#its whimsical in a soft way that just carries you through

[espytalks]

Watchin ghibli movies for the first time as an adult is like asking me to experience the most magical, relaxing dream of my life, and expecting me to move on with my day like it never happened.

[paperibbon]

ink stained hand (will you hold it?)

chapter i: bookstore girls pairing: poly!feysand x reader series sum. A bookseller’s simple life turns upside down when she becomes fast companions of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. When she develops feelings for the most powerful couple in Prythian, how will she get over the golden thread of fate that pulls them ever so far apart?

The sun was high in the sky, and the sweat stuck to the back of your shirt with a vengeance, plastering the material to you like a second skin. As forgiving and endearing as summer was, children laughing in the streets, people bustling about in sheer, bright colors, the heat could be killer.

Especially waiting in lines like these. 

The queue snaked around the block, everyone from fae that lived on farmland outside of Velaris, to shopkeepers, to families of all shapes and sizes. You’d thought the heat might thin it out a bit, maybe send some people to find shelter and shade, to stand in front of an icebox maybe; but alas. It was just as long as it was a few hours ago. You clutched the papers you’d written up months prior to your chest, lifting your hair from your neck in an attempt to elicit some sort of cooling effect.

You, like many, many others were grateful to your High Lord, and newly minted High Lady for these meetings. Even if not everything was fixed, most people walked out with a respect you were sure you couldn’t say other courts held for their rulers. And the papers you’d slaved over, finding just the right words to propose your idea, well, you hoped they’d hear you out, if nothing else.

Smoothing down the front of your skirts, you surveyed the people in front of you. Three bodies. Three people. Three more appointments to suffer in the heat until you were face-to-face with people who could grant your dreams, or crush them kindly in their fists. Your heart stuttered, thick, humid air winding its way through your nose, and out. Two. Then, the curly haired fae with a sour expression on her pale blue face that had stood before you for the past three hours marched into the heavy open doors, and you were twisting your fingers in flighty anticipation. You couldn’t hear her voice, even at your proximity, and it relieved something in you to know that this wouldn’t leave this room. Your sorry request, your whimsical fantasy would stay stuck in the air between your High Lady, High Lord, and you.

The guard positioned at the gate gave you a wry smile, a rosy hue to her cheeks, the sweat slicking her orange hair to her brow. You were sure you looked similar, frazzled and sweaty, sickeningly anxious and delighted all at the same time.

“You’ll be fine.” Her voice was accented lightly, like nothing you’d ever heard before. You grew up here, in the Night Court, barely a child when Amarantha terrorized the land, now, a fully grown woman with stars in her eyes.

You nodded your thanks. She simply smiled wider.

When the doors opened again and the fae from before walked out, a wind flirted across your cheeks curling in your hair. A greeting.

“First door on your left. Can’t miss it.” A smooth wink, and the door thumped shut behind you. 

The marble tiling was smooth, dark, and flecked with silver. How Night Court. You couldn’t stop your head from swiveling as you traversed the hall, ornate art hung on either side, a show of wealth, of power. You recognized some of the scenes, the High Lady fearlessly facing off against Hyeburn’s forces at the Rainbow, the Night Court’s general sweeping low onto the battlefield, the Lady’s sister, fearsome, cloaked in silver flames like a phoenix. Your eyes shifted towards the open doorway, thick wooden carvings of an animal you couldn’t place, scales expertly carved, fangs and talons almost as sharp as you’d imagine the creature carried in real life. Absently, your hand curled around a claw jutting from the frame, the stable wood almost warm beneath your fingers.

“Admiring the woodworking?” A soft voice cut through the silence, and you turned, abruptly, eyes wide. 

“I’m so sorry.” You stuttered, the words falling out without a thought. The High Lady was standing, a stunning lilac dress tailored to her form, golden and silver stars stitched delicately in sporadic patterns. A golden circlet, plain, yet stately sat at her raised brows, warm sea green eyes crinkled into a smile. You balked, face pinching into an expression that could only be described as shameful, hands twisting in your ratty old linen skirt, the drab color sticking out like a sore thumb. The High Lord was absent, the chair next to hers empty, but you felt no relief from that. The High Lady was just as imposing.

“Don’t be.” A flick of her wrist towards the chair across from them sent you into action, and you lowered yourself into the plush seat. “Would you like anything to drink or eat? How long have you been out there?”

Her voice seemed too perfect, too hypnotic for your ears. You found yourself blinking, twice, three times before you registered her question.

“I’m okay, truly.” Food would make you barf, so bad move there. From the looks of this place, any glass they’d offer you was likely three times the sum of your rent, and your shaking hands would send it shattering across the floor. “And not long, my lady.”

“Hm.” The sound was low, like the rumble of the ground beneath your feet, and your head felt inclined to dip. The High Lord was just as intimidating as you’d expected; dressed in all black, a matching circlet to his mate’s glinted in the faelight, his hands folded neatly into his pockets. “We don’t take kindly to liars.”

The expression that flickered across your face must have been comically scared, from the way the Lady’s eyes hardened to sheer ice.

“Rhys.” The lovely voice, the bells you would follow to the ends of the earth, possibly, shot out like a crop. 

The High Lord leveled you with a look that would have sent males twice your age running for the hills, and you thought about it. You considered hiking your skirts up, tucking your pitiful tail between your legs, and dashing out of here as fast as your legs could carry you. Instead, you smoothed out the papers in your hands, lowered your gaze, and began to read from the page.

“Thank you for your audience.” You began, eyes tracking your scribbling. “I wanted to first extend my gratitude for not only this moment, but the neverending support that you both have shown your people. I thank you for that.” A glance up, and your eyes connected with the starflecked violet gaze of your High Lord. Something in your gut twisted violently at his lowered brow, and your hand passed briefly over where your heart titered in your chest. “I here to ask for something that may be small to you, but is quite big to me.”

The rest of the words bleed together on the page in front of you, and with a sigh, you fold the paper along the edges, and cover the square with your palms. You know what you want, it swirls in your gut, tugs on your heart. It’s hanging from the biggest and brightest star, and this is the only chance you might have to dream for it, to hope that it might, one day, be real, might be a whisper of fruition eddying towards your open arms. 

“I’ve dreamed for my whole life that one day, I might make a difference. That someday, something might make me matter to someone.” Your voice teetered on breaking. “My mother and father are long gone. I have no brothers, no sisters. I don’t have many friends to speak of, and I’m sure I speak of them more than they speak of me. What I’m asking for is stupid, but to me, it’s a dream.” A saccharine smile aimed at your twisting hands, before your head pulls back to finally look at the two most powerful people you’ve ever known. “Have you ever had stupid dreams?”

The question hangs in the air like a feather. Your fingers flex, like you might reach out and snatch it back.

“No dream is stupid.” The High Lord’s eyes blink with stars. It’s mesmerizing. It’s terrifying. His gaze doesn’t stray from you, and it spreads a heat across the tip of your nose, peaking your ears. 

You pick at the edge of the paper neatly pressed to your thighs, peeling a corner back, folding it on the edge, and ripping along the seam as you swish your thoughts around in your head.

“This one might be.” Your smile is wistful, if not sad, like a flower blowing in the cold wind of winter, the laughter of a grown child. 

A scrape of a chair, and your High Lady has inched ever so close to you, her knees almost touching yours, the hazy purple gauze flirting against the skin of her legs as she shifts. It makes your heart beat that much quicker, her beauty, her close proximity, the power you feel rolling off her. You’ve been caught in storms before, but she’s like lightning itself. Soft, strong hands cup yours, and you almost jerk back out of sheer surprise, but the quirk of her lips makes your own soften into a smile.

“It’s okay to wish for silly things.” 

Years ago, you might have agreed with her.

Today, you aren’t so sure.

“High Lady, High Lord,” You say, eyes stuck on a freckle at the base of her thumb, tracing the lines of the jet black tattoo that curls up her wrist. “I want to find purpose.”

You could hear a pin drop.

The High Lady’s eyes glazed over, the stormy sea calming to a rolling fog. Daring a glance at the High Lord, you noticed a similar look in his eyes, the purple sky a calming shade of lilac, his eyes unfocused. You didn’t breathe, catching a gasp in your chest when they both finally resurfaced, a sharp snap in their gaze like you’d clicked your fingers for their attention. It was odd to have such resounding attention from two people who could crush the world around you with a blink, who could kill you without batting an eye. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but you weren’t sure if it was terror, or great awe.

“That’s your wish?” The High Lord’s voice is startling all of a sudden, though you know it shouldn’t be. You blink, once, twice, and then nod, a simple strong shake of your head.

“That’s my wish.” You feel pitiful as you shrug your shoulders, but the High Lady squeezes your hands in hers. “I understand if you can’t grant it, I do. I greatly understand. In fact, I know you probably won’t be able to. And that’s alright with me. I’m just glad you’ve listened.”  It’s lighter than the rest of your conversation, the almost laughing tone your voice takes on. You pull back from the hands on top of yours, nodding gratefully. You hope you look sincere as you lower your head in a makeshift bow. “Thank you for that. For your hearts.”

You stood, not waiting for dismissal, which might have been a stupid decision. It might have cost you more than just pure embarrassment, the flush taking on a different, less welcome heat as it cloaked your shoulders and pressed into your chest. You did a poor curtsy, out of nothing more than a sorry excuse for respect to the two, and fled the room without a glance in either direction, even as something molten, something tight in your chest tugged away at you.

You didn’t even realize in your haste, the paper you’d meticulously, ever-so-carefully tended to for the last months had toppled to the floor, scrawled with sprawling words. 

Your wish.

-

The sun was still hot and high in the sky as you slunk into the shop, and the book you were using as a fan was doing nothing to combat the heat. Leaned against the entryway, holding the hair off the back of your neck and rapidly flapping the flimsy romance novel in your hand in hopes that even the smallest breeze would cool you down. The magic that typically kept the shop well ventilated was on the fritz, sending wayward gusts of air that ruffled through the pages on hand before stopping altogether, levitating teacups and coffee mugs in the air before dropping them and sending any liquid spilling onto the floor, opening and closing the curtains at will. 

“Hi, lovely!” The seamstress across the way waved at you with a lacy handkerchief, brown hair piled high on her head, a sheen of sweat dotted across her brow and smearing the silvery make-up she’d carefully used to decorate her eyes. 

“Hi, Dia.” You raised the book in greeting, letting your  hair drop from your hand. She sent you  a smile in greeting before escaping inside her shop, the wooden sign in her window swinging proudly from CLOSED to OPEN. 

With a great sigh, you tipped your head back and listened to the busy street with shut eyes. Children squealed on the street, couples tittered back and forth. Some called your name in greeting, and you waved lazily, eyes still shut, lulled into a sense of hazy drowsiness. Your flushed cheek pressed into the door sleepily, until a wet, cold object was shoved under your collar. 

Eyes flying open, the book fell to the floor, hands flinging to the back of your shirt, hopping from one foot to the next. Finally, the ice cube dropped from your dress to the floor, and you whirled on the culprit. 

“Sammy!” The accused giggled, eyes slit in amused mischief. “You pest!” 

Sammy was the delivery boy, and the bane of your existence. He was a child, only seventeen, with a boyish roundness to his cheeks and an inane personality that would make the sweetest person in Prythian think about bashing him on the head once or twice. It was his mission to make every day you lived harder than the last, but his mother, the owner of the neighboring bakery, thought it was because he fancied you a tad. You couldn’t tell if she was having a laugh, or had too much faith in her only child. You were much too old for him anyways.

“Who said I even did anything?” His blue lips pulled into a pout, his ears flicked and his red eyes widened like that of a street dog. “Mean, mean girl.”

Setting your jaw and bending down to swipe the book from the floor and make your way into the shop, you shot him a mean glare, something to make flowers wither, and little boys cry. He was standing by the back door, a sure sign that a shipment was docked, tightening the string on the front of his sleeveless tunic. Sliding behind the counter, leaving the book on the top, you moved around him to peer at what he’d delivered. 

It was a small box, unusual, but not uncommon, with a dainty golden lock holding it shut. You tilted your head around the boy, trying to get a better look at the thing. It was probably a special edition for one of our wealthier clients, but you hadn’t seen any sort of order like that go through in months, hadn’t heard a whisper of what this could even be. Without thinking, you started towards it out of sheer curiosity, but Sammy stepped in front of it with a sharp toothed grin and held his hand out.

“Payment first, please.” 

