped up on the easel in front of him as the same one he’d shown you two nights prior, although it had significantly fewer blank spaces now than it had then.

You’d come home late that night, sleepily stumbling across the hardwood floors as you searched your home for your boyfriend. You’d found him in his studio, of course, and barely gave him a proper greeting before you were plopping your tired body down into his lap, making him carefully set his brush down to tend to your exhausted form strewn across his thighs.

You had only seen a glimpse of it that night as Taehyung was standing you up to put you to bed, marveling at the strokes along the canvas as his eyebrows shot up in amusement at your sleepy reaction.

“That looks amazing, baby.” You had mumbled, letting your head drop onto his shoulder as he half carried you out of his work space.

“Thank you, honey. Do you even know what it is?” He poked fun at your squinted eyes, bleariness coating them as you shook your head with a sigh.

“Just know it’s amazing since you’re amazing.” You nuzzled further into his soft sweater, listening to the man’s deep chuckles as he brought you into your bedroom.

With the floor squeaking below you as you adjusted your stance, you gained Taehyung’s attention for the first time since your arrival as he suddenly glanced up from his work and shot you a grin.

“Hi, love.” He greeted you, briefly meeting your eyes before he shifted his attention back to the piece in front of him, determined to fill the white spaces yet to be perfected on the canvas.

“That’s really coming along.” You commented, watching the brush stroke along the paper with ease as Taehyung’s creative juices seemed to flow effortlessly from his brain to his hand, working diligently to get the idea down on paper before he lost it.

“Thank you.” He blushed a bit, always flustered by your praise, especially with his art. As he’d told you on many occasions, your opinion meant the most to him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you should be an artist?” You cocked your head teasingly, the man pausing his actions as he ducked his head in laughter, eyes closing and nose scrunching up adorably as his mouth stretched into a wide smile. Your favorite smile.

“No, actually. Kind of just a hobby more than anything.” He smirked, you playing along with his act as you gasped in response.

“Well, that’s just tragic. That hobby could really get you places.” You commented, Taehyung‘s mouth twisted in a flustered grin, eyes squinted at you before he gestured for you to come over to him.

Patting his thighs for you to sit down on his lap, he wrapped his arms around your torso to steady your body atop him, your legs draped over to one side, arms wrapped around his neck as he smiled at you.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Hm, but you love me.”

“I do.” He mused, stamping a kiss to the side of your head with a grin before reaching his fingers out in front of you where the half-completed canvas was resting.

Gripping it in his hand, he carefully placed it beside you on the drying rack, producing a new canvas with a reach of his fingers and placing it on the easel with a squeeze to your hip with his unoccupied hand.

Humming, you turned your head to face him, blushing under his intense stare as he admired your features under his studio lights.

“What, weirdo?” You mumbled, causing Taehyung to laugh out loud, nodding to the blank canvas with a soft smile.

“I want to see you paint something.” He told you, a confused smile appearing on your face as you cocked your head at him, watching as he placed one of his paintbrushes between your fingers in the proper position.

You watched as he moved the palette of thick oil paints away, instead grabbing his basic water color set and placing it in front of you. Your body already felt less tense at the replacement of the expensive and more difficult paint, thankful that the limits of your comfort zone was something Taehyung always caught on to immediately.

“Honey, I can’t.” You said, your answer making Taehyung pout, sighing as he dipped down to plant kisses along your jawline.

“You can.” He soothed, gripping your hand and helping you dip the brush into the cup, dipping it in a bit of water before telling you to tap it on the side to get excess liquid out of the brush.

“Of course you can. Look,” he said, helping your hand hover over the palette of paints he’d set out, “what color are you feeling right now?” He asked, as if it was the most simple question in the world. As if he was asking you what the weather was today.

Over time, you’d gotten used to these random and sometimes absurd questions from the man, being intrigued by the first few you were faced with as you merely stared back at him for a moment, fumbling out an answer.

But now you were fully accustomed to these random questions, entirely endeared by the unique thoughts stored in his beautiful brain.

“Dark blue.” You responded, your boyfriend nodding once as he guided your hand to above the canvas.

“What pattern are you feeling right now?” He asked, setting his chin on your shoulder as he curiously peered up at you.

“I,” you paused, scrunching your eyebrows, “I don’t know how to answer that.” You admitted, Taehyung chuckling a bit before he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your pulse point.

“Like, when I’m angry or stressed, I feel dots. Just messily jabbed onto the canvas. Or when I’m calm, I feel stripes. Just gentle strokes of the brush.” He elaborated, you nodding a bit as you pondered his question.

“I want to feel like a kid again.” You sighed, the stresses of work swirling around your brain incessantly, fragmented memories of your more peaceful days heaving your chest with another deep exhale.

“Hm. Nostalgic?” He mused, you humming in response, frowning as he let go of your hand, grabbing the brush from you and placing it down on the table beside him.

Instead, he grabbed the palette, holding it up in front of you with a grin.

“No brushes. Just hands.” He explained, you turning your face to look at him, leaning down to press your lips to his in an appreciative gesture.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now c’mon, let me see my little protégé in action.” He pinched at your hip, chuckling when you squealed and squirmed atop him, steadying your waist with a grin.

Taking the brush back into his grip, Taehyung easily coated the pad of your index finger in the blue paint, giggling when you did as the bristles tickled your skin.

When your fingertip was completely blue, you hesitantly lifted your hand to the canvas, faltering a bit when it got too close to the pristine white.

“It’s not going to bite, love.” He soothed with a smirk, causing you to scoff as you looked back at him.

“I just don’t want to ruin one of your potential art pieces. These are expensive.” You gestured to the canvas, Taehyung rolling his eyes as he took your hand in his.

“You’re so silly sometimes.” He chided, guiding your hand back to the canvas and forcing you to press your blue finger against it.

Lifting it, he guided it over and up a few inches, repeating the action several times until the page was dotted with blue fingerprints.

“Fun, right?” He said, pressing his lips to your shoulder before setting his chin there, releasing your hand to let you do as you wanted.

“Hm,” you hummed your confirmation, “but I want you to do it with me.” You said, Taehyung smiling before grabbing the palette, offering it out in front of you again as he peered at your face, studying your features with his big brown orbs.

“What color?”

“Purple.” You answered, spying the dark purple color toward the edge of the dirtied palette, your boyfriend nodding once before you were taking the liberty of painting his pointer finger purple, a fond smile on Taehyung’s face as he watched you do so.

Dotting your fingers along the page, you found yourself easing up as you giggled at the man’s large fingerprint in comparison to yours, all tension from the day draining out of your body by simply being with Taehyung.

It’s not that he didn’t notice your shift in mood from this morning, or the bags under your eyes. He took mental note of every cue your body gave to him.

And you would definitely open up and talk it out later, you both knew he wouldn’t let you go on bottling it up. But right now, he was focusing on making you smile, the light crinkles next to your eyes letting him know he was doing his job.

And the piece in front of you was his favorite he’d ever laid eyes on, the canvas filled with smudges from both of your fingerpads and his heart filled with overwhelming love for you.

“You could be the next Monèt.” He spoke from behind you, causing you to scoff as you turned to meet his enthusiastic smile.

“Did Monèt finger paint?” You asked teasingly, eyebrows raised as Taehyung began to nod.

“Oh yeah, all the time. His best work.” He said, causing you to slap your palm over your mouth as you threw your head back in laughter, the man’s eyes twinkling at the sound.

“You’re ridiculous.” You said, lips twitching a bit before you recovered, shaking your head in mock disappointment at the man’s words.

“What? I’m serious!” He widened his eyes comically, face falling into a wide smile when you laughed again, throwing your head back on his chest as he wrapped his arms tighter around your frame to squeeze you to him.

“Let’s hang it in the living room so everyone can see it.” He beamed, both of you eyeing it adoringly as you saw the other’s work put into it, a joint effort that, although a bit of a chaotic mess, depicted your relationship perfectly.

“Out of all the pieces you could possibly hang in our living room for everyone to see, this is the one you choose?” You raised your eyebrows at him, the man nodding immediately in response as a smile spread his lips.

“Absolutely.”

[words-in-air]

chronology; Junko’s musings by the clock

NANAWEEK 2021 DAY 1 — side character: I wanted to write something for Junko, one of my favorite side characters :-) in my opinion, she’s misunderstood because of her sharp tongue, but her feelings run very deep. @7daysofnana

She knows how they met — that brat Shoji, of course — and where — that old art classroom seems so far away from her now — but not when.

She wants the exact minute that drew them together, the exact moment she was locked into this bigger than life, unholy orbit.

It was a morning. He’d told Hachi that for him Junko looked cool from the start. Does that mean it was love for first sight, she wonders.

The canvas stares back at her, unforgiving.

She wonders why it matters so much to her to nail down a single moment in time. Recently everything’s been drifting away from her, and she feels herself ceding to this ebb. She wants something to clutch onto.

Secretly, she worries about Hachi, but she doesn’t know if her feelings come from a place of pure concern or jealousy that she’s found a new group of friends. Junko is good at rationalizing her behavior, but even she isn’t blind.

Was it a good idea to move to Tokyo? Maybe not, but then she has dreams of her own to follow, she isn’t responsible for her friend. No, the fault still lies in Junko’s court. She should’ve taken better care of Hachi.

But Hachi seems to be doing fine by herself. Knowing her, she’s sooner or later bound to get in a mess.