You rolled your eyes so hard, the planet did another spin.

“Greedy.”

Shouldering around him, you made your way to the lockbox and shook out a few gold pieces. His palm was cold and damp when you passed them over to him, and with a smirk like an alley cat, he disappeared down the alley and left you with the mysterious package. 

The box was ornate and wooden, the lock glinting on the outside with the winking of the sun through the windows. Approaching it with cautious curiosity, you reached out and grasped the lock, feeling its cool metal under my fingertips. Giving it a good tug, your feet slid out from under you, sending you sprawling to the floor in an instant; the box was heavy - like it was filled with a million rocks, ten ton weights, and a heavy book. Stretching your leg out towards the thing, you nudged it with the tip of your toe, hoping for some kind of movement but, alas - nothing. Abandoning caution, your leg reeled back and kicked the thing as hard as you could, only to be met with searing pain that reverberated through the bones of your shin. With a resigned huff,  you stood, brushing off dust from your skirt, and left it behind the counter with another, less fierce, more defiant kick for good measure.

Stupid thing. 

The box seemed to respond, the smallest of noises —the faint shuffle of the lock settling into place. It wasn't laughter, of course, but in that moment, it might as well have been. 

The day was sluggish and hot into the afternoon. Little to no customers stopped in, and Elias, the owner of the store, had left me alone for the morning. You did your duties; swept the aisles aimlessly, fronted all the books in the history section, wiped the counters at the tea stand. You even ventured to organize the pillows and blankets in the reading section, which was a loathsome task due to the sheer number of them littered about. Finally, when the sun was high in the sky with no promise of a cloud, Reana, the only other worker at the shop, slunk into the shop. 

Her inky hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and the clothes she wore were thin and airy, a short cream top with no straps, and a loose matching skirt that showed off a fair bit of her long legs. Her tanned skin was flushed with the heat, and her glasses sat low on her nose, the chain that held them along her neck softly clinking against itself.  

“I am sweating through every layer of clothing.” Her voice was scratchy, like smoke on a foggy day.

“Elias needs to re-up these stupid wards before I try myself.” Crossing the room from the little nook you’d been tidying up, you offered her a smile as a greeting. 

“Oh, don’t do that to us.” She snorted. With a flick of her hand, the tea stand bustled to life. “The last time you tried, it set us back decades.”

She was exaggerating, of course. The last time you’d tried to enforce the feeble wards on the store, it’d knocked every book out of the shelves and broken almost every mug and cup in sight. Your magic was not strong, it wasn’t practiced, and it sure as the Mother wasn’t controlled.

“Can you make some cold drinks? Maybe?” You plopped yourself down on a rickety red stool, chipped and discolored from use. “Milk tea would be lovely.”

Reana works the tea and coffee portion of the shop. While you could make an adequate cup, she was versed in fancy drinks and conversation; two things you did not have the skillset for. Her head dipped as she moved towards the counter, working meticulously to pull together the things she needed. Each movement was a choreographed dance, as she deftly poured and mixed, her fingers moving with the precision of a seamstress. The glasses sitting on her nose fogged up as she leaned down to sniff the spiced pot of tea on her small stove. She set the milky drink in front of you, the icey glass heavenly against my hands as you sipped at it casually, lolling my head back and forth as you drank. As the both of you sat in silence, the ambient sounds of the bustling street outside drifted in through the open window, mingling with the soft clink of ice cubes in our glasses. 

Gratefully, she doesn’t ask about the meeting you had today. Gratefully, she keeps her eyes trained on her tasks. Gratefully, you don’t have to explain anything to her.

Until…

Until the bell on the front door rings, and in steps the High Lord, the paper you’d apparently forgotten pinched between his thumb and his forefinger, the smile of a jester playing across his lips.

“Hello,” Voice like smooth, rich coffee colors the air. “I believe you’ve forgotten something.”

[moonstruckme]

Hey girl. I saw you were asking for whimsical!reader. The one that you did with James was so cute!!! Could we get another part to that? Also you’re one of my fave authors on here.❤️❤️

Hey babe, so honored! There are so many amazing writers on here, so I really appreciate you taking the time to read my stories :) Thanks for requesting love!

cw: hurt (not direly) animal

James Potter x whimsical!reader ♡ 846 words

“Jamie, do we have any seeds?” James hears you enter through the front door. He turns down the TV to hear you better. 

“Seeds?” he asks. “Like, for gardening? I don’t think so, love.” 

“No, like sunflower seeds.” Your voice fades as you move into the kitchen, cupboard doors opening and closing. “Or actually, kale would do. Can I use some of your kale, please?” 

“What?” He gets up to go to you. “What are you making?” 

James finds you standing in front of the refrigerator, trying to tear open his container of kale with one hand and cradling an alarmingly complaisant-looking bird in the other. 

“Sweetheart,” James says slowly. You tilt your head at him. “Is that a baby bird?” 

“Of course not.” You smile guilelessly, eyelashes kissing at the corners. “Don’t be silly, I know better than to take a baby bird away from its nest. This is a bullfinch. It’s an adult, they’re just small.” 

He nods. “And why’ve you brought it inside, lovie?” 

“Because something’s wrong with it,” you say softly, as if wary of the bird overhearing. “It flew into Mrs. Hutchinson’s window—you know, the older woman down the way? Anyway, it’s alive, but I think it’s in shock or something. See how it’s letting me hold it in my hand?” 

James says that he does. 

“It shouldn’t be doing that,” you finish somberly.

You’re telling him. 

“But I’m fairly sure you’re not supposed to touch wild birds,” he worries, fighting vigorously against the urge to take the thing from your hand. “They carry diseases, don’t they?” 

“I’ll wash my hands.” You finally get the kale open, taking out a few leaves and holding them in front of the bird. “I couldn’t just leave it, Jamie. Mrs. Hutchinson has a cat. What if it had found it all frightened like this?” 

James takes a breath and forces himself to remember that these are the things he loves about you. Though he does prefer when your kinder traits don’t come at the risk of avian disease. 

“It’s not eating,” you fret, watching as the poor thing’s reddish belly pumps with quick, tiny breaths. “Do you think we should give it some water too?” 

“Can’t hurt,” James agrees, grabbing a small dish and filling it from the tap. “Why don’t you bring our little friend outside? We can put this stuff on the ground and see if it’ll eat then.” 

He doesn’t add that despite its equanimous facade, the bird is probably scared shitless sitting in your hand like that. You take to his suggestion happily, leading the way out to James’ small porch. You set the bird down gingerly. James does his best to match your carefulness, placing the little dish of water and a few pieces of kale in front of it. 

“Come on, lovely,” you coo, voice extra soft and sweet for the small creature. 

James’ chest aches at the sound of it. If this bird dies, he’s going to have to arrange a whole funeral for your sake. 

“Let’s give it some space,” he says gently, wrapping his fingers around your waist to encourage you back towards the door. “It might be too scared to eat with us around.” 

You press your lips together as you nod. James nuzzles your hair compassionately. The pair of you sit on his doorstep in silence, you gnawing your lip raw and him reminding himself repeatedly not to hold your hand. After what feels like hours, the bird moves. 

Its head twitches towards where you sit, and then, without even touching the meal you’d set out for it, it flies off. 

Ungrateful prick, James thinks. 

The sigh that leaves you is so loud that he starts to panic before he sees the relief on your face. 

“It’s okay,” you say, not quite teary but looking dangerously close. 

“It is,” James affirms. He’s unable to keep from smiling, you look so adorably thrilled. “It may not have had much appetite, but you saved it, angel.” 

“Did you see the way it looked at us?” You’re awed, looking up at him with huge eyes. “It knew. It could tell we were the ones that helped it.” 

James isn’t sure he can get fully on board with that theory, but he’s not going to burst your bubble. 

“I’m sure it did,” he says, standing and taking your wrists in his hands. You get up too, and James holds your hands out away from you, shouldering open the door to go back inside. 

You follow him gamely. “What are we doing?” 

He leads you over to the sink, forcing you to keep your hands in front of you like a surgeon’s the entire way. “Washing your hands,” he replies. “Don’t need you falling ill from some rare bird disease.”

“I don’t think our friend would have given me any diseases,” you say, though you don’t resist when he holds your hands under the hot water, pumping soap into them. “It liked me, I think.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt it did, sweetheart. But just to be sure.” 

[tinytinyblogs]

A kiss from you would be nice

They successfully achieved their goal of receiving a kiss from you.

(Atz reaction, non-idol)

Hyung line Maknae line

Ateez masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Hongjoong

The shrill ring of the doorbell sliced through the air like a playful melody, snapping you out of the warm bubble you'd created with Seonghwa. With a smile still lingering on your lips, you hurried to the door, eager to see who stood on the other side. Twisting the doorknob, the outside world flooded in, revealing a grinning Hongjoong with a bouquet of sunflowers that rivaled the summer sun in brilliance. His smile widened upon seeing you, a genuine beam that crinkled the corners of his eyes. You mirrored his expression, your heart swelling with happiness at the unexpected visit. "Hey!" you exclaimed, stepping aside to usher him in. He sauntered past, his arms laden with more than just flowers. A large paper bag peeked out from his grip, overflowing with promise. You followed him inside, curiosity bubbling over. He made a beeline for the table, dropping the bag with a dramatic flourish that mirrored his playful personality. You plopped down beside him, anticipation tingling in your fingertips. "What's all this?" you asked, leaning in for a closer look. Hongjoong grinned, then slowly unraveled the package, revealing a treasure trove of delights. There was the jacket you'd admired in a tiny boutique, the one covered in whimsical sketches he'd claimed to have doodled on rainy days. Nestled beside it were the adorable plushies you'd squealed over on display, their fluffy faces mirroring your own surprise.

"It's your birthday present!" he declared, his voice ringing with excitement. "I didn't know what to get you, so I got you everything!" A laugh bubbled up from your chest, warming your cheeks. His gaze clung to you like stardust to a midnight sky, each flicker of your smile catching the light in his eyes and setting his heart ablaze. It was a smile he craved, a rare bloom in the desert of his days, and to see it blossom across your face was a treasure beyond compare. The curve of your lips, the soft dimple that danced in your cheek – these were his constellations, guiding him through the vast unknown. "Hongjoong, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble!" you protested, even as your fingers trailed over the soft fabric of the jacket. "But I wanted to!" he insisted, sitting closer to you, his knee brushing yours in a subtle gesture. His cologne became a tangible melody around you, weaving through the air and wrapping you in its warm embrace. It was a scent of wood and spice, of sunshine and laughter, an olfactory portrait of the man himself. Its intensity mirrored the way his gaze held yours, an unwavering presence that felt like a blessing on your face. His figure, usually shrouded in an aura of nonchalance, seemed magnified. The angles of his jawline chiseled by unseen light, the slope of his shoulders a canvas for cascading moonlight. He carried himself with the grace of a dancer, each movement deliberate and captivating. Yet, amidst this breathtaking portrait, an unexpected warmth flickered in his eyes.

Your lips stretched into a little smile, mirroring the sunshine spilling from Hongjoong's eyes. His happiness was infectious, a golden bloom radiating outwards, warming the room despite the autumn chill. You tilted your head, curiosity dancing in your eyes. "What's now, Hongjoong?" you teased, your voice laced with playful anticipation. He grinned, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Ah, but this, darling, is the finale," he declared, his voice rich with unspoken promises. "The grand curtain call, the pièce de résistance!"he said. "Another gift?" you exclaimed, your brows raised in mock disbelief. He chuckled, a low rumble that tickled your stomach. "But not just any gift," he clarified, his eyes holding yours with a newfound intensity. "This, my love, is the most precious one of all." Before you could blink, his lips descended upon yours, soft and warm like a summer breeze. The kiss was a whispered promise, a silent explosion of fireworks painting the night sky behind your closed eyelids. Time slipped away, becoming a tangled ribbon lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. This, this was a first kiss like no other, a meeting of souls under the soft glow of candlelight, a whisper of forever stolen in the space between breaths. He finally pulled away, his eyes smoldering with an affection that made your heart skip a beat. "It's me," he breathed, his voice raw with emotion. "The last gift, the most important one."

Seonghwa

Seonghwa hummed a gentle melody, the notes swirling around the room like autumn leaves dancing in the breeze. It reached your ears, pulling you into the warmth of the kitchen where he stood, a picture of domesticity. He'd declared earlier that he wanted to cook for you both, to spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other's company, and the aroma of sizzling garlic and spices already hinted at the deliciousness to come. Drawn by the music and the promise of food, you tiptoed closer, a smile playing on your lips. Standing behind him, you stretched up on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder to see the culinary magic he was weaving. "Need a hand, chef?" you teased, your voice tinged with amusement. Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "No, it's all under control, darling," he assured you, his voice a silken caress. The "really?" that escaped your lips was almost inaudible, a sigh of contentment more than a question. You rested your head on his arm, your cheek finding a haven in the crook of his elbow. The world shrunk to the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his movements, and the whisper of his laughter as he turned on you fully. "Why the long face, love?" he chuckled, pulling you into a warm embrace. His hands settled on your back, grounding you against him. "Feeling bored already?" You nodded, your face buried in the comforting expanse of his chest. "Maybe just a little," you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt.

"Hmm," he hummed, the sound vibrating through you like a lullaby. "Then stay right here," he whispered, his lips close to your ear. "The food will be ready soon, and then we can snuggle up on the couch and watch every terrible movie we can find. How does that sound?" The pout on your face was as adorable as a kitten's, pulling at Seonghwa's heartstrings and making him chuckle. He reached up, his large hand dwarfing your cheek as he cupped it softly. The warmth of his touch seemed to radiate inwards, melting away your little frown. His eyes, those beautiful pools of melted chocolate, held yours for a moment, a silent conversation playing out between their depths. Then, with a slow, deliberate lean, he closed the distance between your lips. The world narrowed to the space where your breaths mingled, the taste of him sweet and intoxicating. The kiss was like a slow burn, starting as a gentle brush of lips, then igniting into a smoldering ember that spread through you. His hand on your cheek deepened, tracing the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the feel of his solid form an anchor in the swirling current of sensation. He tasted of sunshine and spices, of laughter and promises whispered in the twilight. His tongue danced with yours, a playful duet echoing the melody that still hummed in the air. Each touch, each breath, was a whispered affirmation of everything unspoken, a story written in the language of desire.

His breath fanned against your lips as he pulled away, leaving behind a trail of fire and unspoken promises. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he cupped your cheek with his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "Cute," he whispered, the word echoing with a possessive tenderness in the quiet kitchen. "You're so damn cute, I can't even focus on cooking anymore." He glanced back at the stove, the pot of simmering sauce bubbling gently as if in agreement. With a decisive click, he turned off the heat, his attention fully back on you. "If you didn't stop being so adorable," he continued, his gaze holding yours captive, "I think I'd just keep kissing you until the kitchen caught fire." His hand reached out, finding yours like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole. With a gentle tug, he pulled you into another hug, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. He swayed you slowly from side to side, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Just… stay like this," he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair. "Let me hold you, let me be close to you for just a little while. Then, we'll eat, we'll watch movies, we'll do whatever you want… as long as you promise to keep being this ridiculously cute." His words, each one laced with affection, sent shivers down your spine. You nestled closer, his warmth seeping into your bones like sunshine on a cold day. In that moment, surrounded by the scent of spices and the melody of his laughter, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just you and him, two souls intertwined in a dance of unspoken promises and stolen moments.

Yunho

Your knuckles turned white as you clutched Yunho's hand, a plastered smile stretching across your face. His fingers rested comfortably on your waist, a stark contrast to the jitters in your stomach. You'd successfully cajoled your friend into playing pretend boyfriend for the evening, proving to the gossips that 'Loner (Y/N)' was a thing of the past. But Yunho's performance seemed too genuine, too familiar. Had he always played out imaginary scenarios where you were his, where these stolen touches were more than just a charade? Every brush of his palm against yours sent a shockwave through you, making your heart threaten to leap out of your chest. Even his casual hold tightened a knot in your throat. You snuck a look at your phone screen, a silent signal that it was time to escape the prying eyes at the friendly gathering. Yunho understood instantly, his goodbye smiles as easy as yours were forced. As you walked, his hand lingered on your back like a brand, refusing to relinquish its hold. "Thanks," you breathed, attempting to turn your body and face him, but he mirrored your movement, creating an unexpected intimacy. "At least they'll stop pushing blind dates and 'fix-its' on me now." Your eyes locked, the air around you charged. The space between you, once comfortable, now felt electric. "Your hand," you stammered, "You can let go now." Yunho hummed, his gaze tracing the path of his fingers on your wrist, then meeting yours with a slow, enigmatic smile.

"I find it comfortable," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin. "So, maybe we can just... keep it like this for a while longer, hmm?" His eyes, usually brimming with mischievous laughter, were suddenly serious, holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. They glittered, not with amusement, but with something much deeper, something that sent a tremor through your entire being. You cleared your throat, the playful question dying on your lips. "What's wrong with you, huh?" you asked, hoping the light tone would mask the fluttering in your stomach. He didn't respond at first, just stared at you with an unnervingly earnest gaze. Then, he hesitantly reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a whisper of a touch. Instead of pulling away as you expected, he surprised you by intertwining his fingers with yours, linking them together in a way that felt strangely intimate. "Being your fake boyfriend," he began, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "made me realize a few things." He paused, the silence stretching between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You could feel his thumb gently tracing circles on your cheek, its warmth branding your skin, rendering you speechless. Then, he spoke again, his voice softer now, almost a confession. "All this time," he breathed, "I've dreamt of being your real boyfriend. Imagining holding you close, claiming you as mine, just like I did today." His words resonated through you, each syllable echoing in the chambers of your heart. His other hand found your chin, tilting your face up towards his, drawing you closer, closer still.

The distance between your lips shrank, the air crackling with electricity. This wasn't the practiced kiss you'd imagined for your fake relationship, there was no performance, no pretense. This was raw, honest, and terrifyingly real. He was here, professing his true feelings, blurring the lines between reality and your secret desires. Every fiber of your being yearned to meet him halfway, to surrender to the promise of his lips on yours. The spark from his kiss lingered on your lips, a phantom fire dancing across your skin. You pulled away slowly, your heart thrumming like a hummingbird trapped in your chest. His eyes, still smoldering with unspoken desire, held yours captive in that impossibly close space. "That's..." he began, his voice a husky murmur, barely louder than the frantic echo of your own pulse. A subtle smile softened his features, catching on the edge of his lips as his gaze flickered to the blush blooming across your cheek. It was a sight he swore could paint constellations across the night sky, a whisper of a vulnerability that made his own heart skip a beat. "That's what I've always wanted to do," he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek, a feather of promise tracing the contours of your ear. Each word was a brushstroke across your soul, painting a future you'd once only dared to dream of. Your senses swam; the scent of his cologne, the heat of his hand still lingering on your chin, the taste of his kiss lingering on your lips - everything conspired to pull you deeper into his orbit. "So," he murmured, his voice laced with anticipation, "why don't we make it real? Why don't we be together, not just pretend?"

Yeosang

The downpour outside was a symphony of percussion against the café windows, each raindrop a drumbeat on the glass pane. You sat nestled in the worn leather booth, gaze drawn away from the swirling steam of your hot chocolate and towards the blurred grey world beyond. Kang Yeosang occupied the seat beside you, the familiar warmth of his presence radiating like a tiny sun against the chill of the storm. Despite the shiver that danced down your spine, Yeosang's company was a soothing balm. Each conversation felt like a brushstroke, building a vibrant tapestry of your shared past. His voice, usually a playful lilt, softened to a contemplative murmur as he spoke, "The rain, trapped here with just each other...it's like being back in university." You hummed in agreement, memories flooding back with the evocative scent of wet pavement and damp coffee grounds. You could almost feel the clammy press of textbooks against your thigh, the nervous tremor in your fingers as you fidgeted with a pen, stolen glances at Yeosang across the crowded library table. It was then, amidst the whispered discussions and rustling papers, that your heart first learned to tap out a frantic rhythm against your ribs, an inexplicable melody dedicated solely to him. Yeosang chuckled, a soft sound that melted into the hiss of the rain. "Remember that time we got caught in the downpour after class? Stuck in this very café, talking until the sun peeked through the clouds." His words were a whispered key, unlocking a treasure chest of shared smiles, hushed jokes, and unspoken feelings.

You saw it again, your younger self with cheeks flushed pink and eyes filled with a dawning awareness. Every stolen glance, every whispered exchange, felt like a whispered confession, leaving your heart hammering a wild tattoo against your ribs. He paused, tilting his head towards the drumming rain. "You were so cute that day, you know? Just like you always are." The vast cafe became a forgotten canvas as the storm outside waged its war against the windows. Rain, the sole audience, pelted the glass in a relentless rhythm, a silver curtain isolating you and Kang Yeosang in your own intimate world. No other soul dared venture into this downpour, leaving you two adrift in a sea of shared memories and quiet anticipation. His question, soft as falling rain, broke the silence. "Do you remember it?" Yeosang turned, his smile a beacon in the dimly lit cafe. It was a perfect smile, one etched in your mind alongside the memory he was about to evoke. You nodded, the echo of that day forever resonating within you. "Me too," he murmured, fingers nervously tracing circles on the table, a warmth radiating from them despite the storm's chill. "I remember it too," he whispered, his voice a delicate thread woven through the rain's insistent drumming. It was faint, almost swallowed by the downpour, yet every syllable resonated deep within you. "It's etched in my soul," he continued, his gaze locking with yours, "because I always wanted to..." He seemed to be searching for words, for a way to bridge the gulf of years and unspoken yearning.

Then, leaning closer, his voice became a conspiratorial whisper against the drumbeat of the rain. The world narrowed to the space between your breaths, the air thick with unspoken truths. His lips met yours, soft and tentative at first, then deepening as the dam of unspoken desires finally broke. The rain, which had been a persistent thrum in the background, faded into a distant echo, replaced by the frantic symphony of your heart. Pulling away, his eyes smoldered with an intensity that mirrored the storm outside. "I really wanted to kiss you just like that," he confessed, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. The words, whispered but heavy with meaning, hung in the air like raindrops clinging to leaves. His gaze held you captive, an intense emerald beacon in the rain-kissed cafe. The storm outside drummed a frantic rhythm, but it was the thunder in his eyes that made your breath hitch. Inches separated you, his breath warm against your cheek, and you felt rooted in place, a fragile flower under the scrutiny of the sun. The memory tugged at the corners of your mind, a whisper from your university days now blossoming into a vibrant truth. That shared gaze, that stolen moment in the sun-drenched library, it wasn't just a silly crush story, a whispered hope lost in the cacophony of student life. It was real, a seed that had taken root in both of your hearts, growing silently but steadily through the years. His voice, when it finally broke the spell, was a husky murmur, like a secret shared in the quiet hush of a confession booth. "I always wanted to tell you after that," he admitted, his eyes searching yours with the intensity of a thousand untold stories. "Always wanted to tell you that I like you, so much more than words can say."

©Tinytinyblogs

[miguelswifey04]

Miguel with reader who talks in their sleep and Miguel’s up reading with reads head his lap and they start moving their hand and hand saying something funny like “Miggy? Why are you wearing a strawberry costume” or some naughty dream and Miguel’s just listening silently laughing and recording

hehehe this is so silly

miguel o’hara x gn! reader

as miguel finds himself engrossed in his book, you lie besides him, your head resting comfortably on his lap. the room is filled with a serene silence until your hand begins to move, your fingers lightly tracing invisible patterns in the air. miguel's curiosity is piqued, his gaze shifting from the book to your sleeping face. with a playful smile, he listens attentively as your voice escapes in murmurs and mumbles, your dreams blending with reality.

“mi cielito, what secrets do you hold in your dreams?" miguel whispers, his voice barely audible. your voice, soft and faint, starts to speak, your words carrying a mix of humor and mischief. "miggy? why are you wearing a strawberry costume?" you mumble, a hint of laughter in your sleep-talk. miguel can't help but chuckle, amused by the absurdity of your dream. he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle and affectionate.

“oh, if only you knew the thoughts that run through my mind," he whispers softly, his words meant only for the sleeping you. as your hand continues its restless movements, your sleep-induced chatter takes a more mischievous turn. "miguel, you naughty devil. don’t you dare stop," you mumble, your voice filled with a playful tone. miguel eyes widen with surprise, his laughter growing louder. his free hand reaches for his phone near the book, discreetly recording your sleep-talk, wanting to preserve this intimate and hilarious moment.

he continues to stroke your hair, his touch soothing and comforting. miguel relishes in the beauty of your vulnerability, feeling privileged to witness this side of you that only surfaces in your unconscious state. as the night goes on, the melding of dreams and reality creates a whimsical atmosphere. miguel gazes down at you, your lips twitching with a mixture of fondness and amusement. he knows that, when you finally awaken, you will share a laugh over these sleep-induced confessions, strengthening the bond between you in the most unexpected and endearing ways.

tags ����️!! @kairiscorner @astro1bloom @obi-mom-kenobi @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit @meeom

[satoruluvies]

midnight fiction

an adventure of a lifetime with gojo. a comfort au of sorts?

wrote this on a whim hehe

short af and bittersweet, not proofread

12:00 am. midnight. or what you like to call it zero o’clock.