Kyousuke drops by her studio after lunch and raises his eyebrows at the blank easel. “Is this a statement?”

She sniffs mock-haughtily at his expression. “You can take it as such.”

He cracks open a grin as he hands her a light. “You’re so silly.”

Junko doesn’t love feeling light-headed when he fits her with loving glances and little endearments, but, she supposes, she doesn’t hate it either.

On the way home their fingers entertwine. Junko gets a call from Hachi (to her relief, although she won’t show it) and the comfort that her friend’s voice brings makes Junko extra brusque over the phone.

Love. She doesn’t know why it manifests as sharp words in her body but she hopes Hachi can feel it there anyways.

Kyousuke is grinning as Junko hangs up, and she immediately wants to smack it off him, or kiss him senseless. She likes making him, such a grounded and rational person, lose control, so she’ll take a little teasing now and then.

“You coddle her,” is her pre-emptive strike.

“You love her more than I do,” is his response.

“Well, of course.”

Later at night they’ll be feverish together in bed. Little to no words will be exchanged — it’s always been like that for them — but the movements are practiced and tender.

Kyousuke’s glance will slip into hers easy like silk, cool like sin, and the first time they met — this same gaze, fondness dusting over her — will come to Junko like ecstasy, like the sweetest revelation.

[alolowrites]

A Vision Come to Life

Summary: Every artist wants to bring their own paintings to life. Sero is no different after he becomes infatuated with you—a beautiful stranger who exists in his dreams. One night he sees your face and decides to paint you with all his heart.

Song: “Pintame” by Elvis Crespo

Author’s Note: I always had this story idea in my head after listening to this song. It was different, and I just had to write it out. Not sure why it took me forever to get it done. Probably because I don’t know much about painting and really did not want to make a fool out of myself (I’m sorry if something is wrong, I tried my best with the research 😭😭😭). 

On another note, this is my first story for Sero so yay! Please enjoy!

Word Count: 1.6K+

Sero felt alive again.

He rushed into his private art studio, nearly tripping over the blemished tarp covering the floor. Both sleeves hastily rolled up past his elbows. Sero swiveled nonstop and panicked when he couldn’t find the cart filled with the art supplies. Ah, it was at the far corner; he wheeled it closer to the center. Precious time was fleeting, and so was the inspiration that came to his head just now.  

After being stuck in a rut for almost a month, Sero was itching to paint something. Or more accurately, he was dying to paint a certain someone. And that person was you—a stranger he’d never met in his life. Yet, you managed to invade his dreams every night for the last two weeks. It was like a game; you waltzed in, giggling up a storm, and Sero ran after you. He saw your back, but never your face; he would wake up just when you’d turn around to show yourself. That was how all his dreams ended.  

Until this morning.

Sero plopped down on the stool that wobbled under his weight. The blank canvas stared back at him. Fingers scrambled to grab a charcoal pencil lost in a messy pile of his art supplies. A good sketch of your head and shoulders was key to bringing you to life. His eyes followed the delicate strokes that fleshed out your beautiful features. He didn’t want to miss out on a single detail on this painting.

Especially that lovely face of yours, the one that took his breath away. Sero gave special attention to those unique details. A quick solution was added to seal the sketch and left to dry. Sero distracted himself by prepping his materials. All his fingers twitched, and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard it could bleed. The urge to paint you drove him insane. He couldn’t help it—the artistic flame was burning again, and much stronger than before.

His eyes wandered to the canvas. One touch and the corners of his lips curved; it was dried. The imaginary chains broke loose, allowing Sero to dive straight into his work. A ray of sunlight peeked through the windows. Sero grinned, brushing the paint across your cheeks. Each movement felt natural, and he let you—his muse—be his guide.

Sero wanted to capture everything about you.

He painted your nose so he could breathe the same air as you. He painted your lips, those soft and luscious lips that begged for a kiss. He painted your eyes that left him mesmerized no matter where he stood. He painted you with every bit of passion and desire raging in his heart and soul.

You only existed in his dreams, but Sero knew that’s not where you belonged. His mind was too cramped for your magnificent presence. You deserved better than that. Which was why Sero chose to paint you on the largest canvas he owned like the absolute queen you were. Anything less would fail to showcase your exquisite beauty in Sero’s eyes.

Another stroke here. A dash of color there. A touch of shade everywhere. Not once did the paintbrush stop its graceful dance across the canvas. It was as though Sero was under a spell where his only focus was on you. Sero succumbed to the madness clouding his sense of reality. There was no use fighting against it. He trusted you, the lovely muse living in his mind, to control him until he finished the masterpiece.

Sero switched to a thinner brush so he could add the finer details with great precision. He paid special attention to your eyes and lips. The tip of the brush dabbed around your irises, emphasizing the playful glint that drove Sero crazy. As for your lips, they carried a mischievous smile as though you knew something he did not.

An exhausted sigh broke the silence. Sero wiped the sweat beads trickling down his forehead. He finished and took a couple of steps back to admire his artwork. A tired, but satisfied smile, stretched across his face. He lowered his color palette and paintbrush, ignoring the cramped muscles around his fingers.

You were worth the pain.

As Sero cleaned up his materials, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was being watched. The back of his hair stood up as he twiddled a dirty rag. Sero gazed at the painting. Everything about the portrait was spectacular and impressively realistic despite being a figment of his imagination. You weren’t real. So why did he feel nervous as your eyes followed him out the door?

Sero shook his head. The paint was making him see things. Besides, it was also late, and his strained eyes needed to rest. He passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. Sero expected to see you again in his dreams, and he waited. But tonight, you did not come.

A loud knock woke Sero up.

He hissed as the morning sun blinded his eyes. Another knock banged on the door, and Sero tossed the bed covers aside. Who wanted to see him so early in the day? Sero groaned, shuffling his feet down the hall. He answered the door with disheveled hair and yesterday’s clothes on his back. In hindsight, Sero should have made himself more presentable.

Only who would have guessed the person knocking on his door was you—the muse that lived in his dreams. Sero stumbled forward, grabbing the doorframe for support. Was he still dreaming? If he was, everything felt too real. Sero didn’t know whether or not to close his agape mouth, and you giggled.

“Hi, there!” Sero was taken aback by the sound of your voice. His breath hitched, and you tilted your head as though everything was normal. You bowed politely while sharing your name. “Sorry if I woke you up so early! I’m the new neighbor living down the hall. I forgot to introduce myself after moving in yesterday.”

“I-It’s f-fine.”

That was a lie, and Sero knew it. The young artist was in awe as he took in your overwhelming presence. You were more stunning in the flesh than in his imagination and artistic piece combined. His heart pounded as he studied your facial features. Everything was the same—your adorable nose, your lively eyes, and your radiant smile. They were the same ones he painted for hours until they looked perfect. Sero was sure he saw the brush strokes peeking through your skin.

“Hey, you okay?” Sero nearly laughed; he didn’t know where to begin with that question. You inched dangerously close to his face with a raised eyebrow. “You look a little pale, almost as if you saw a ghost or something.”

“I, ah, slept late last night,” he wheezed out, his chest squeezing itself tight. There was no way you were real. Sero swallowed a thick gulp. “I was, um, just working on—”

“An art piece?” Now that sent a shiver down Sero’s spine. You chuckled, dismissing the surprised look in eyes. “You’re covered in paint, silly!”

Sero relaxed slightly. “Oh, right…”

“Well, does this cute artist have a name?”

“I’m Sero Hanta, sorry about that,” he rubbed the back of his neck. You hummed, as though you already knew his name. A cheeky grin crept on your face. It was at that moment Sero noticed a playful gleam flash across your eyes. He knew because he painted that exact expression until his fingers became numb. But you weren’t real.

“Oh no worries,” you stood up straight, carrying an air of mystery. Your allure reeled Sero in like a siren beckoning a ship full of fishermen lost at sea. “I’m glad we finally had the chance to meet. Maybe we can talk some more, say this afternoon at a nearby café? You can even show me around the neighborhood. I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs after unpacking all day yesterday.”

“S-sure.”

“Perfect.”  

On the surface, your smile was innocent. However, Sero picked up the subtle slyness hiding underneath. He knew because, like your eyes, he painted those exact lips. Sero’s hand twitched as he watched you saunter away. Seconds later, he slammed the door and rushed down the hall to his art studio.

Sero barged into the room with his chest heaving uncontrollably. Sweat beads rolled down his neck, and he felt oddly hot in his wrinkly clothes. The color on his face drained as he stumbled closer to the canvas. Raggedy breaths filled the room, shocked eyes growing wider with every step he took toward the art piece.  

You were gone; only the background remained inside the canvas. Sero circled the easel, trying to make sense of what was happening. One hand pushed his hair up in distress. All the signs were pointing to one thing, and he refused to believe it. You weren’t real; you were just muse from his dreams. Just a beautiful face that teased him every night and Sero painted you to admire your beauty with his own eyes.

Sero shook his head, denying everything. He struggled to stay sane and believed he was still dreaming. Any minute now, he will wake up, and your portrait will be there to greet his eyes. Sero mumbled under his breath to calm down. The artist glanced at the canvas only to do a quick double-take.

Both legs caved under the immense weight that dropped on his shoulders. Sero crawled to the canvas, his throat going dry. One finger hovered above the lower righthand corner with words written in charcoal pencil that read:

Thanks for painting me!

Sero brought his vision to life…literally.