00:00, the small segment of time where everything just resets, a magical door opens.

“hey you're here” satoru greets you with a charming smile. bright blue eyes beamed at you behind his glasses as he held out his hand for you to take.

with your hands intertwined he carried you through the wind, floating high above the sky as blue as his eyes amongst the fluffy cotton candy clouds.

“oh look a curse. lets go save the world” he grinned cheekily as he heads towards the ground. “pretty, which is your favourite colour amongst red, blue and purple?”

he asked, the curse was approaching rather alarmingly but satoru showed no signs of fear.

“blue” you reply. of course the colour of his eyes could rival even the prettiest of gradients of all different colours.

“alright watch, don't blink!” he smiled as he conjured his cursed technique, blue. the blue forced sucked in and completely obliterated the curse leaving behind only its filthy remains.

“cool or what” he chuckled as he peered at you. you were gaping at how amazing he was and he walked over to you proudly.

now that the curse was exorcised, satoru took you to a beautiful field, beneath the shade of a big tree to have some ice cream, as is customary.

it's something the two of you did everytime you finished your missions. well, his missions, he just took you along.

you scoop the frozen treat and put it in your mouth, savouring the taste.

“hey let me have some of yours” satoru chimed. you held out your cup only for him to lean in closer.

cupping your face with his hands, he lands his lips on yours, gently biting your lower lip for access. as if in a daze, you open it almost immediately as his tongue slid in your mouth.

after a few dance of both your tongues together, he pulls away, wiping your chin off of the ice cream stains. you took the opportunity to do the same to his chin as the both of you giggled like the lovestruck fools you are.

he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ears as he stares into your eyes, admiring you. being this close made your heart accelerate and your stomach churn.

“you have pretty eyes” he smiled. your heart was hammering against your chest trying to speed off.

“i’d say the same if i could see yours. all i'm seeing are black glasses” you chuckled. he does too.

he takes off his glasses and there was his blue eyes on display for you to admire. you were absolutely mesmerized by it and your world seemed to freeze.

satoru takes his glasses and lets you wear it.

“i can't see anything with this.” you grumble and he takes it off for you.

“that's alright. i prefer you without them anyway.” he flashed another cheeky smile.

your sweet whimsical moment was interrupted by the same magical door opening right in front of you. you were having so much fun with satoru that time flew by without you knowing.

your smile drops and satoru notices.

“it's time for you to leave already?” he asks. you reluctantly nod and smile sadly at him.

the door glows brighter and brighter calling you to it. you stand up and made your way towards it, not before saying goodbye though.

“thanks for the adventure this time too.” you smiled at him, heart swelling both in happiness and sadness.

“see you tomorrow” you could hear his voice calling behind as you enter the door.

opening your eyes, you were greeted by the soft morning sun rays shining on your face, your body on your bed but your heart with the boy with blue eyes underneath the tree, waiting for you at midnight.

this is literally my night routine :3

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic Hearts - (26)

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It felt like a joke. The box feeling solid in your hands. This had been your destiny, a passed down doll that was now forgotten. But as sad as it was supposed to sound, to you, it held a different meaning.

The loneliness of being stuck here, the plastic box the only perimeter of your life, you tore out of it. Through the spell and your adventure, you were now someone of substance. But when you glanced at the doll next to yours, his pale hair swiped back in place, his face holding the same joy as you now missed. It wasn’t just you who had escaped, he did too.

He had found his freedom here, with you, however long that was supposed to last but those nights where he held you close, that was the happiest you had ever seen him.

The text on the outside was faded, the advertisement ringing in your ears but the plastic box looked flimsy. That advertisement you had heard about yourself couldn’t even hold true for the dolls present within. Against all odds, you and him were meant to break the matrix, to go against the tide.

It felt like a joke because you weren’t let to enjoy the fruit of your decisions. It all just felt a little premature. Your doll held her iconic frying pan in one hand and the other rested on his. There was no rush around you, so you stayed there in the dim warm light, admiring how her head rested on his chest. The smiles on their faces seemed more complete than a smile of your own. They existed in a world of their own, so much so you wanted to preserve it like a snow globe.

This was how your story should have gone. But maybe it was holding the box in your hand or just the fact that reality had not yet totally sunk it but you still felt tethered. That if you could close your eyes and breathe in, you could remember the smell of his cologne. His memories weren’t just memories, he was a part of you. That not even the ocean did justice to the colour of his eyes. There was only one Ken in your universe.

His doll had the surfboard he never used tucked by his side. He was in his beach clothes, it made you smile, he never liked wearing shorts in the real world, but the yearning to witness the sea was tangible in his eyes.

Can we go to the beach one day?

His question resounded in your ear. When he had whispered it in the middle of the night, as you both laid in the tent.

"Aren’t you afraid of the waves?", you had asked him then.

"Tell you’ll take me.", he had turned to you and you could understand that what he asked held a deeper meaning.

"I’ll take you", you said immediately without letting him wonder.

It was his hope, you were his hope and you had let him down. The turn of events too cruel to not get to say goodbye, to not get to tell him that his love was the one thing you can never recover from.

You held the box tighter, it was time to go back home, to the long days of trying to piece yourself back together. But now you could understand why this place had felt familiar. This had been your home in a way, that housed you and kept you safe over the years. You drew in a deep breath to let that feeling of familiarity wash over you. It was rare now. At least it was going to be.

Your world had been pulled off its axis, everything around you only felt new. You checked your watch to see the time only to note that it had only been five minutes since you had entered. It felt whimsical, it had surely felt longer but you heard the soft muffled sound of footsteps behind you. You turned to leave.

“So that proves you and I are meant to be?”

You froze, your breath hitched in your throat, the edges of your vision turning blurry. That voice. You had heard it in your dreams. You could recognize him anywhere. Your eyes settled on the man who stood next to you. His eyes lifting up to meet yours after spotting the box you carried.

Your words died on your tongue, your eyes searched his to then roam over his face, his injuries were no longer present, his hair fell elegantly over his forehead and his smile was full of life. He beamed with a freshness as though he had been revived. There was nothing you could bring yourself to say, there was nothing to question in this moment. All you knew was you needed his presence, so you reached for him like a woolen blanket in a wintry night. You buried your face in his chest as your hands wound across his torso and held him tight, like two magnets coming together. You never wanted to be separated, even if this wasn’t real. His hands wrapped around your body and you felt his warmth surround you.

You didn’t care for when the shop closed, you were going to stay here as long as you could. He didn’t peel away, he was gentle with you, holding you till you needed it, you weren’t willing to move, the rapid pace of your heart beat sobered.

“This is getting so bad now I’ve started hallucinating.”, you mumbled as you placed your cheek in line with his collar bone as you felt his finger hold you closer, as if this was just as much cathartic for him as it was for you.

“You’re not hallucinating.”, he told you softly but it was said with confidence. That you could take his word and believe that your life had changed this very second. As if it was a fairytale.

But was it?

“That’s what an hallucination will say.”, you chuckled sadly unwilling to believe his words as his hands cradled you, slowly swaying you as if this was your living room.

But to your statement, you felt the tender touch of his fingertips tilting your chin up, so you could see him as he dipped his head, for his lips to find yours.

You couldn’t make this up, his fingers slipped down to your neck and you lost yourself in the way the kiss brought you back to life. As if the past week had never happened, that he had just been late from work. He pulled away and your eyes fluttered open to see that he was still here. The feeling of his pulse thrum with new found energy as your hand caught his wrist was the clue to reveal that all this was real.

The mirror behind him captured his reflection, his eyes softened as he admired you, his thumb tracing your cheek as if he was coming to terms with the fact that you were real too.

Ken let you go but you didn’t step away too far. He didn’t either. His eyes didn’t stray away from your face and you couldn’t look at anything else too. He was a meteor shower and everything else was just dust. Your lips were flushed and blood rushed to your cheeks, your fingers traced over the last place his lips had been in unbelief.

He blinked as though he had remembered why he was here, to then pat down his jacket and slide his hands into a pocket. When he pulled it out, in his hand was a little velvet box. It could have been the light but his cheeks turned red as he softly held it out to you. Like a little boy who wanted to see the treasure he had found.

You took the object from his outstretched hand, it didn’t weight much as you held it. The brown velvet soft to the touch, you looked up at him to see the rise of anticipation in his eyes. He nudged his head forward, telling you to open it and so you did. The lid popped open and within it was a crystal that glimmered a mix of colours. It wasn’t a diamond but it was entirely ethereal.

The light made the crystal to light up or atleast allude to it, it had a calming white glow to it. But as a second passed, you could draw a connection between the object in your hands and the light that blinded you in Barbieland. Your eyes snapped to Ken’s just as he his lips parted as though he was about to tell you the reason behind his reappearance, because nothing was making sense so far.

“The blinding light.”, you stated to which he nodded his head. But that didn’t seem to answer any of the questions that lingered in your mind. You edged closer.

“How are you alive?”, you asked, your gaze flickering to where he had been hurt. But to your question, he reached out to hold your hands in his. His thumbs threading over your knuckles as he phrased his answer.

“You’re the hero of my story, Brie.”, he said quietly, his eyes reminiscing the last moment he had held you. A moment he never wished to ever witness. To have to send you away. He never wanted to lose you.

It was solemn, he meant it, everyone in Barbieland could have forgotten and the world could continue to revolve as if it wasn’t a few hours away from being destroyed, but he will always remember.

For so long he had no memories or hopes for the future that it was easy, to live like the rest in Barbieland. But once he got to make a few memories of his own, he couldn’t stop, coming to the verge of losing it all was unthinkable. So as his fingers fiddled with yours, to keep him rooted in the present, there was nothing else he had so surely wanted but to continue making memories with you.

That was all. And that was all he had in him to fight for the right to survive, because he now believed that he deserved it. A life of happiness.

“But how?”, you thought out loud. All you did was be sent back here, Ken was the one who took the step you couldn’t.

“The light from the crystal”, you piece it together. That was the only moment that you could vividly remember, you held the jewel box tighter.

“That protected you from the reset?”, you asked to which he softly shook his head. So if it wasn’t the gem you held, what was it?

“Not quite.”, he narrowed his eyes as a smile spread across his face.

He reached up to the collar of his shirt to pull it to the side. Around his neck was the necklace he had worn before, the one with the heart shaped pendant. But the crystal now looked lifeless and ordinary as compared to when you had seen it before.

“It was your love that was stored with the enchantment.”, he beamed and it took you back to that night, when it changed colours as you spoke into it.

“To remind me I will always be loved by you.”, his eyes softened and a soft gasp left your lips.

“It protected me and those who were near me from the reset. So Allan and weird Barbie still remember everything that happened.”, he explained.

“Wow”, you said almost breathlessly , you needed a moment. That all it took to save him wasn’t a grand gesture or the most valuable object you owned. It was what you had given freely.

So when he had closed his eyes, sure that he was at the end, his world lit up around him. Engulfing Allan and weird Barbie too as it covered the three of them with a pink sheer protection veil. But as he was in it, all he could feel was the depth of your love. Slow motion captures of the times you had thought of him, fast paced replays of the time he had spent with you and as he was there witnessing all of it, he could feel his wounds seal. His heart that had been shattered with the thought of losing you had been put back together.

When the blinding light faded, Barbieland was reset but he wasn’t. He still remembered the warmth of your lips against his and he fell back in relief.

All he wanted to do then was run back in search you that very instant.

“How long have you been here?”, you asked noting that he looked all dressed up.

“Got here a few hours ago.”, he told you.

“Wanted to help Allan settle into Weird Barbie’s dream house. I told them I’ll be back for Christmas with you. If you want to come that is.”, he raised his hands up defensively knowing that Barbieland had caused you enough hurt.

But Allan and weird Barbie were the closest to family you had before you met Melissa, so it wasn’t too hard thinking of visiting them.

But before you could say you would love to join him,

“Actually.”, he shook his head as though he had found the courage he needed.

“I came by your restaurant earlier and they told me you had quit.”, he tilted his head.

“I thought it was time I started my own place.”, you smiled and he inhaled deeply, his face lighting up with a sense of pride for you.

“Finally”, he raised his eye brows.

You held up the velvet box to him, waiting for him to tell you why he was giving it to you although you were now beginning to guess the reason.

“About that.”, he began looking at the box. He reached for you his hands effortlessly finding your waist again.

“I found it in the cave near the lake. It’s a love stone.”, he said.

“It’s shines the brightest when it finds the purest form of true love.”, he told you but the awe from this revelation filled you up with a happiness you could never describe.

Just when you had thought you had lost everything, you were actually receiving it all back. Now that you thought about it, it had glowed every time you were near him

“So our … love.”, you began softly.

“The purest form there is.”, he finished your sentence.

Maybe this was the moment you had been waiting for. That the wish for your dreams had come true.

You placed your hand on his chest, to smooth down the edge of his coat but it was only so that you didn’t breakdown thinking of how utterly hopeless you had felt a few minutes ago.

“I felt so alone the past week”, your voice broke but he pulled you closer, to place his chin on top of your head as he shushed you to calm you down.

“Which is why I wanted to ask if you would like to have me as your forever partner?”, he whispered against your ear.

“For your new business, to share your home with or to just be there to hold your hand whenever you wanted.”, he explained further as you pulled away to see him.

He waited for your answer. It all made sense and only proved you right as the edge of your lip tipped up, his sophisticated attire, the gelled back hair and the velvet box. He was a man on a mission.

There was no reason to think it through, or give it more thought because the answer was already on your lips.

“Yes.”, you say and watched as his eyes light up again.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”, you held the sides of his face as you kissed his cheeks, his forehead and his lips in happiness and that feeling doubled when you heard the sound of his laugh.

He set you down half heartedly after giving you another soft peck. He didn’t want to stop but now he had forever. So he intertwined his fingers with yours and walked back to the cashier.

The old man smiled at the two of you as though he knew or maybe he had heard everything. You placed the dolls on the counter and bought them. With one final look at the dolls in the box before you put them into your bag, you exited the store with your own Ken.

With your only Ken.

The city lights sparkled and the breeze felt sweeter than before. He turned to look at you and you knew that you were finally home.

---

Tags:

@imogen-skye @ateliefloresdaprimavera @meowkid1000 @jokersgrf @linacool13 @oh-kurva @dreamsarenicer @livelaughlaufeyy @babyimjustken @tempobaekh @fallingwallsh @whatafreakingloser @lcversrockk @imonmyvigilanteshh @constellationscharts @eddiemunson4ever @freyafriggafrey @neptunelixir @floralsightings @ynbutbetter @lazyboikat @mrharringtonsbae @spookyscellar @haydensith @weasleytwinscumslut @kensthetic @itstylersblog @lee-lee-23 @dazeglitter-blog @urmom24sworld @chaos-in-person @aremos @theoriginalwife000 @undercover-being-whack @puredreamagination

@h-l-vlovesvintage @krazyk99 @agustdeeyaa @bluebear19 @berlinswifey @suzirumas @faustlyaccused @rennydenny @paintmekala @leafyturtle @lafy-taffy @blossomingrose @dark-hunter16 @marvellover31415 @hope4rain19 @starstruck-loner @jell0buss-17 @anc1ka

[cherryrainn]

May i ask for a oneshot swf fluffy onceler x fem!reader who is pregnant? Like the song Love Story (Taylor's Version)?

of course! i wonder why this song sounds so familiar..

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— love story

onceler x pregnant!reader

link to song if you wanna listen; click here

the sun dipped below the horizon, over the meadow where you and onceler stood hand in hand. the soft breeze gently rustled the tufts of the truffula trees, creating a serene ambiance around you. it was a perfect evening, and you couldn't have asked for a more magical moment to share with the love of your life.

as the first few notes of a familiar melody played in the distance, onceler pulled you closer, resting his hand tenderly on your growing belly. the joy in his eyes was evident as he softly hummed along to the melody. the softness in his touch and the warmth of his embrace made you feel safe and loved.

"remember this, y/n?" onceler whispered, his voice filled with affection. "our love story is just starting, and i promise to be by your side every step of the way."

you smiled warmly, gazing into his eyes. "i remember it like it was yesterday. and i can't wait for the next chapter of our story, onceler."

as the music swelled, you swayed gently with onceler, feeling the rhythm of the song enveloping you. it felt like the universe itself was celebrating your love and the life growing within you.

in that moment, the worries and challenges of the world faded away, and all that mattered was the love between you and onceler. he showered you with affectionate kisses, placing them on your forehead, your cheeks, and your lips, expressing his love and devotion.

"every day, i fall in love with you all over again," onceler murmured against your lips. "seeing you carry our little miracle fills my heart with so much happiness. you're the most beautiful and incredible person I've ever known."

tears welled up in your eyes as you held onceler's face in your hands, overwhelmed by the depth of his love and the tenderness in his words. you were grateful to have found a partner who cherished you and the life you were creating together.

onceler gently guided you to a blanket spread out under a truffula tree. he carefully helped you sit down, arranging pillows to make you comfortable. with a mischievous grin, he knelt down and began singing a lullaby to your growing baby bump.

his voice, soft and soothing, filled the air, and you felt a sense of calm wash over you. onceler's song was a promise of love and protection, a melody that would forever be etched in your heart.

hours passed as you sat together, wrapped in each other's arms, talking and dreaming about the future. the conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter, hopes, and plans. onceler eagerly shared his ideas for the nursery, describing whimsical designs and colorful paintings he wanted to create.

"imagine our little one all around truffula trees and vibrant flowers," onceler said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "i'll paint the walls with awesome scenes and fill the room with handmade toys! it'll be... like... a magical haven for our baby!"

you listened with adoration, amazed by onceler's creativity and dedication. his love for you and the baby was evident in every word and gesture. you couldn't have asked for a more supportive partner.

as the night grew darker, onceler suggested moving back to your shared home, wanting to provide you with even more comfort. he gently scooped you up in his arms, cradling you with ease, and carried you through the meadow.

upon arriving at your cozy home, onceler laid you down on the soft couch, propping up pillows to support your back. he disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a tray filled with your favorite snacks and a steaming cup of herbal tea known for its soothing properties.

"here you go," onceler said playfully, placing the tray on the coffee table in front of you. "a little something to make you feel better. i made sure to include all your favorites."

you chuckled softly, reaching out to take a bite of a chocolate-covered strawberry. "you think of everything, don't you?"

onceler grinned, settling down beside you on the couch. "duh! i can't wait to meet our little miracle," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "we're gonna be the best parents, ya know?"

you nodded, a radiant smile gracing your face. "i can already see the love and devotion in your eyes, onceler. our child is lucky to have you as their father."

he chuckled softly, his fingers tracing circles on your belly. "and they're lucky to have you as their mother, y/n. you're strong, compassionate, and beautiful inside and out."

time seemed to slow down as you both sat there, lost in the enchantment of the moment. you shared dreams, hopes, and whispered promises to your unborn child, filling their world with love and anticipation.

in that moment, as the world faded away, you knew that your love story was just beginning. and with onceler by your side, you were ready to face any challenge, overcome any obstacle, and embrace the precious gift of a new life.

[mindyco]

Bayverse!Leonardo x Airheaded!Reader 🩷 [First meeting]

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.38k

Summary: Leo sees you, a fucking hottie, walking down the street on their own. He steps out of the cute shadows and you feed him snacks. The end.

I just wanted to feel like I was 15 again, so I went through my Wattpad stash and rewrote the meeting scene. Nothing I wrote back in my day made sense, so it was hard to write it, but I somehow managed! I wrote it in second person so that you can feel included. You're welcome. （っ＾▿＾） Note: Leo would've never stepped out of the shadows, but we don't question anything. Another note: Our character works at a bakery, which is why we're carrying a basket full of goodies.

As the sun began to set over the city, casting a warm golden hue across the streets, you found yourself on your way home from closing the bakery. The day had been long, but a sense of anticipation filled your heart as you made your way through the bustling streets of New York. The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted from the basket in your hands, a delightful medley of sugar, butter, and warmth.

Dressed in a beautiful pastel dress with a turtleneck underneath, the soft fabric brushed against your skin, providing a comforting embrace. The color of the dress matched the soft blush on your cheeks, accentuating your youthful and innocent appearance. Your petite figure stood out amidst the crowd, your small frame giving you an air of vulnerability and charm.

Your eyes, downturned with a hint of laziness, held a gentle warmth and curiosity. The rich color of your irises, like pools of melted chocolate, seemed to capture the light, giving them depth and enchantment. Long lashes framed your eyes, fluttering delicately like the wings of a butterfly whenever you blinked.

As you made your way through the busy streets of New York, the sounds of honking cars and conversations surrounded you like a symphony. The gentle breeze tousled your hair, causing strands to cascade around your face. Each strand seemed to have a mind of its own, forming whimsical waves and curls that added a touch of playfulness to your appearance.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly realized that you had left your jacket behind at the bakery. With a small sigh, you turned around, retracing your steps. The sun had almost disappeared below the horizon, casting long shadows along the deserted alleyways. The distant sounds of car horns and muffled conversations echoed through the narrow passages.

As you turned the corner, a figure caught your eye. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a trick of the fading light. But something made you double-take, and you found yourself stepping closer, your head tilting to the side in curiosity. A mixture of apprehension and intrigue filled your heart as you peered into the dimly lit alleyway.

To your surprise, there was no one there. Just an empty space, devoid of any presence. Confusion etched itself onto your face as you stepped forward, then backward, as if expecting the mysterious figure to reappear. But it was futile. There was nothing to be found.

Unbeknownst to you, hidden in the shadows, a large figure observed your every move. He had been watching from a distance, drawn by your innocence and the way you seemed lost in your own world. Leonardo, always cautious and protective of his brothers, hesitated to reveal himself. But a sense of curiosity and a desire to ensure your safety compelled him to intervene.

Stepping out from the shadows, Leonardo's presence filled the alleyway. Tall and imposing, he exuded an aura of strength and determination. His lean and muscular physique was accentuated by his dark green skin and the sheen of moonlight that kissed his features. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, held a glimmer of both wisdom and unwavering dedication.

You could feel the weight of his gaze upon you as he peered down, his eyes filled with curiosity. The moonlight accentuated the angular lines of his face, highlighting his strong jaw and the determination etched into his features. His eyes, filled with curiosity and concern, scanned your small frame, taking in every detail.

His towering figure loomed over you, causing you to take an involuntary step back. Your heart skipped a beat as you stumbled, almost losing your balance.

Leo took a step forward, his large hand reaching out to steady you. His hand, roughened by countless battles, felt warm and reassuring against your own. The size difference between you was striking, his hand enveloping yours completely, a protective gesture that brought a sense of comfort.

"Easy there," he said, his voice deep and soothing, the rumble resonating through his chest. The soft grip on your hands felt both protective and reassuring, and you couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through you. "Didn't mean to startle you."

You looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze, your eyes shining with gratitude and admiration. His eyes, like a tranquil sea, held a mixture of amusement and curiosity as he observed your small stature and shy demeanor. His gaze shifted to the basket of treats in your hands, and you followed his line of sight. Realization dawned upon you, and your expression transformed from surprise to understanding. With a slight fumble, you found a peanut butter cookie nestled among the pastries. Holding it up to the large turtle, you offered it with a small, tentative smile.

Your small figure appeared even tinier in his presence, the stark contrast between your human form and his mutant physique evident. Your eyes widened as you realized the colossal size difference between you. It was as if you had stumbled upon a mythical creature, a guardian from another world.

Leonardo's gaze lingered on you for a moment, silently observing your reaction. As the silence stretched, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of discomfort under your absentminded gaze.

Just when the awkward silence became almost unbearable, Leonardo's eyes landed on the basket in your hands, filled with the delectable treats.

"Ah!" Realization dawned upon you, and your expression transformed from surprise to understanding.

A spark of curiosity ignited within him, and he watched with interest as you rummaged through the basket, searching for something. In that moment, you found what you were looking for—a peanut butter cookie. Holding it up to the towering turtle, you offered it with a small smile.

"Hungry?" you asked, your voice soft and filled with genuine concern.