Thank you for reading!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Diary of the Writing Raven; Birds of a Feather

For the 1100+ follower milestone, here is the next part of the cursed raven’s story!

This time, we revisit entries in Miss Raven’s diary. A familiar face assumes prominence on the stage--what role will he play in this story of ours?

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4

Day 47

I feel like I am being watched.

Uncle says I am just nervous and excited from the ceremony yesterday.

I am not so sure.

Day 48

I ran into that weirdo again today.

The weirdo is named Rook Hunt. He also calls himself the Hunter of Love...? I do not understand what that means.

He said that he will not be fooled again by Mon-sure Mastermind’s tricks again. He said he knows I am a bird, and he will chase me to the ends of Twisted Wonderland to see me in flight.

...Scary.

He shouts many strange words and chases me around. I managed to narrowly miss him by diving into the bushes. He was distracted by some students with animal ears--and I was able to run all the way home safely.

I suppose it is good to be curious, but...Mister Rook is too curious...!!

Why couldn’t I have run into Mister Jade instead?

Day 51

Uwaaah, I saw a very pretty upperclassman today! He had golden hair, violet at the ends.

The pretty upperclassman snapped at Mister Rook and told him to stop scaring me.

I am thankful, but...it seems like that upperclassman was scanning me all over. Judging me silently. I wanted to disappear into my clothes.

Before we part, he tells me that my ponytails are not symmetrical. He adjusts it for me and sends me off.

Mister Rook’s friends are strange people, too.

Day 56

Another run-in with Mister Rook. They seem to happen every day now, though they are not always...eventful.

He says I am too formal, and that I can just call him “Rook”.

He would not stop pestering me until I agreed.

He gave me a toothy grin when I, at last, relented.

What a troublesome man.

Day 57

Ever since I tried Flounder’s Blue, I have been sampling new foods and drinks.

Today, I got a cup of caw-fee.

Silly me, though...I tripped and spilled it all over a Savanaclaw student. He was so angry. He threatened to gobble me up.

I was trembling and sobbing when the Savanaclaw student yelped. Rook had a tight grip on his trail and kept tugging it, saying weird things until he scurried off.

I thank him.

Day 60

It feels like I see Rook around every corner. He does not always approach--sometimes, he is just content with watching from a distance, or he gives a small wave.

Jade has noticed too.

He asks if Rook makes me feel unsafe..

Rather than feel unsafe, I am a little curious as to why Rook is...well, Rook. He is certainly an odd fellow, but when I think back to a few days ago, I can’t help but think he has a good heart.

I do not think he means any harm.

So I tell Jade I am fine.

Day 66

Rook smelled funny today.

He says there was an accident in the Science Club, so he will reek of tomato and basil for a few days. That hunting trip he was planning is cancelled; the smell will alert too many animals of his presence.

I tell him that he reminds me of the pasta served at the Mostro Lounge, and he laughs.

How he is able to stay so cheery is a wonder to me--but it is not a bad thing, I suppose.

Day 72

Rook tells me of a carny-vale in the nearby town, and says I must experience it for myself. I was curious, so I followed.

There are so many bright sounds and sights. It smells like something fried and sweet.

We ride the spinning tea cups and the carousel. They make me feel like I’m flying once more.

I’m no good at any of the game booths, but Rook is. He has impeccable aim and strength. The game booth runners cry and beg him to not run them out of business.

Rook just smiles and asks them for their best prizes. He has no use for most of them, so he dumps his prizes onto me with a part on the head.

My arms are too full to hold any food, so Rook helps feed me. He stuffs funnel cake, cotton candy, and candied apple into my mouth.

The last thing we do for the day is the ferris wheel. We go up and up against the sunset.

In the dying light of day, I realize something.

Rook has very pretty eyes, too.

Day 80

The pretty upperclassman came up and introduced himself.

Vil Schoenheit, Pomefiore’s dorm leader.

The queen.

He remarks that my pigtails are not asymmetrical today, and that I am a fast learner.

“You must be, little Shetland potato,” Vil comments, “if you are to deal with my huntsman.”

Day 84

...Rook was carrying a Pomefiore boy over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes.

He says that it’s his job to capture runaways, in service of his queen.

...I wonder how much he gets paid to do this?

Day 85

I told Rook about my hiking trip with Jade!

He seemed very interested, listening intently and nodding while I spoke.

Rook says that he, too, is a fan of the great outdoors, and that we should go on a camping trip together sometime.

I look forward to it.

Day 90

Today is the promised camping trip with Rook.

The weather is getting chillier, so he reminds me to dress warm. He will take care of the rest of the preparations. After all, he has had much more experience with these sorts of things.

I’m still cold, even when I show up in three layers. Rook tuts and throws his jacket over me, despite my protests.

He guides me through the forest, pointing out tiny things I would not have noticed on my own. That bunny’s burrow, those squirrels storing nuts for the upcoming winter, the rustle of the leaves, the trickle of water, how the sunlight filters through the trees...

Rook has such a poetic way of speaking.

He reminds me of a prince in a fairy tale.

Day 94

Rook told me that he has noticed that my speech has improved. He is proud, puffing up like a proud father. He spouts some nonsense about how “mon petit oiseau” (he helped me with the spelling) is becoming such a refined young lady.

I told him that his own manner of speech is far prettier than mine.

Rook just laughed and offered to help me improve more and more, if I wish.

I should pay a visit to Pomefiore, he said, and the queen will welcome me with open arms.

Day 95

Pomefiore is...beautiful. Violet tapestries, crimson curtains, and gold decorations dripping from every available crevice. And everyone is just as beautiful as their surroundings, skin like glass and eyes set in jewel-colored shadows.

I expected nothing less of the oldest dormitory at Night Raven College. The castle is steeped in years of history.

I was offered tea and a three tiered stand of snacks. Vil introduced me to a boy named Epel, who squirmed in his seat with discomfort.

He made us hold our tea cups all funny and barked at us to exchange words. Rook stands at his queen’s side and just...smiles at us as we suffer.

After that, Vil shepherded us to a large table, where two sets of cutlery were laid out.

I’m drilled for hours on end, until I can differentiate the several different variants of spoons, forks, and knives. Epel, too.

I am told to return every few days, to join Epel for his lessons. “It would do him some good to have someone to go through the motions with,” Vil insists. “It gives him some much needed...’encouragement’.”

More lessons for me.

...Somehow, I feel like Rook has me caught in a snare.

Day 100

Vil quips that we are learning ballroom dancing today.

I do not see the practical use of such a skill, but he will not take no for an answer.

Epel and I mutter apologies as we link hands and step on each other’s feet. Then the queen has us take turns spinning around with Rook.

He is very graceful on his feet--far more than myself or Epel. I’m nervous when my turn comes up, but Rook reassures me that it will be fine.

His arms form a cage to keep me from stumbling.

He clicks his tongue and says I need more practice.

Day 102

We focused on the arts today. Vil was busy with modeling (?) and told us that Rook would be our instructor. He says that the arts are his best subject, so please leave everything to him.

Rook shows us fruit bowls and pictures of scenery (he says he took the photographs himself)! Then he sets out canvases and paint sets and tells us to follow his lead.

His voice is a soft murmur as he beats his paintbrush against a blank canvas, breathing color into an otherwise lifeless world.

I do my best to do as he says.

Rook glances over--and he tells me, through a blinding smile, that my painting needs some work.

I have to agree.

Day 110

Epel is with friends today.

Rook takes this opportunity to grant me a language and writing lesson. He knows that I like writing, so now is as good of a time as any.

Rook hovers over me at a desk and suggests ways to make my writing sound...fancier.

I practice writing sentences like...

You are the light of my life, the lark’s birdsong in the still morning.

You are as lovely as the petals of a rose, lush and delicate and breathtakingly beautiful.

You are the moon and the starlight, twinkling in the depths of the darkness and guiding me to salvation.

I ask him what the point of these phrases were--and Rook answers, “For when you wish to woo whomever has captured your heart!” He makes it sound so easy.

He teaches me a few basic phrases of his flowery language, too.

I tell him merci.

Day 117

The queen puts books on my head and tells me to walk without dropping any of them.

Rook holds my hand and helps me keep balance.

It is warm, and comforting and supportive, just like Jade’s.

Then Vil whips out a pair of odd shoes, with stick-like things instead of a flat sole. He calls them heels and urges me to put them on.

I fall on my face, and Rook has to help me up.

On my second attempt, he catches me. He tells me I have the grace of a newborn fawn--that is to say, none at all.

Still, I feel safe in his arms.

Day 133

It is cold, and snowy.

Rook drags me outside anyway. He says exercise will do my frail little body some good.

But...no matter what I activity I do, I am miserable at it. Snowshoeing, ice skating, sledding. I am horrible at all of them, and more.

We settle for building a snowman.

I try to make it look cute.

Day 140

The cruise ship is boring. The beach is boring. It’s mostly older folks like Uncle sipping on tropical drinks and sunbathing.

I wish I had someone to talk to.

Of course, Jade would be nice and set my heart at ease...but Rook would be able to make even something as mundane as this fun.

I can already hear him shouting in my head about the clear blue waters, and the amber sunlight, and the snow white sand.

Look at me, I’m beginning to speak nonsense.

Well, nonsense it may be, but it is interesting nevertheless.

Rook is...interesting.

Day 149

There are lots of seagulls here.