Leo's eyes widened in surprise, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. He was taken aback by your gesture, the innocence and generosity shining through your actions. The usual shock, fear, or even screams were notably absent. Instead, you appeared almost dreamlike, as if lost in your own world. His curiosity piqued, and he accepted the cookie, taking a bite.

Without hesitation, Leo reached down, his large fingers gently taking the cookie from your hand. As he bit into it, the corners of his mouth curled into a smile, his eyes lighting up with delight.

"Mmm," he mumbled, savoring the taste. "That's actually really good!"

The sight of him enjoying the cookie brought a sense of joy and contentment to your heart. You watched him with rapt attention, your own smile widening as you witnessed the happiness reflected in his expression. It was a simple moment, a shared connection over a sweet treat, but it held a profound significance.

Leo finished the cookie, savoring each bite, and you couldn't help but beam with satisfaction. The interaction felt natural and effortless, as if you had known each other for much longer than a mere moment. It was a testament to the unique bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the last crumbs of the cookie disappeared, you rummaged through the basket, finding another cookie to offer. Leo chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement and affection. He couldn't resist your eagerness, your genuine desire to share this small joy with him.

He accepted the second cookie, indulging in its sweetness once again. "You're spoiling me," he remarked, his voice filled with warmth. The interaction continued, with you pulling out cookie after cookie from the basket, and Leo obliging, unable to decline your offer until there were none left in the basket.

As Leonardo finished the cookies, he looked down at you, his gaze softening. He recognized the purity of your heart and the genuineness in your actions. A wave of gratitude washed over him, knowing that this encounter would remain a treasured secret, a brief interlude in the lives of two individuals from different worlds.

With a nod of appreciation and a silent farewell, Leonardo disappeared into the shadows once again, his presence fading as if he were never there. You stood there, holding the empty basket, the weight of the encounter settling upon your shoulders.

A/N: Don't worry, Leo made sure that you got home safely (watching from the shadows). He wouldn't just leave you in the middle of the night, looking as hot as you are, to walk back to your apartment alone. In fucking New York.

～ 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

[bittybug-sunflower-blog]

Chapter summary: In a casino, Miss Dalear and Captain Seneca save children being exploited. Seneca rescues them and, with Jazzori's help, escapes to Alderaan, reuniting them with their parents. Senator Organa then tasks them with finding Seneca's old master, with help from Valree and Jetto Fett.

Warning: trafficking

Word count: 1577

Rating: 18+

Extra: alternate universe story

…..

Chapter 3

"Miss Dalear, do we need to hurry?" called out a stern voice, its resonance cutting through the lively ambiance of the bustling casino. Her tone carrying a sense of urgency that demanded attention. She scanned the open patio getting familiar with the surrounding area. She was a picture of confidence in her green and blue pilot uniform, every seam tailored to perfection. Light brunette hair framed her face, adding a touch of softness to her determined expression. Her hazel brown eyes gleamed with a mixture of focus and excitement, reflecting her passion for flight. With every step, she exuded the unmistakable aura of a skilled pilot ready to take on any challenge the skies had to offer.

The vibrant energy of the casino momentarily ebbed, the surrounding patrons pausing in their games to observe the exchange, their curiosity piqued by the palpable tension in the air.

"In a minute, Seneca. I'm working on this transaction," a calm voice said with due diligence. The Pantoran was talking with the seller of the new ship she just bought. Radiating opulence, she possessed blue skin adorned with delicate gold features on her face. Cascading pink hair added a whimsical touch, complementing her regal presence.

Seneca rolled her eyes, her head turning to gaze at the high-class citizens in Cantonica. The smell of desperation from gamblers and the headache of bustling tourists.

"Excuse me, m'lady," Seneca announced before swiftly departing towards the facilities, her steps purposeful as she navigated through the bustling surroundings. With a swift movement, Seneca seamlessly slipped without notice into the bustling crowd, effortlessly blending in as she made her way towards a quiet secluded corner but close enough to hear the conversation.

"Does your starpilot always talk this much, Jazzori?" asked the seller.

"Captain Mori just knows I have an appointment with Senator Organa later and wants me to be on time, though I prefer fashionably late," Jazzori chuckled.

"I see." The seller responded.

"I heard you have children doing your work for you?" Jazzori smiled, her tone casual yet probing, her eyes gleaming with subtle curiosity. It was a question veiled in innocence, but beneath the surface, lay a shrewd intent to unearth hidden truths.

"Yes, easy debt payers and laborers," the seller smirked.

As Jazzori nonchalantly adjusted her hair, her fingers delicately brushing against her earpiece, a faint whisper emanated from the device. The ambient noise of the bustling casino momentarily faded into the background as she listened intently, her demeanor betraying a sense of urgency hidden beneath her composed facade.

"I heard it all; I'll go see if I can find them." Seneca whispered.

"Where do the children work, then?" Jazzori asked.

"Well, usually the help clean up after our tipsy customers, but tonight, since we have the presence of the well-respected Jazzori, they are in the stables," the seller gave an evil grin.

"The stables, you say," Jazzori gave fake giggles.

Seneca made her way outside. She stared around looking for anything resembling a barn. Her eyes locked on a building of wood right on the beaches. She started making her way to the stables, just one more level below her. She snuck her way past the guards and slipped into the stables and was shocked to see children—children in rags and covered in dirt. She stared in disbelief; they were nothing more than skin and bones.

"Shh," she put her finger to her mouth, "I'm here to help you." The children looked frightened and backed away into the corners of the stalls.

These children had been kidnapped from their homes and families just to serve their parents' debts—parents who were under the spell of gambling addiction.

Seneca crouched on one knee and held her hand out. A Twi'Lek child gripped her fingers. "Help?" the child meekly said.

Seneca nodded, and the other children soon let their guard down. Seneca counted five children. She walked to the door, the patrol ships with their headlights crossing back and forth.

"Seneca," a radio-like voice coming from Seneca's earpiece, "I managed to trade in for a bigger ship; they will be dropping the new one off by the old one."

"You just bought the 'old' one two days ago," Seneca sighed.

"Upgraded with more space; it's much better for the children." Jazzori explained.

Seneca sighed. She saw the patrol coming by and looked at the kids. "What's the best way to the landing bay?" she asked. One of the children pointed to the beach, which was the least populated as everyone was too focused on their gambling wins. "How do I get past the patrol officers?"

The children looked at one another. With a cheeky smile, the children opened one of the stalls. Inside was a creature that was huge and looked fast upon sight—a Fathier.

Seneca smiled and opened the stables. The children opened the stables door. She slapped the rump of the Fathier, and it took off with speed.

"Catch it! That's my betting win!!" yelled one of the guards.

As the Fathier bolted, Seneca ushered the children toward her awaiting ship, their footsteps quickening in sync with the pounding of their hearts. "Jazzori, I've reached the landing bay; ensure our covert cargo remains unseen," she transmitted urgently, her voice laced with determination as she guided the children towards safety.

Jazzori looked down and saw Seneca making her way closer. "Excuse me, sir, please tell me about that ship right there," Jazzori asked a ground crewman.

"That beauty is a Kuari Princess, made for royalty or government." The crewman said proudly.

"Fascinating." Jazzori put her fingertips to her earpiece. "I have a bit of time; tell me the features."

Seneca knew that was her chance. She managed to help lift all the children with the Force. She turned back at the officers herding the creature, trying to get him back in the stables.

Thanks to the distraction of both the Fathier and Jazzori, it was a successful mission—until a loud, "Where are the children's servants?!"

"M'lady, we should be making our way to Alderaan; Senator Organa hates waiting," Seneca said.

"Alright, alright." Jazzori gave the ground man a wink before boarding the ship.

Seneca piloted the controls with ease. As the ship was gearing for takeoff, Seneca caught a glimpse of panic from one of the debt collectors, much to her satisfaction. The ship was now entering hyperspace. "Nice distraction," Seneca smirked. With a small movement of a lever, they were in hyperspace.

Jazzori looked at the children strapped in their seats. "Gambling is a disease that ruins all families," Jazzori bent down beside one of the children as one of them cried, "There, there, we are going to get you home." Jazzori gently rubbed her hand on his cheek to calm him.

"It doesn't get easier, does it?" Seneca asked.

"No, but knowing we are able to help the children, families, anyone innocent against the Empire, we must try," Jazzori took a device deactivating each transmitter chip, this prevented any tracking or heads blowing up.

As their ship emerged from hyperspace, they arrived directly at the capital where Bail Organa awaited their arrival, his presence signaling the importance of their successful mission and the gravity of the situation at hand was now resolved. Whilst all exited out of the ship, the parents of the children stood behind Organa. The children raced to their mothers and fathers.

"You did good," Organa said, "I have their new identities, and my men will be taking them to their home planet."

"Thank you! Thank you!" exclaimed one of the relieved mothers, her gratitude overflowing as she expressed her heartfelt appreciation for the assistance they had received. She held her child tighter hugging her like this was the last light of day.

"You're welcome, but let's keep this discreet. We wouldn't want anyone to risk recapture, neither you nor your children," Seneca emphasized softly, her words carrying a sense of protective resolve, ensuring the safety and security of those they had just rescued.

As everyone dispersed, Organa coaxed the two inside. "I have an unusual situation," he said.

Navigating through the palace, they encountered Organa's wife cradling a small bundle, prompting Jazzori and Seneca to offer a graceful curtsy in passing, their movements a blend of respect and deference as they pressed onward through the grand halls.

"What exactly is the situation we're dealing with?" Seneca inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

"I have someone who needs help finding someone—someone you, Seneca, are familiar with," Organa said.

"Familiar with?"

"Senator, we just rescued children from debt collectors; is this mission similar to the last?" Jazzori asked.

"Not quite; more of a person who wishes not to be found," Organa explained.

"If they're avoiding detection, why pursue?" Seneca queried; her voice laced with skepticism.

They entered in a control hall; it was dimly lit with the machine projecting maps and strategic plans.

"Because she's your old master," said an unfamiliar voice.

All looked up to see the bounty hunter, Valree and someone who looked like a Mandalorian emerging from the shadows, their presence casting an ominous aura over the room. Valree's steely gaze pierced through the air, while the Mandalorian's imposing figure loomed. Organa's expression remained unreadable as he observed the expected visitors. Jazzori exchanged a knowing glance with Seneca, a silent communication passing between them as they prepared for whatever secrets this encounter might unveil.

[hwauroras]

THROUGH THE INFINITE CANVASES OF YOU. (제1장)

pic sources in order left -> right: pinterest, @hwalysm, pinterest

wc ≈1.2k. unedited. painter!seonghwa x artstudent!reader (ft. musician!san and artstudent!wooyoung). written in two different perspectives - third person for seonghwa and second person for the reader. no massive genre yet - just seonghwa buying paint, san making him an offer to collaborate and wooyoung acting dramatic over frozen yogurt. if you're lactose intolerant, it's dairy free. wooyoung drops the f bomb once.

seonghwa stood before the mesmerizing array of paints, his eyes carefully scanning the vibrant colors and various sizes. each stroke of his brush held the essence of the mystery person he had long sought after - thus he longed for the perfect shades to bring them to as much life as he could possibly muster.

with contemplation evident on his brow furrowed face, he delicately picked up each tube, bottle and bucket, studying their hues as if they held the key to unlocking his artistic visions, before placing them back down and subsequently moving on to the next.

this mysterious figure demanded nothing less than the highest standard, the most absolute perfection. it wasn’t merely just a matter of finding the “right pigments”; it was about capturing the intricate emotions, fine distinctions and the very soul that resided within him.

as seonghwa continued his search, his fingers grazed the plastic of a particularly alluring bottle of midnight blue. his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the potential within its depths.

could this be the very bottle that will perfectly encapsulate the melancholic gaze, the subtle yet screamingly obvious elegance his muse carried?

or perhaps the soft, beautiful lilac, like the delicate blush of morning's first light, that could capture the whimsical grace and vulnerability he oh so desperately wanted to capture on his canvases?

or maybe even—

“oh, seonghwa. i thought i’d find you here.”

seonghwa turned his head at the sound of his best friend’s voice, his fingers still hovering over the bottle of midnight blue. he offered the younger a small smile, the conflict of choice still evident in his eyes.

“san? what are you doing here?”

“well..” san responded, curiously eyeing the deep hue seonghwa now held in his hands. “process of elimination. you weren’t in your art studio, and you didn’t answer your door - so i knew there was only one other place you could be at.”

seonghwa chuckled.

“clever. how can i help you, san?”

“well,” san began, his eyes shining with anticipation. “i have an idea.”

seonghwa raised an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly suspicious by his friend's enthusiasm. knowing his best friend, his ideas could either be incredibly amazing or incredibly stupid.

“what kind of idea?"

san’s mischievous grin widened as he continued to speak.

“i know you've been longing to bring this person to life, right? well, what if we combine our talents? i want you to help me with the cover art for my upcoming album."

seonghwa’s eyes lit up at the proposition. music and art, two creative realms of two passionate souls merging together - at the very least, it was an exciting and intriguing prospect to him.

“really? you want me to create the cover art for your album?"

san nodded, his eyes somehow sparkling even more. seonghwa couldn’t help but smile at the sight. music made san happy. the recording studio to san was like the art studio to seonghwa - a place of nothing but raw emotion and self expression.

“yeah, of course!” san exclaimed. “who else? you’re my best mate, you’re super talented, and i think it would be a great way to start bringing a voice and some sound to the person you keep painting. they obviously mean a lot to you. so what do you say, park seonghwa?”

seonghwa’s heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and excitement at san’s idea. not only was it a chance for him to collaborate creatively with the only person that ever believed in him - but it also provided him with an opportunity to not only see, but to finally hear even just a little bit of his muse. it was a chance to bring them to life, even if it was through a different medium. and even though it would mean he would have to show his muse to the world, maybe it could bring them back to him somehow. he set the bottle of midnight blue back on the shelf, its potential momentarily forgotten, as he turned to face san with his full attention.

"i would be honored, choi san.”

~

you watched as wooyoung stood before the mesmerizing array of film cameras, his eyes carefully scanning the various brands and sizes. each press of a button immobilized his precious memories and provided him with physical evidence he could carry to the future - thus he longed for the perfect camera capable of capturing such pieces of time.

with contemplation evident on his brow furrowed face, he delicately picked up each little machine, studying their lenses and functions as if they held the key to unlocking his artistic visions, before placing them back down and subsequently moving on to the next.

with a click of the tongue, you grabbed his arm, causing him to jump and glare at you.

“jesus christ, y/n. i almost dropped the fucking camera.”

“sorry, wooyoung. i’m just bored.”

“then why did you come along?”

you sighed, fighting back the urge to facepalm at his question.

“because you made me, woo. you begged and begged, and promised me frozen yogurt.”

you blankly stared at the purple haired man clutch his chest and sink to his knees, feigning betrayal.

“is that really how much you value our friendship, y/n? where the promise of some sweet, chilled cultures dictates whether or not you accompany me, your best friend and greatest person in the whole world, to a store that enables the upkeep of passion?”

“yep.”

wooyoung’s melodramatic reaction left you stifling a laugh but you quickly composed yourself - not wanting to draw any further attention to yourself.

"look, i really do value our friendship, woo," you reassured him, a mischievous glint in your eyes and a smirk creeping onto your face. "but i mean, come on. a little frozen yo-yo never has never hurt anybody as an added incentive, don’t you think?"

“ah, y/n, you wound me with your words. here i am, pouring my heart out into finding the perfect camera to capture the very essence of life and its beauty, and you reduce it to mere frozen treats.”

you couldn't help but giggle at his theatrics, quickly stopping and clearing your throat once you noticed the other customers starting to stare.

wooyoung, who was still on his knees, followed your gaze before looking up at you with an exaggerated pout and playful eyes. he extended his hand towards you, his voice dripping with faux sorrow and defeat.

"okay, fine. if frozen yogurt is all it takes to have you stick around and bask in my wonderful, unforgettable presence, then i graciously accept your terms.”

reigning victorious, you took your best friend’s hand and helped him to his feet, giving his cheek a playful squeeze as he brushed nonexistent dust off his clothes, signalling the end of his act.

as you stood side by side, eyes still twinkling at each other with shared mischief, you couldn't help but feel grateful for your friendship and the lighthearted moments you shared.

shooting you a warm smile, wooyoung tilted his head towards the cameras.

“well then. shall we?”

“well then. we shall.”

~

TAGLIST: @hwalysm, @downbadreading

[minhoskofi]

chapter 7: bad dream

warnings: nightmare

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

a/n: i literally couldn't sleep bcs i got this idea in my head and had to write it downㅋㅋㅋㅋ

As you (finally) managed to reach the credits of the movie, Byounggon, with his characteristic thoughtfulness, suggested you head inside and wash up while he tackled the aftermath of your rooftop cinema.

“What?! No! Let me at least help you, how can I leave you to clean all this up by yourself?”, you tried to fight back but it was futile, as Byounggon urged you to go ahead. 

The steam from the hot water showered over you, mirroring the waterfall of thoughts that flooded your mind. Doubt and vulnerability mingled, questioning this happiness. Byounggon indeed was truly everything you had ever dreamt of, but what if you were just dancing on the precipice of an illusion, a fleeting dream bound to dissipate like morning mist?

Waterdrops were pattering, rhythmically. Were you allowed to be happy? Was this too good to last?

As you stepped out of the shower, your gaze was drawn to yet another thoughtful gesture – some of Byounggon's clothes, seemingly left for you to choose from. A sweet reminder that he wanted you to feel at home, even in the simple act of getting dressed.

You slid into an oversized t-shirt, the fabric engulfing you in its warmth. It cascaded down, almost reaching your knees - a whimsical sight. As you attempted to pull it down over your wet hair, Byounggon appeared before you, seemingly materializing as if from thin air.

A playful grin danced on his lips as he tossed a towel over your head. "You look absolutely hilarious in this," he teased.

Laughter bubbled up from within, breaking through the remnants of doubt like sunlight piercing through clouds.

With the towel draped over your shoulders, Byounggon's playful gaze met yours. “I’ve wanted to do this.”, he declared somewhat mischievously. He guided you to his bed, the fabric cool against the back of your thighs as you settled down. Byounggon took a seat in front of you, facing you with a playful grin. In his hands, he cradled the towel, ready to embark on the task of pat-drying your hair.

"I can do it by myself, you know," you said sheepishly as you tried to grasp the towel from his hands.

"I know," he chuckled. "But can't your loving boyfriend do it for you instead?" With that, he planted a rough, yet jokingly tender kiss on your forehead, his warm lips leaving an imprint that lingered.

As he began to pat-dry your hair, his touch was gentle and attentive. The soft cotton of the towel absorbed the droplets, leaving a trail of dampness on your hair. 

Byounggon's eyes never left yours.

"Done," he announced, with a mock flourish as he threw the towel aside. His gaze stayed on you for a while, just admiring. “You look so fuckable in my t-shirt, but let’s go to sleep before I actually fuck you, okay?” he said with no shame whatsoever.

As you both settled into the cozy embrace of his bed, Byounggon, as ever considerate, retrieved a couple of pillows and extra blankets to ensure a comfortable night's sleep. He slid under the covers beside you, his presence a soothing balm.

In the stillness of the night, Byounggon wrapped an arm around you, drawing you closer and taking in the scent of you. The city's distant hum provided a comforting lullaby.

"Goodnight," Byounggon whispered, his breath tickling your ear, a final note in the symphony of the night. 

As sleep enveloped you, monsters of the past emerged from the shadows. Nightmares, like spectral predators, clawed their way into your consciousness, manifesting as haunting visions that shook you to your core.

In the dream, shadows morphed into sinister figures, whispering echoes of forgotten fears. A sense of suffocation gripped you, and the air grew thick with an oppressive darkness. A chilling wind carried ghostly whispers that seemed to echo from the depths of the nightmare.

Shapes twisted and contorted, taking on grotesque forms that danced on the edge of your fears. Faces, distorted and contorted, bore expressions of malevolence that sent shivers down your spine. The dreamscape became a distorted reflection of your deepest anxieties, and as the monsters closed in, the cold sweat of terror seeped into your consciousness.

Abruptly, you jolted awake, gasping for breath, the remnants of the nightmare still lingering like a haunting melody. 

Turning to Byounggon, you hesitated for a moment, questioning the reality around you. Were you still trapped in the clutches of a bad dream, or had you truly escaped? His silhouette, soundly asleep beside you, offered a reassuring anchor.

But the fear threatened to swallow you whole, and you couldn't help but reach out, gently shaking his shoulder. Confusion flickered across his features as he mumbled incoherent words, his eyes still sealed in the world of dreams.

His eyes fluttered opened, and concern immediately etched itself onto his face as he saw your tear-stained cheeks. "You okay? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with both worry and genuine care.

"Gon?" you uttered, your voice almost inaudible. His name served as a lifeline, a connection to reality that you desperately needed.

He sprung into action, sitting up and wrapping you in a comforting embrace. His warmth became a shield against the lingering chill of the nightmare. "Shh, it's okay," he whispered. "I'm here. You're safe. It's all just a bad dream."

Byounggon's hands gently rubbed circles on your back, the rhythmic motion mimicking the comforting cadence of a lullaby. He held you close, rocking gently as if to dispel the shadows of the dream.

"I've got you," his voice was a calming melody. "Just breathe, I'm right here, I’m not going anywhere." And in the safety of his arms, you felt the residual fear melt away, replaced by the steady heartbeat of reality.

Byounggon kept comforting you, as his hands stroked your hair and his gentle whispers soothed the echoes of the nightmare.

Feeling his warmth, you couldn't help but lift your gaze to meet his. His eyes, filled with concern and affection, locked onto yours, offering a silent promise of safety.

In the hushed atmosphere of the room, Byounggon's face drew nearer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. As his lips met your forehead, a sequence of tender kisses followed, tracing a path along your temple and down to your cheek. 

No more shadows that could taint this night.

Byounggon's lips paused on the corner of your mouth, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers delicately traced the contours of your face and his touch was hesitant as he cupped your face.

He leaned in even closer, lips hovering above yours, a sense of uncertainty lingered in the air. It was as if he questioned whether it was appropriate to kiss you in this vulnerable state.

Tilting your head to the side, you conveyed a subtle affirmation that his kiss was welcome, an invitation for him to bridge the gap between uncertainty and connection.

He gently pressed his lips against yours and - nothing more, nothing less, just a lingering kiss.

With his hands still cupping your face, he whispered a "I'm here with you," and never let go of you that night.

previous chapter next: chapter 8

[lockawayknight]

@austerulous said:

“Do you know of the acreage you hold in my heart?”

Soft-spoken words disturbed the quiet, a gentle affront to the deathly company they kept. The only souls that drew breath in this makeshift graveyard, they sat side-by-side, hip to hip, Anri’s head at home on Creighton’s shoulder, snow-white tresses mingling and bleeding with pale blonde. How warm they were, how full of blood, as they huddled in the grim shadow of the cathedral.

“I have something for you.” Careful rummaging in a leather pouch produced the gift. It nestled in the well of Anri’s palm as she presented it, shining in a shade of cyan reminiscent of summer waters. A prism stone, luminescent and inappreciable, it had warmed her pocket through the ages, kept her company through more graves than she could count.

“It is my last one. My first too, incidentally. A gift from Horace, back when we were children.” A whimsical and sentimental keepsake, one that few would see the value in. Creighton would understand though, she was certain. Creighton would treasure it.

“I should like for you to always have a little light. To know that I love you, and that I will carry these tender feelings beyond the veil of true death.” How sweetly their fingers brushed, as Anri deposited the glinting pebble into her friend’s dear hands. It had been a curse to live this long, but there was a gift in meeting him. Gratitude bruised her aching heart.

Surrounded by moss-draped tombstones, the consecrated earth stippled with meadow saxifrages and cuckoo flowers – and with the bones of beloved-by-one children crumbling beneath their boots – Anri pressed a lingering kiss to Creighton’s pale, mottled cheek.

There are very few things in the world that carry more weight than the sound of Horace’s name on Anri’s lips, or the importance of their friendship bearing its beauty within her bleeding breast. Creighton knows this well, and immediately understands the depth of the ocean that dives deep within the pale stone that is placed into his palm. He knows this…

And it breaks him like a wooden arrow against a dragon’s hide.

Indeed, he’s so in awe of the gift’s every silent meaning — his breath and beating blood holding each other, choking, by the throat, ‘til neither lungs nor heart can catch any air — that he almost misses the softness of his dear friend’s lips as they grace the scattered freckles beneath his eyes. But the warmth is hard to ignore. Like a church candle’s gentle flame being held to his dappled cheek.