...They remind me of Rook.

I am not quite sure why.

Maybe it is the incessant cawing.

Though...that is charming, in its own unique way.

Day 155

Rook brought back a souvenir from his home land--a bright blue feather on a beaded necklace. He says it is similar to the one the young prince of his country wears.

It turns out, he is from the Afterglow Savannah! What a surprise; I thought he would be from the Land of Pyroxene.

He regales me with stories of his adventures, of the many hunts he embarked on and his trophies.

His eyes are like emeralds, shining with excitement.

Day 167

I saw a play with Rook.

It told the story of two lovers whose families detested one another. The actors all speak quite frivolously, just like Rook. I can see why he would like this kind of thing.

My favorite part...it was the balcony scene.

The male lead cannot stand to be apart from the female lead, and so he sneaks into her garden at night. He summons her to the balcony and makes a vow that he will, no matter what, find a way to be with her.

...The play ends with death.

I cried a little, and Rook let me lean against his shoulder until I stopped.

Day 170

I penned a little story based on the play.

This one has a happy ending.

I want to put some hope into the world.

Day 185 (Continued)

I asked Rook if he was excited for Valentine’s Day, if he was expecting any gifts.

He gave me a mysterious smile in response and said, “Ah, that is for me to know and for you to find out, mon petit oiseau.”

I wonder what he means by that.

Day 186 (Continued)

I will give Rook some chocolate, too!

As thanks for being my friend.

Day 197 (Continued)

I made little heart-shaped bon-bons for Rook.

Perfect for the Hunter of Love.

Day 198 (Continued)

I want to curl up and die, diary.

Rook saw me crying today, under the shade of the great apple tree that towers in the school courtyard.

He asked me what was wrong, a concerned look on his face.

I snapped at him, told him to leave me be.

...But rather than bombard me with questions or annoy me with overly embellished words...

...Rook sat next to me silently. He held my hand until I stopped crying.

Then I spilled everything. I don’t know why I did. I...I guess I wanted someone to know of my story.

Starting with my arrival at Night Raven College. Ending with Jade’s betrayal.

I told Rook the tale through my tears and disgusting sobbing. It was absolutely pathetic, but...he listened patiently.

When I finished, he told me something.

“Mon petit oiseau, I would never lie to you.”

And I believe him.

Day 200

I cried again.

Stupid Leeches.

Day 202

I am scared of Jade.

I say as much to Rook.

He makes a joke about sharpening a harpoon and going eel hunting.

...At least, I think it is a joke.

Day 215

Rook now greets me as soon as my classes let out. His smile and laugh are reassuring to see.

He makes sure I get home safely, and without being accosted.

I cannot say merci enough.

Day 227

...It is ironic.

The man I once ran from is now the one I willingly go to for shelter, and the man I once went to for shelter is now the one I run from.

What a strange reversal of fortune.

Day 228

I feel eyes on me again.

...Leeches, most likely.

Day 230

Tomorrow is another day.

I will stay at Rook’s side.

It is the only place I feel safe beyond Uncle’s attic.

Day 231

I can trust him.

I can trust Rook.

He will tell an ugly truth right off the bat.

He values honesty, integrity--like me.

And birds of a feather must flock together.

[soukokuwu]

heaven in hell

     genre: fluff      pairing: fyodor x reader      warnings: some religious references/themes; bonus points if you can see who i projected them both as      word count: 1.7k      synopsis: you and fyodor go through thick and thin together.      - requested by anonymous: fyodor with a childhood friend s/o who takes part in his murderous shenanigans — at one point she tells him: “it’s strange. when i’m with you, no matter how bad things get, i’m not afraid.”

White daffodils and crimson pomegranates.

Silk dresses and flower crowns.

That’s the sight that accompanied your beauty the first time he saw you. How old was he then? Eight? Nine? Somewhere there. He didn’t place much significance in that moment. How was he supposed to know then that you’d mean so much to him now?

The daughter of a wealthy family, someone who seemed to have everything. Everything but freedom. Even someone like you, who was constantly surrounded by people, must’ve felt lonely. The empty praises and fake kindness from those who surrounded you.

You hated it, Fyodor could see it. He had found you ravishing, and that was never a secret. That was what drew him in. At first. In all honesty he thought you’d be plain, a blank canvas in the mind, like a drone that only operated on commands.

But as he spoke to you that day, under the shade of the pomegranate trees, Fyodor found his expectations exceeded. The way you vocalised your opinions, the way you spoke of politics and disdain for the sinful nature of humanity. Then, only then, was Fyodor completely entranced.

Where he thought you grew flowers because you loved to see them grow, you admitted it was not; you liked to watch them fade and die. Like there was something worth admiring about a necessary death. A certain duality lived in you — like you could be the goddess of life, and yet at the same time, a ruler of all that was dead.

Fyodor found something in common with you that day. Both of you would kill for the sake of a better world, if only you had the means. That was the first time you spoke of him as that. It was when he confessed his perception of an ideal world — a world without ability users.

“Kill any one of them, that makes you a murderer,” you had commented once.

“But if I kill millions of them, that makes me a conqueror.”

You had turned toward him with a playful smirk then. “Kill all of them — that makes you a god.”

A wildflower — that was what he saw you as.

You grew from what you perceived as nothing. That house held no meaning, your choices were never actually yours to make and family was just an empty label tying blood relatives together. Where you used to be scared of going against your family, you stood up to them. Renounced everything they promised you, called them out for being nothing but self-fulfilling bastards.

You chose to run of your own accord, but that was not what your family spoke of. They spread rumours of how you had been seduced by evil, bribed by the demon, manipulated to leave your nest. They spoke of how you were stolen, not cast off. They were adamant on how you were dragged away from paradise and into hell. They omitted how you were the one who pounded on the its gates yourself just to escape the real devils parading as angels in their own personal form of ‘heaven’.

There was a sickness in them. Rising like the bile that leaves that bitter taste at the end of your throats. You hated it. And so you ran to him, to Fyodor, with only your hatred for such greed in tow. You had absolutely nothing. Yet ironically, with nothing to your name, you stumbled upon everything.

Whatever it was initially, it had bloomed into something more. Much akin to friendship on fire.

Only a beautiful soul such as yours would kiss the damned. That was how he viewed all ability users at first, and that included himself. But you? You didn’t have any — you were all human, pure, untainted, this way. You didn’t think of him as a damned being though. Much as you viewed certain deaths necessary, so were certain evils. And if Fyodor viewed himself as damned, you argued to put it to good use.

“You are not the devil, you are a god.”

You always reminded him of that. Until it was ingrained in his mind. And just like that, you became the most influential person in his life — the reason he does anything for the dream of a better world in the first place. Not only for himself, but also for you.

That’s why you followed him wherever he went. Fyodor deemed himself god and you were his one loyal, devoted follower. No — he viewed you as his goddess, one worthy of standing beside him as an equal. Although he does not say.

He was still doubtful you’d follow him away from Russia, leaving the safety of familiarity for foreign lands. Fyodor was preparing to leave you, to say farewell. But you showed up with your luggage in tow this time, carrying with you the smile he called home. He found it fascinating, how with each step toward him it’s like you brought springtime with you, and with each step away it felt more and more like winter. Lucky for him then, you’d always stick close to him.

You became his partner-in-crime, a goddess standing strong beside her god, the bride to his ruler of ‘hell’ (as they used to call him back at home — you were nothing like your parents though, you thought being with Fyodor was like heaven on earth), minus the deceptions because he could manipulate everyone, but he would never want to do that to you. Only you.

Every scheme, every murder. You had a hand in it. There were other subordinates, sure. But you were his right-hand man. There was no other he’d trust more than you. And you hid in the shadows, far deeper than any of them did.

But not for tomorrow. For tomorrow they needed a female. And you had volunteered.

Fyodor isn’t one to worry, much less one to admit it. Although you can always tell when something is off. Tonight is one of those times.

You’re on the balcony, looking out at the view before you. It’s a nightly routine for you, to stand here and just enjoy the song of the breeze, along with the choir of stars that blanketed the sky, seemingly endless. There’s something more tonight though — Fyodor. He’s right there behind you, bony, icy fingers nestling against your stomach, cheek resting against your back.

He’s the first to break the silence by calling your name.

“Yes, fedya?”

Fyodor exhales gently through his nose before he says anything, the warm air hitting the back of your neck now that he straightens up. “Мне так повезло́ тебя́ встре́тить,” he whispers in your ear.

He celebrates inwardly as he sees the smile creep up on your face. You’re trying not to grin silly, but you fail miserably the moment he leaves a chaste kiss on your earlobe. “I consider myself lucky to have met you too, Fyo.”

“Are you not worried, lyubimaya?”

He knows he is. He’s always preferred to keep you safe behind the screens, never let the enemy even know of your existence if he can help it. He’s not worried about whether you’re capable of carrying it out properly, no. He has the utmost confidence that you’re the best person for the job. As you did for the few previous times you had to help out. You’re intelligent, capable, tough. Perfectly able to kill anyone you had to. But you are also the only thing he is afraid of losing.

You turn around in his arms and cup his cheeks in your hands, giggling slightly as his cheeks grow rounder from being held. Your gaze shifts to his purple orbs, finding it endearing how you’re the only one who gets to see his hardened gazes melt into an earnest plea for answers.

Fyodor can’t help it; the way his vision wanders to your body — your torso. He only has to furrow his brow ever so slightly for you to know exactly what’s on his mind: the last time you went on a mission, how you had severely underestimated the enemy, how they had stabbed you and nearly killed you. Not a day goes by that Fyodor doesn’t think about it. The man is dead now, yes, but he can’t get the sight of your scar out of his mind. A reminder of how he had failed to protect you.

“It's strange. When I'm with you, no matter how bad things get, I'm not afraid.”

Your words snap him out of it. He swallows the lump in his throat. He appreciates your attempt at easing his worries, you can see that from the slight pink tainting his pale skin. His thumb rubs over the spot of your scar through your shirt.

They say that when you lose someone, you’ll only ever regret the things you don’t say. Is this what he’s feeling now? The taste of loss — however false it may have been now since you’re safe and alive — is still fresh on his tongue. Nothing will stop either of you from continuing with this. So maybe, this is the least he can do, isn’t it? Let you in? After all, you’ve been with him for as long as he can remember.

“Я хочу́ провести́ с тобо́й всю оста́вшуюся жизнь,” he mutters with a serious expression before he releases you from his embrace and turns around. “So you better not fail tomorrow.”

As he disappears back into the room, you lean back against the railing and smile to yourself. Over time you got used to his shows of affection. People who knew always commented on how he doesn’t show enough — but to you he shows plenty. Fyodor has never said he loves you. It’s always said in a roundabout way because that’s just who he is.

But what you heard earlier? That must be the best one yet.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, Fyo,” you whisper after him into the night. Because you’ve never said you love him either. But just like you, he already knows.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[scriptaed]

the redmail | 01

♡ genre: angst/fluff; college!au; e2l!au;

♡ pairing: reader x yoongi;

♡ length: 2.4k; 

♡ synopsis: stoic, indifferent, and aloof, you’ve always wondered what made that oddball yoongi the heartthrob of the school; that is, until one day, when you finally catch him red-handed and the origins of his popularity are unveiled—that bastard’s been writing himself his own love letters! [...] // a drabble of the redmail but written in yoongi’s pov because things aren’t always what they seem. 

♡ commissioned by @shadowsremedy​: thank you so so much for the support! eeespecially for requesting this because it was so much fun to write. i hope you enjoy this c: 

The silence she leaves in her wake is overbearing—but then again, how stupid am I to assume otherwise after having just witnessed the outbreak of a ferocious tempest? I knew it would hurt. I knew she would explode, being the untamed girl I’ve come to know much too well. I knew she would face dejection, even if she vainfully concealed it, because she’s never been completely honest with neither me nor herself; and as certain as I was of her dismay over my threat against her necessary albeit forced confession to Jin, the one and only thing of much more certainty was the hurt I would inevitably face. She might not know it—and I, myself, wouldn’t have believed such an absurd claim just a month ago—but I would rather sit through another dozen of her outfit checks than to be the cause of her pain again. 

And that says a lot.

Tsk. Winter is especially relentless tonight. I’ve never been the type to reel at the bite of cold, but the ghost she left behind has me balled up and shivering. I glance around the stretch of the lengthy street overlooking a river and lit by cold blue post lights, drowning myself in the chirps of crickets only to prim at the absence of any passersby. At least no one had to pay witness to the horrific argument that most would only cringe at while watching all those rom-coms that Y/N had forced me to sit through. Not that I really cared what others thought. Knowing Y/N, however, she would have been whining to me about how others would misconstrue the situation and spread false rumors about our lover’s quarrel… that is, if she were even willing to speak to me again.

How long has it been since she stormed off anyways?

I could only scoff at myself in disbelief when a pathetic epiphany dawns upon me. Here I sit, in the middle of a stranded street after spending my entire Sunday night acting as a pretend boyfriend for a girl whose eyes lied elsewhere—and yet, despite having been scolded by said girl and deservedly so, my body remains affixed to the bench and every and any efforts to budge are in vain. 

Why? 

It’s shamefully dumb for me to admit—and I would never do it aloud, for no one, including myself, should have to endure such torture—but I’m clinging onto our last: the last time I shared a seat with her, the last time she held my hand even if in the name of “practice,” the last fragment in time I could relish and smile stupidly over her but only secretly at my own discretion.  

A small puff of white followed by a larger, heavier cloud fills the air as I release the weight along with the burden that remains in my chest. The winter cold sends chills to my bone and the white lights blind me as I unintentionally challenge it to a staring contest, but they all pale in comparison to the daunting possibility of a tomorrow without the daily bother she had forced me to become accustomed to. 

God, I always appreciated quality time with silence, but it’s too damn quiet around here. Where is her endless blabbering when I need it?

Nonetheless, I stumble onto my feet. It goes without saying: my conviction is undeterred. I don’t regret telling her the truth nor do I regret having blown some steam over her silly, Jin-driven fanatic antics that I had allowed for far too long. I had to tell her. It was for the better. She had to get over it, and when she finally does get over it… would she finally recognize her true value? Could she finally appreciate a man who could treat her right? 

...and in her own treacherous words that reverberates through the silent night and wreaks chaos in what was once my perfectly tranquil state of mind: what would I do if, someday, her heart really found its way to me? 

“Pft, second choice to Jin?” I scoff to myself, shaking my head, burying my hands into my pockets, and kicking the rocks to the curb along with my pathetic skip of a heartbeat, “Don’t ‘kid around with me.” 

♡ ♡ ♡

“Oh, Yoongles!” Jin kicks a leg over the other, quickly catching his toppled laptop and returning it to his lap just as I enter the room, “you going out on evening dates now, too, or wh—” he pauses and grimaces once he notices something, whatever it is, on my face, “—what happened?”

“First, you don’t get to call me ‘Yoongles,’” I deadpan, “and second, we need to talk.” 

“Talk? Us?” Jin articulates but I don’t really need to answer for him to realize the gravity of the situation. Propping a pillow behind him and the wall, Jin finally sits up and chuckles nervously, “what’s with you recently? Given, you’ve always been a moody grandpa, but you seem… particularly bothered nowadays.” 

How was I supposed to bring her up without being bombarded by his inevitably nosy questions? And how do I ask him for a favor without spilling the secret Y/N had entrusted me with? It was a hard task, one that I really would rather not go through the hassle of doing, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight otherwise. 

For her, I had to do it. 

Strolling across the short span of our tiny room, I don’t even realize that I’ve been pacing back and forth between our two beds before finally leaning against my desk. The next thing I know, I’ve been staring at Jin far more intently and probably more intensely than a person asking for a favor should have been.  

Thankfully, Jin being the usual albeit irritatingly perky guy he is, he waves my silence off as just another normal day with me, “you need my assistance? What is it? Dating advice? Haha, I knew it! It’s okay, you don’t have to be shy—”

“—it’s about Y/N.”

I make sure to cut him off before he establishes a steady rhythm. 

“Oh,” a smug grin stains his face and I have to remind myself exactly who I’m doing this for in order to hold the click of my tongue, “so that’s who this is all about. What’s up? Finally taking a liking to girls, eh? Well, I don’t blame you. Y/N’s a good catch—”

“—she’s not some fish you can just ‘catch,’’” the words slip from lips just as my tongue clicks. Clearing my throat, I cross my arms and shuffle in place… hopefully enough of a surrender for the favor I’m about to ask. A momentary pause follows but after peeking at him from the corner of my eyes and finding him indulging in his own incomprehensible mumbles, a scoff escapes along with my own unnecessary worries.

Damn, I’m really starting to sympathize with Y/N because he really is a dense one. 

“...although I do have to say she’s changed a lot. Say,” Jin babbles, finally turning to realize that his words have been going in through one ear and out the other, “did you start liking her before everything or after everything?”

“‘Everything?’” I quirk a brow at his question. 

“You know, like, makeup and clothes,” Jin pauses, “well, I guess you’ve never been too close with her until now, so you might not remember—”

“—I remember,” I say much more adamantly than I intended, having to clear my throat before continuing, “she might not look like it, but she’s the same person as she’s always been.”

“Oh?” Jin purses his lips and nods admittedly. “Well, of course you would know. So, after breaking the hearts of half the girls in school, what is it about her that’s finally enraptured the heartthrob himself?”

Of course the heart-breaker himself would ask that. 

A simple roll of the eyes is enough for him to understand that the last thing I would give him is an answer to his question. 

“Oh! You might be silent but you’re also not denying it! I’ll take it as a victory,” he chimes proudly but I only wrinkle my nose at him in distaste, especially when he bounces forward far too enthusiastically and almost tips his laptop off the bed. “Ooh! Oh my God, does she like you, too?” 

“What?” 

Silence befalls the room for what seems to be an eternity. I don’t even realize the extent of my glare until I notice Jin flinching backwards and bracing himself for the scolding I surely would have given if it weren’t for what I’m about to ask of him. 

What is it with Y/N and Jin today? Proposing the most absurd scenarios that could only exist hypothetically? It’s odd, considering how questions don’t usually agitate me like this, but...

I mean, does she like me? How ironic is it that her crush, himself, questions her feelings for me, someone who is simply her wingman only under the conditions of blackmail? 

And if, supposedly in the rarest of chances, her attention has really averted elsewhere, how pathetic would I be as a mere second choice? 

“No,” I grimace, purposely staring him down to get the point across, “no, she doesn’t like me.”

“Oh,” Jin pouts in sudden dismay, “I’m sorry, man. Do you know who she likes then?” 

“Don’t know, don’t care,” I shrug. I don’t know why but something about this topic has me wanting to walk out of this room this very second; and before I know it, my discontent had somehow manifested in what I had always thought to be incomprehensible mumbles, “but if she really did like someone, they’d probably be almost as dumb as her decisions.”

“‘Dumb?’” Jin almost shrills. “You’ve never called anyone dumb before except for me—”

—shit. 

What did I even say? How did he hear me? Never mind that, had I given away too much? Surely not, right? Jin, the most dense of all guys, wouldn’t be able to decipher the message from something as simple as that, right? 

“No,” I quickly blurt, recomposing myself by shuffling in place and putting on a blank canvas that would be my best joker face, “you’re not the only one. I mean, Y/N’s dumb, too.”

“Well, if you know so adamantly for a fact that she doesn’t like you, then you do know that she likes someone…” Jin mumbles to himself. “That would mean you’ve been lying to me thus far… which means…”

Should I stop him now? Should I throw him off track or would that only raise more suspicion? Worse yet, what is this dreadful pain that’s hammering against my chest? It’s almost as if I’m helplessly staring at an impending doom that would soon take my life by storm… because, even if I had threatened Y/N with her secret, what on earth would I do if I really were to have confessed for her? 

“...does Y/N like me?” 

Betraying her is the last thing I wanted. 

“Jin,” I say through gritted teeth because nothing could alleviate the tension brought upon by the drop in my stomach, “I know you have a big ego, but that’s a stretch for even a dumbass like you—”

“—no, no,” Jin purses and my heart almost stops when his eyes flicker from the ceiling and back on me, “you usually don’t care enough about my silly remarks. If I really were being stupid, you would have rolled your eyes and walked off mumbling ‘dumbass,’ but seeing that you’re still here…”

Silence ensues—each second dragging on even longer than its precedent. Shit, why does he have to be fucking Sherlock Holmes now out of all times? If I could, I really would like to strangle my roommate right here, right now. 

I gulp, “what?”

“Well,” Jin frowns at the newly reached epiphany, “I have two conclusions. One, Y/N does like me and that would mean I’ve been completely blind to all her obvious hints. In fact, I feel like shit for being so oblivious!” 

“Pft.” 

I probably shouldn’t have scoffed because that only confirms his statement, but how could I hold in the pleasure of finally witnessing the horror that dawns upon his oblivious self?

“Oh my God,” he gasps in horror, eyes darting to find me in distraught with a finger pointing at himself, “did she change how she dresses because of me?” 

“She could care less what you think.”

“So she did change everything for me!” he cups his cheeks in panic. “And to think that I even laughed at her over dressing up for study sessions!” 

As much as I would like to sit back and watch him frantically putting two and two together, the worry that weighs heavily in the forefront of my conscience screams all the more for my attention with each dire second. 

“Jin.”

His panicked eyes dart to me from his waving mess of a paired hands and he answers meekly, “...yes?”

“Don’t you dare tell Y/N you figured it all out,” my mutter comes with a threatening point of the finger, “and if in the case that you and your dumbass big mouth lets it slip, you better fucking be gentle with her or I swear I’ll crack your skull open in your sleep.” 

Jin arches a brow at me, but the surprise is quickly overtaken by the smallest of smiles. At least the slight upturned corner of his lips is able to put me at somewhat of an ease, knowing that Jin would at least try to keep his word. “Of course. I might not like Y/N that way, but she’s still a good friend of mine.”

“And,” I continue, mumbling, “could you possibly take her out for dinner at least once? She’s been dreaming of it since forever... please.”

Nodding his head, he answers, “sure can do.” I can finally sigh a breath of relief. When a quizzical, smug grin replaces that look of ingenuity, however, I find myself staring him down once again. “But you wanna know what my second conclusion is?”

“No,” I click my tongue,” I don’t.” 

This time, I wasn’t lying. Truthfully and wholeheartedly, hearing his second conclusion was the last blow I could handle after the merciless whirlwind that was today… especially considering how his deductive reasoning has been on an eerily spot-on streak tonight. 

“Well, seeing the usually indifferent you trying to do everything you can to stop me from figuring it all out, I’ve arrived at my second conclusion,” the shithead persists while ignoring your death glares, “you, Mr. Min Yoongi, must be head over heels in love.” 

Shit, I can only cross my arms and look at anything but those irritatingly sparkly eyes of his, because—out of all the most oblivious men in the world—that dumbass has caught me red-handed. 

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

Never Too Far (Choi Twins’ Birthday!)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my favourite tomatoes! This was written in haste to get it out in time so I’m sorry it’s pretty rough haha, I might go back and edit some parts later but don’t worry I won’t make any big changes. ALSO I know it isn’t in her timezone yet but it’s also my good friend @sunshinejihyun ‘s birthday so go send her some love! Her writing in incredible so I would 100% recommend you check it out!! <3

Notes:

It is implied Saeyoung x MC, but the main focus is on the twins <3

The last part takes place after the Secret Endings but V is alive because I do what I want heheheh

***

11th June, 2 years ago

The other members of the RFA had been very sweet to celebrate Seven’s birthday the way they did, organising a get-together at Jumin’s penthouse and properly hanging out outside of the RFA parties. They danced, they sang, they played games. They didn’t need to all that for him, but they did and Seven was incredibly grateful for that.

But he was just so exhausted.

It was hard enough to keep up his happy-go-lucky facade on his best of days, but the promised emotional turmoil of that day made it infinitely more taxing. The mask he had to hold up was heavy and his arms grew weaker with every passing hour.

It was around 10pm when the celebration came to a close. Seven thanked everyone for the day and for their generosity and left the penthouse, deciding to walk the long way home to give himself space to think.

What was he doing right now? Was he celebrating too? Did he get a cake and presents and was he surrounded by friends and family?

Was he happy?

Every new thought made his heart sink lower into his chest, buried down until he could hardly feel it at all. Numbness was better than pain, he thought, though his will to carry on that way was a dying ember in a rainstorm.

He hadn’t registered the he had been crying until he heard the shy tap of a tear hitting the concrete under his feet. Reaching a hand to touch his cheeks, he realised the tears had been running a long while before he noticed. He opted for wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, his glasses already fogged up from the hot tears that spilled from his eyes. Fixing them to sit on the bridge of his nose again, he saw the sign:

Two Scoops

24hr Ice Cream Parlour

He laughed despite himself. Even the universe was mocking him now. Or was it trying to tell him something?

Seven didn’t care either way, deciding to further torture himself by indulging in what was his other half’s favourite treat. By taking himself back to the days when he would sneak out and seek out an ice cream parlour very much like this one. By filling his mind with the image of pure joy on his brother’s face when he returned with an ice cream to share, an image that was already printed onto the back of his skull. He just couldn’t resist.

“Hey there, what can I get you?,” said the girl running the till cheerily.

She seemed to be the only employee there, which wasn’t too surprising considering the time. The shop had more customers than he expected, but was by no means busy, “Hi, could I get two scoops of the strawberry, please.” That was his twin’s favourite. He really was putting himself through it tonight, wasn’t he?

“Sure thing. Was that to eat-in or takeaway?”

“Uh, eat-in, please.” He didn’t want to go home yet. He didn’t want to go back to his version of normal yet.

“No problem! If you’d like to take a seat I’ll bring that right over,” the girl said, a warm smile on her face. She was probably told to smile at customers like that, but for some reason it made Seven’s weary heart flutter as if it were genuine.

He read her name tag before finding a booth to himself. MC. Cute name, he thought. She seemed sweet, which was pretty fitting for a girl who worked at an ice cream shop.

A few minutes passed until MC came over to the booth with his ice cream, the same kind smile gracing her features. She placed his order in front of him with a small “Enjoy!” before going to clear another table.

Seven eyed the ice cream curiously.

Three scoops and a note?

He carefully unfolded the note and read its contents:

The extra scoop is on me. Happy birthday! x

How on earth did she…? Oh. Seven laughed out load when he remembered the big-ass birthday badge that Yoosung had given to him that was currently pinned to the front of his hoodie. Yoosung 1, Seven 0.

He turned around to where she was currently wiping down a table, also giggling as they made eye contact. He shot her a wide smile, the first genuine smile he could recall, and mouthed a ‘thank you’ at her.

She simply bowed her head in response before returning to her place behind the counter, still smiling as she started to make other customers’ orders.

Seven continued to spoon ice cream into his mouth as he watched out the window, trying with all his might to not look back at MC. He didn’t want to distract her from her work, but he also didn’t want to make any promises that he couldn’t keep.

He wanted to give her his number. He wanted to take her out for a drink to say thank you, maybe even take her out for dinner. He wanted to have that option. He wanted nothing more than to live a life where he could do those things, but even if he wanted to, it was out of his reach. He had already gone too far by being friendly with her, so all he could do now was leave a sizeable tip and never come back.

Shoving his hands into his pockets he moved towards the door, stopping by the counter on his way, “Thank you again, you really didn’t need to do that, but I appreciate it. It was very kind of you.”

“Nah, don’t be silly,” you said, your smile reaching your eyes, “it’s my pleasure. Have a good evening.”

He’ll try.

“You too.”

And with that, he walked out the door, the shrill ring of the bell over the door mocking him as he left what could have been the best thing that ever happened to him. As an agent, he spent a lot of time considering the ‘what if’s and ‘what could been’s, and he couldn't help but feel that this pure act of kindness from a stranger could have blossomed into something cherishable, something precious. Something real.

Perhaps, one day, he would return to this ice cream shop and pick things up where they left off. Perhaps things would just work out his way for a change. Perhaps he could have a chance with that life.

But life just wasn’t that kind, was it?

***

11th June, 1 year ago

Ray was, quite frankly, bored. He had been sent out to recruit new believers more times than he could count. It was such a dull task, since he rarely found someone worthy or suitable for paradise. However, the saviour had sent him out on a special recruitment mission today, so he knew he had to concentrate.

But, today in particular…he just wasn’t feeling it.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he still remembered. 11th of June. His birthday.

There were only so many doses of elixir he could stomach, so in the end he lied to the saviour by saying it had worked, that he couldn’t remember anything from his past. He was a clean slate, a blank canvas ready for her to paint whatever she pleased. The venom of guilt ran through his blood everyday since he betrayed his saviour, but he wasn’t sure he would have survived another round of cleansing.

However, it was only on this day that, just for a while, he let his mind wander about his old life, or the life that could have been. He never let it wander too far in fear he would run with it, but just enough to satisfy the gaping whole in his heart that grew wider with each year that passed.

He continued to trudge through the streets, his focus diminishing until the glint of a luminous sign caught his eye.

24hr ice cream huh?

Ray considered it for a moment, the venomous guilt stinging more than before. It wasn’t allowed. He would be punished if she found out. She would be so angry.

But really, how would she know? He would be leaving sooner than he arrived, and he could tell her he thought he found a potential candidate but they turned out to be unsuitable. After a rush of bravery, with a trace of rebellion, Ray entered the shop.

The shop was small, quaint. He expected it to be busier, considering the nice weather. But he didn’t complain, it meant there was basically no queue.

“Hiya,” the girl behind the counter beamed, “what can I…oh! Hello again!” What? “How are you?”

“Oh, um, I’m good thanks but sorry I-“

“I love what you’ve done with your hair by the way, the white really suits you!”

The white really…hold on. Did she think you were…?

This…could work.

Ray cleared his throat, “Ah, thank you. I, uh, bleached it recently.”

“Well I think it looks great,” she said, still smiling brightly. Yes, this could definitely work. “What can I get for you?”

“Uh, the salted caramel please. Two scoops, please.” He didn’t know why he said that. It wasn't his favourite. But he knew who’s favourite it was.

He must have been feeling sentimental today.

She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curling up even more, “Of course, eat-in or takeaway?”

“Uh, takeaway, please.”

“Sure, if you just wait round the corner I’ll make that up for you!”

Rounding the corner of the counter, Ray started to type furiously on his phone. He’d read her name tag, now he just needed to locate her phone. MC, MC, MC…

Gotcha.

“Here you go!”

Ray snapped out of his trance, taking the paper cup out of her hands, “Oh, thank you.”

“No worries. Have a lovely birthday!” she called out as she hurried off to the next customer.

Okay, he could understand the mix up, but how on EARTH did she know that?

Well, there was no time to worry about that now. He had done it, he had found the perfect person. His saviour would be so proud.

She was kind, enthusiastic and, seemingly, overly-trusting. He would be able to lure her to the apartment quite easily. Plus, she would feel right at home with that red-head…

Ray swatted the thought from his mind as he left the shop, only then noticing the extra scoop of ice cream he had been given.

How strange.

Later that evening, he began the first part of the plan. Thoughts of the past left his mind, being replaced by thoughts of the future.

Maybe, life was a little kinder to him then he thought.

***

11th June, Present day

Saeyoung woke up and patted the other half of his bed, only to find it empty and cold. He shot up, sitting bolt upright as he rummaged for his glasses. Upon locating them, he propped them on his face before he focussed his tired eyes on her side of the bed, finding only a piece of paper with her handwriting on it:

A little birdy told me it was someone’s birthday? If that’s true, come to this address at 12 noon. Try not to be late but for the love of God do NOT be early pleeeeeease! Love you! MC xx

He kind of recognised the address, but couldn’t begin to remember where from. Rubbing his eyes, still slightly crusty from sleep, and flinging on a t-shirt, Saeyoung went to take a shower only to meet his brother in the hallway.

“Did you get one too?” Saeran said, voice still husky as he held up a note very similar to the one he found.

Saeyoung couldn’t help but smile.

“I did. Looks like she’s up to something.”

“Oh God, what on earth has she done.”

Both twins chuckled, they knew what MC was like. She was excitable, cheerful, loving. But she also had a tendency to go a bit overboard, which often made for some very amusing and slightly awkward situations for everyone involved. But no matter the outcome, she always managed to make them smile and they were always grateful for her efforts.

So they knew that either way, they were going to have a good birthday.

After they both showered, ate and were preparing to leave, Saeran disappeared to his room before returning with his hands behind his back.

“Saeyoung?”

“Uh huh?” Saeyoung said as he tied his shoes.

“Um, happy birthday.” Saeyoung swivelled around to find Saeran holding out a small red box, tied together with a white ribbon in a neat bow. Saeyoung stood up, mouth agape as he gently took the box.

He slowly untied the knot and opened it, chuckling when he saw what was a pendent in the shape of an ice cream cone.

“It’s silly, I know, but it’s what connected us for so many years and…I wanted something to remind of us that,” he said quietly, his hand under the colour of his sweater as he pulled out a matching pendent on a chain.

Saeyoung tried with all his might to blink away the tears but it was no use. He unfastened his usual chain from his neck and slipped the pendent through so it sat proudly next to his cross. He leapt forward, catching Saeran in his arms as tears continue to slide down his face. There they held each other, neither willing to be the first to let go. Eventually Saeyoung broke away, darting into his own room and coming out with a medium-sized pink box.

“I was waiting for the right time to give you this, and now seems pretty perfect,” he said as he handed it to his brother.

Setting in on the table, Saeran shyly lifted up the lid and couldn’t contain the grin that creeped up his face as he examined the present. It was a bonsai tree.

“I know that you love gardening but get upset when the plants die, so I thought that you should have one that will live for as long as you take care of it.”

Saeran also felt tears pricking his eyes but was able to hold back, “Thank you, Saeyoung.”

“You’re welcome. Now we better go before MC hunts us down.”

***

Saeyoung and Saeran wandered the streets together, following the GPS on their phones before coming face-to-face with an all too familiar sign.

Surely not.

“Wait…” they both said in sync before hurtling towards the entrance.

“SURPRISE!” the whole RFA cried as they stumbled through the door. The place had been covered head-to-toe in red and pink decorations, and every member had their own party hats and streamers. To an outsider, it would have looked like a children’s party but nobody cared, because the look of pure joy and astonishment on their faces made it all worth it.

The twins were covered in confetti upon entrance, and whilst they were both indescribably grateful and excited, Saeyoung had questions.

“MC, do you work here?!”

“I used to, a little bit anyway. My parents own the business so I would work here in between jobs or when I was visiting. That’s why I was able to close it for the day!”

Saeyoung thought he was going to burst, “Did you work here a few years ago? In the summer?”

MC lips curled into a smug smile. She knew where this was going, “I did.”

“So…you were…this is…”

“Where we first met,” she said gently, intertwining her fingers with his.

“And where we first met,” Saeran chimed in, smiling at MC.

“HUH? Sorry…WHAT?!” Saeyoung yelled, one hand taking a fistful of his hair as he tried to wrap his head around everything.

Saeran and MC couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up in their throats. They explained everything to him, about how Saeran had come in a year after he did, how MC thought he was Saeyoung, how that was the reason MC joined the RFA. It was so crazy Saeyoung needed to sit down, but his smile never faltered.

After that was cleared up, they all enjoyed the rest of the celebration. Zen organised the karaoke, Jumin and Jaehee set up the party games, Yoosung and MC were in charge of ice cream, and V took photos of the whole thing. He captured every smile, every laugh and every tear of joy. It was a truly magical day, one that neither twin ever thought was possible for them.

It was stupid late when everyone decided it was time to go home. MC locked up, saying that she would deal with the mess in the morning since it was going to be closed anyway, and the three strolled home together.

MC linked arms with the two most precious people in her life, tugging them close to her side. They walked in a comfortable silence for a while, until Saeyoung spoke up, “One thing still doesn’t make sense though.”

MC cocked an eyebrow, “And what’s that?”

“When you thought Saeran was me, how did you know it was my birthday? Surely you wouldn’t have remembered the date?”

“Well, the one time you came in was on your birthday. I thought it must have been a tradition, since the time of year seemed about right. Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Okay, I got it…actually no I don’t. I’m sorry but isn’t it just too weird?” he looked to Saeran, “Like, how did we both go to the same ice cream shop on the same day of the year and meet the SAME girl? Then you brought her to the same organisation that I was in and then we got to live like this? After everything that went down?”

Saeran smiled gently, “I think even we deserve a bit of good luck every know and then. It is funny though, that even when we were apart, we were basically connected through MC.”

“The universe has a strange way of working everything out,” MC said softly, “and anyway, I think that’s the thing about twins,” MC squeezed both their arms,

“Despite all odds, they are never stray too far from one another.”

***

Big love for the Choi bois <3 again I am so sorry this isn’t my best writing, but I still hope you enjoyed it! x

Masterlist

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

BTS Scenario| They plan a surprise for your birthday

This was written for the ever lovely and angelic @saymynamewithluv​

Happy birthday. :D  I hope you have the best day and this is my birthday present to you (with Taehyung giving you something a little extra for your birthday. What is it? Well you’ll just have to read and see :D) 💜💜💜💜 I wish I could spend your birthday with you it sucks that we live so far away from each other. Alright go ahead and read now I have been making you wait for this for days so again, HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I purple you! 

The group chat you had with the boys was surprisingly quiet today. Which of course immediately made you suspicious. Usually the chat was buzzing with them talking about the most random things. And at the very least Yoongi or Jin were scolding the younger members for something silly they had done. But there was nothing, not even a happy birthday text from any of them. 

You weren’t going to lie. You were starting to feel extremely disappointed. Did they forget your birthday? But how could they have? You had been friends with all of them for years. You sent a message to the group chat, wanting to see what they were up to today. 

What are you all doing today?

Yoongi is the first one to respond which is unusual for him.

Photoshoot today. We’re all really busy sorry y/n. 

Oh. That’s okay. Make sure to rest and don’t skip any meals you guys! 

Will do. Thanks.

You sigh and set your phone down. So it wasn’t unreasonable that they forgot then. They seemed to be extremely busy. But you were still disappointed you wouldn’t get to spend your birthday with the people who meant the most to you in this world. You turn on the TV, turning on your favorite show to binge watch. You throw your hair up in a messy bun and throw your sweat pants back on, figuring you aren’t going to have any company over today. You don’t even realize you’d fallen asleep on the couch until suddenly your hear hushed whispers in your apartment. 

“She fell asleep! What the heck?!”

“Be quiet, Taehyung let her rest.”

“But it’s her birthday! Did she really think we forgot?”

“Hyung that’s probably why she fell asleep and is still in her sweat pants I told you trying to surprise her was a bad idea now she thinks we forgot her birthday!” Suddenly you feel a heavy weight on top of you. Your eyes shoot open and you see Taehyung’s familiar eyes gazing at you as he hugs you tightly. 

“Y/n! We are so sorry! We didn’t forget your birthday I promise. We just wanted to make you think we did so we could surprise you! Which now that I say that out loud I realize how mean that prank sounds oh gosh.” You are blushing madly having Taehyung so close to you and you wonder how he can be so unbothered. You collect your thoughts, and reach out to pat his head.

“It’s okay Tae! I am just so happy you guys are here now. I couldn’t imagine spending my birthday without you all.” Taehyung smiles happily at that and clambers off of you after Yoongi clears his throat. “ Uh so what do you all have planned for me today?” 

“I’m cooking dinner and the cake!” Jin yells from the kitchen. 

“I’m supplying the entertainment.” Hoseok says as he spins around dancing without a care in the world, making you laugh.

“I thought maybe me and you and Jimin could play some games together.” Jungkook announces as he walks over to the TV to set up his game system. 

“I brought a playlist of all your favorite songs.” Namjoon says. 

“I just brought my cutie sexy lovely face isn't that good enough?” Jimin says with a giggle. 

“Yes, that is good enough for me, Jimin.” 

“I am going to be taking the photos of your special day! And also supplying you with the best, most amazing birthday present you’ve ever seen.” Taehyung says excitedly. You smile at him.

“Oh I can’t wait to see what it is then!” You glance at Yoongi who still hasn’t said anything or shown much reaction to the rest of the things the members had mentioned. 

“Well obviously I am here to spend time with you for your birthday, but I actually wanted to talk to you about something first.”

“Oh? Okay then. We can go to my room?” Yoongi nods. Taehyung eyes you two suspiciously but doesn’t say anything as you retreat into the bedroom. You shut the door behind you and talk quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear your conversation.

“Yoongi? Is everything okay?”

“So uh, you still like Taehyung right?” You stare ay him incredulously. 

“Um, yes? Of course I do? Feelings just don’t go away over night you know? I’ve liked him for years.” 

“Okay good.”

“Why?”

“Because just.. I can’t tell you anything but I just had to make sure before Taehyung gives you your gift.” 

“What on earth is going on Yoongi?” 

“Nothing! Forget I said anything this conversation never happened.” Yoongi opens the door and Taehyung stumbles in, almost falling on his face but you catch him before he does. 

“Kim Taehyung were you eavesdropping?” Yoongi scolds him. 

“No! And even if I was I couldn’t hear anything you guys were saying anyway so..” 

“Sounds to me like you were eavesdropping then Tae, just not successfully.” You ruffle his hair and he swats your hand away playfully. 

“Yah! Don’t mess up my hair I spent a long time on it.” 

“Why? Did you want to look good for me?” Taehyung’s face turns bright red and he glances away from you. 

“Stop teasing me.” 

“Okay okay. I’m sorry. Let’s go have this birthday party shall we?”

And your party was so much fun. Jin made the most incredible food and cake. Hoseok and Namjoon danced to your favorite songs with you, only to have Taehyung steal you away for a dramatic slow dance equipped with dips and spins and all when a softer ballad came on. You had beat Jungkook and Jimin in Mario Kart, Taehyung challenged you and you had beat him too, much to his disappointment. He got quite competitive and challenged you to another round, only to lose again. The party was winding down, when all of the members started looking at Taehyung. You saw him nod his head slightly and now suddenly they all had an excuse to leave. 

“Gotta get to the studio early tomorrow.” 

“Me too.”

“I need to practice this choreography.”

“And I need to come up with some new ones.”

“I don’t have an excuse I just know Taehyung wants to be alone with you so we’re all leaving bye!” Jin shouts as he ushers the rest of them out the door. You and Taehyung are still sat on the floor together from your video game match. You notice he is fidgeting with his hands and looking rather nervous. 

“Taehyung?”

“Um.. I want to give you your present now.” 

“Okay.. I would love to see what it is.” You reach your hand out and squeeze his to help comfort him and calm his nerves down. He squeezes back and the corner of his mouth barely lift up in a smile. He won’t meet your gaze. You wonder what he could possibly be so nervous about to give you. He stands up abruptly, walking over to the counter where he had set your gift and then lays it in your lap. It’s wrapped in purple paper and a purple bow.

“Did you wrap this?”

“Was it that obvious? Am I that bad at wrapping? I tried my best.” He says with a nervous laugh.

“No no! It’s just purple. I know how much that color means to you. So I figured you had.” This time when he smiles it reaches his eyes, but his hands are trembling. You open the gift and are staring at what looks like a photo album. The cover has a saying written on it in his handwriting. 

If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph. 

Your breath hitches as you turn the page and see it is filled with photos of you, and the two of you. You had no idea Taehyung had even taken some of these photos of you. They were candid, you smiling, laughing, concentrating on a canvas you were painting, a drawing you were sketching. 

And then there were the selfies you two had taken together. Some including Yeontan. You flipped through the pages, feeling tears forming behind your eyes at how thoughtful the gift was, but also how much meaning he had poured into this. 

“Tae.. Is this really how you see me?”

“As the most beautiful, kind, caring, amazing person in the world? Yes.” 

“And this phrase in the beginning. Did you mean that?”

“Of course I did.”

“So does that mean..? Is this?”

“My way of confessing? Kind of yeah. Um.. either that or it can just be a really cool platonic present no worries!” He scratches the back of his head and gazes at you nervously. You stare at him, until your brain finally catches up and you throw yourself into his arms. He immediately reciprocates the hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. Your voice cracks as a few tears slip out. 

“This is the most incredible gift anyone has given me. I can tell you really put your heart and soul into this and I will cherish it for the rest of my life.” 

“You know there’s a few blank pages in there. I was hoping we could fill them up with some more photos of us?” You pull away and smile at him. You grab his camera off the coffee table and hand it to him. You turn around so your back is leaning against his chest. You both smile and he takes a photo, kissing your cheek right before he takes the photo. It’s a polaroid, so you two have to wait a few moments for the film to develop. When it finally does you both break out into wide smiles and giggles seeing how happy you both look in the photo. You open up to a blank page, and stick the photo to there. You pull out a pen to write on the blank space. 

“What should we write here?”

“Hmm..” You think for a moment before you write today’s date, along with A new chapter begins. Taehyung’s smile is replaced with a nervous glance again. 

“So does this mean you like the gift? Um.. in a nonplatonic way?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious when I threw myself on you crying.” 

“I just want to hear you say it.”

“Say what? That I like you too? That I think you also are the most beautiful, kind, caring, amazing person I have ever met in my life?” 

“Yeah that. All that. Well, a simple I like you too would have done just fine but I won’t turn down the extra praise.” You laugh and hold your hand out to him. He looks puzzled bit takes your hand anyway. 

“Y/n where are we going?”

“You really expect me to believe those guys left? They’re all probably still sitting outside the apartment waiting to hear every detail.” You open the front door, hand in hand with Taehyung and sure enough, they all are standing out there, wide eyed until they glance down at your linked hands. 

“Did it work?! Are you two together now?!” Jimin asks excitedly. 

“Yes. We are.” They all clap and cheer, Yoongi just stands in the back giving you a small smile and knowing look. It’s at this moment you are hit with just how fond you are of all them. Seeing how much effort they put into making you happy on your birthday, you are so grateful to them. 

“Thank you guys. This has been the best birthday ever and it’s because of you all.” 

“Of course y/n! You’re our best friend and there isn’t a single thing we wouldn’t do for you to make you smile.”