“Anri, you…” He has no words. He cradles the stone in the palm of his hand as one would cradle a fragile duckling, or the egg it had hatched from, knowing full well that something so beautiful deserves a much more tender hand to rest within. One like Anri’s. One like a saint’s. One so, so unlike Creighton’s. “This… I’m…”

Truly, though, what is there to say? A “thank you” would be nothing but a breeze against the stronghold of her love. A hug is too forward, he thinks, from his bearlike arms, and his scarred and split lips are unworthy of feeling her skin with a returned kiss. His words would be gawky as a pauper to her beauty’s porcelain princess. And so, he is left there, dumb as a doe and just as anxiously, innocently wide-eyed as his mailled fingers flex around the glowing stone.

A century passes, it seems, before he finally inhales the frostbitten air.

Gods, how he wishes he could pull his heart from his chest and hand it to her as one would a wedding ring.

But because he cannot…

…

Creighton swallows hard, and he doesn’t need to think twice when a very, very strong feeling begins to pluck his heart’s harp strings. “I, ah…” Pause. “…I got somethin’ for y’ too.”

His free hand moves to reach beneath his cloak.

Once upon a time, there was a lonely harpy who lived in the dunes. Not in a parable sort of way — very, very truly. And she had a very special friend.

Of course, it was Creighton. A much younger, much more volatile — could you imagine? — version of the now-Finger, gruff and gritty, vulgar and venomous, but always eager to chat with his feathered friend about the ups and downs of their lives — the churning of the sands, literal and metaphorical, and the way the spiders spun their webs. Creighton was confident and calm in the knowing that she would hold him to her black-downed breast during the times when he had nowhere else to go, even if her avian ears were unable to fully comprehend the reasons why he cried; and she, too, could flutter to his door when she craved a type of murder different than that which stained her customers’ swords. She was a comfort to him; and, indeed, he was to her. And she had a peculiar way of showing her love.

Her crow’s covetous brain treasured all things smooth and shiny, and Creighton would often find trinkets and curios left on his doorstep. Oh, how his to-be husband would snicker at the rubbish, amused by the knight’s closeness to the she-bird, his foxlike fingers studying the curves of beast bones and broken porcelain faces.

But to Creighton, each one was a treasure.

As was she.

Time passed, and bones turned to dust, and dolls’ eyes shattered into shards, and feathers disappeared into the unforgiving winds of a world left to crumble. Every gift. Every memento. Even the harpy herself.

But one treasure remained.

And it is heavy in the pouch that hangs from Creighton’s belt.

Creighton is not a man made of eloquence — poetry has never once fallen from his lips. He speaks in grunts and groans and cussing and curtness. His language is one of beastmen. He has no way to articulate this story of friendship, fondness, and forced separation that swaddles the small object he wraps his fingers around. He hasn’t the first clue how to explain the heart, soul, and sentimentality of what he pulls from his pocket. And, were it to be a gift given to anyone else, he might even feel silly for assuming the other would think the thing as anything more than a simple relic — something to sell, or to trade, or to use in a pinch.

But as he places the radiant lifegem in Anri’s palm — the golden, gorgeous gem, still sparkling with the souls of warriors past, and just as too-humanly warm — and he raises his eyes to meet hers, he knows she will read the words within them, and understand.

“Gift from an old friend,” he manages through the lump in his throat. “I’m, ah… If I get t’carry some a’ your light an’ love, then I think you oughta be able to carry a bit a’ mine. I can’t always be there t’protect the ones I care about, y’know. But, ah… at least with this, you’ll always ‘ave a bit a’ extra help if somethin’ ‘appens.”

The smile he offers seems almost… sad.

But only because he wishes he could do more.

As he releases his hold on the lifegem, the prism stone finds itself at home in the now-empty space in his pocket. And so, once again, he feels his friends’ love radiate through him like a sip of warm tea.

He’s always been bad at I-love-you-toos.

[katiiaaax]

The important things that I wish those who love & know me could understand about me

Let's clarify; I do NOT want to die. I think I just lack the capacity to succeed in life. Loved ones describe me as "too soft", "dumb", "so nice that it's really irritating and looks pathetic" and I tend to "just let people treat and talk to you like shit and giggle about it".

All these things are true. I let the world and the people around me climb up onto myof shoulders while I'm slowly sinking into the ground and burying myself alive under all of their weight. All because I'm so fearful of hurting anybody else that I harm myself trying to make them happy.

Then maybe, after all of that, I might be somebody's first option; the only option they wanted or needed; I would just be enough for them to finally love me, respect me and be proud of me instead of feeling like I can't come out from behind their shadow to be treated as an equal, instead of just a fraction.

I've gone my about life with one key consistency, my mantra or motto I guess. The model in which I've been content with living my life.

It goes; "If I can just give people enough of myself, eventually they will love me; they have to, right? Eventually those people will give me the love that I've been ripping away at pieces of myself and giving it to them just to try and receive back. I'm not asking for too much… am I? Maybe I am asking for too much, I don't need it anyway… "

They say that you can't pour from an empty cup, but I think you can pour as much as you're willing to let go of. I've always chosen to give more, even if the recipient never even bothered to glance back my way and say thank you. All because I had always naiively hoped that life was fair, that the world and its people weren't inherently cruel, and that eventually I would also one day be worthy for somebody to finally love me as I them, and recieve the same care and regard and kindness as I was giving because surely I would deserve it, then.

That's not the way it works, but my reasoning as to 'why' may differ from most; I believe that to love somebody is to understand them. To TRULY understand somebody requires the patience and effort that most people have limited themselves of, because its often painful and testing. To understand somebody is to accept them for whom they are, what they have to offer, and here's the not-so-whimsical factor; how much they are WILLING to offer, regardless of what they actually have to give. Ironically, to me, the willingness to give is the most crucial of all three- because if you are not willing to give everything you have to give plus anything else, you are not selfless enough to be able to understand somebody, accept somebody REGARDLESS of whether you actually agree with their particular ideals or love them fully. This is because the true extent and the purity of the love you give are limited to what you're willing to understand and also accept, faults inclusive.

If I were to die today, I think that it will lift the burden of carrying me through life off of everybody else's shoulders- I've been told that being in love with me and loving me is more like a curse than a gift, and that hurts, because I struggle to see even the cruelest actions perpetrated by the person I love as a curse. Instead I try to improve myself, thinking that if I can just be 'perfect' that I'll finally be that special gift that gets shown off because everything that you needed is in that one gift box, and no other gifts can ever match the sentiment that you only feel upon receiving perfection.

This is the one thing that I wish the people whom I love and who love me could understand. I'm not perfect, I'm not always right nor do I always make the correct decisions, but in your frustration please try to remember that I always tried to, because all that mattered to me was whether I was good enough to love you and be loved by you.

Keep this is mind:

Everytime something was said or done to me that was exceptionally hurtful, I just assumed that I had to try harder to make that person see my value and worth, and so I would keep giving more of myself away to people who continued to pick away at my self worth and watched me unravel.

My ultimate thought being "If they could just see the pain I was in because of their behaviour, they may realise what they have and stop doing things that were hurting me. Why won't they stop hurting me even though they can see what it's doing to me?"

I would cry for hours asking myself what I wasn't doing enough of to make them stop what they were doing that was destroying me.

I would always give up on myself before I could bring myself to give up on somebody I love.

Written by Kate Gentile

[existentialmagazine]

Review: MilkMaid Merchant’s debut indie single ‘Friends’ offers a dreamy respite from the chaos of the world, reflecting on the isolation of adulthood

Multi-Instrumentalist Derry Creaney just began his own solo music endeavours, now known to the world as MilkMaid Merchant, an indie project that draws inspiration from artists like Mac Demarco and Vacations. With past work as a music technician for Rock legends Nazarath, Mercury Award Nominees Glasvegas & Scottish Newcomers Shambolics, Derry might be fresh on his own path but he’s certainly got the talent to back it up.

Debuting his first ever single under MilkMaid Merchant, Derry delivers an easy-going offering in the form of ‘Friends.’ Sure to put you at an instant ease, the haze of sound quickly embraces you as you press play, a soft and secure bundle of honest thought tied to gentle instrumental notes. From slowly thudding drums to a bright, relaxed electric guitar riff and at the heart, deep intermittent bass twangs, ‘Friends’ begins to unwind through your headphones as the retreat you didn’t know you needed. Derry’s vocals soon accompany the opening verse with a similar sense of repose, lightly unwinding through a range that sits suitably lulled with a few moments of fleeting higher nods to match the dreamy atmosphere.

Offering a respite from the chaotic nature of the world, the simplistic sounds and sincere lines push forward together, an entwined performance that’s just as comforting as a much-needed embrace from someone you love. Picking up only lightly for the choruses shift, ‘Friends’ adds backing vocal ooh’s and distant but enchanting synth bursts, all the while the other instruments raise just a little louder into focus. The pre-established sense of relief isn’t lost though, maintaining that staple laid-back energy that’s infectious in the best way.

Stepping aside from the whimsical sound, ‘Friends’ carries through it a message that’s a little weightier, centred around experiences of isolation and the feeling of not belonging. From the opening line ‘I live my life on the sidelines’, Derry establishes that he’s a bit of an outsider looking in, always yearning to be a part of something but never welcomed into anything. As he continues to admit that he’s ‘locked up all alone, with nobody to hold’ , there’s a definite sense of both self-pity and longing for company, feeling so miserably alone yet incapable of changing that. The fear of losing time and making no progress is equally prominent, trapped in the same rooms with the same dreary routine: ‘clock is laughing is my face.’

The chorus quite heartily changes perspective though, beaming ‘that’s okay ‘cause I’m with you’, with Derry pulling himself out of the rut he’s fallen within, allowing himself the realisation that there are people who care. As we all journey further into adulthood, so much of ‘Friends’ cannot help but resonate in its realities of growing older. Finding that those around us are often too busy with work and daily chores to pour the energy they want into their loved ones, ‘Friends’ truly speaks out about how everyone is left to feel a little bit isolated in their own bubble of existence, but if we reach out to those we love they’re still often there to give a hand to hold.

Between melancholic lines and hopeful choruses, as well as a sound that’s all-around quite soft and safe, ‘Friends’ really pens something worth listening to. Whether it be to take a moment to calm down, or as a reminder that even in your lowest moments there are people who care and that can relate, it’s worth playing for yourself here.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[onlinebestpresent]

“Vibrant Treasures: Celebrate Life with Fresh Flowers”

There is a timeless beauty in the delicate petals and vibrant hues of fresh flowers. They can brighten any space, uplift spirits, and convey emotions that words often fail to express. In this article, we invite you to embark on a journey celebrating life with the vibrant treasures that are fresh flowers. Whether you seek to send a thoughtful gift or want to adorn your living space with nature's splendour, the joy and beauty of sending cut flowers are unparalleled. Join us as we explore the enchanting world of fresh flowers, discover the emotional connections they inspire, and learn how flower delivery can bring these treasures to your doorstep.

Embracing the Beauty of Fresh Flowers

1.1 Nature's Masterpieces

Fresh flowers are nature's exquisite masterpieces, delicately crafted by the hands of Mother Earth. Each bloom tells a unique story with its shape, colour, and fragrance. From the elegant roses to the whimsical daisies, the diversity and intricacy of fresh flowers captivate our senses and awaken a sense of wonder. They remind us of the beauty found in the simplest moments and the extraordinary wonders nature offers.

1.2 A Feast for the Senses

Fresh flowers offer a feast for the senses, immersing us in a symphony of colours, fragrances, and textures. A bouquet's vibrant hues can evoke joy, excitement, or calmness, depending on the chosen blooms. The gentle fragrance that wafts through the air can transport us to memories of gardens in full bloom or meadows kissed by the morning dew. The soft touch of petals against our fingertips brings a tactile connection to the natural world. With fresh flowers, every sense is engaged, and each moment becomes an opportunity for appreciation and celebration.

The Power of Sending Cut Flowers

2.1 Expressing Emotions

Sending cut flowers is a powerful way to express many emotions and sentiments. Whether it's a bouquet carefully arranged with an assortment of blooms or a single stem chosen with intention, sending fresh flowers conveys depth and thoughtfulness. Flowers have long symbolised love, friendship, gratitude, and support. They carry with them the ability to convey feelings that sometimes words cannot capture. When you send cut flowers, you are giving away their beauty and the emotions they represent.

2.2 Celebrating Milestones

Cut flowers are perfect for commemorating special milestones and celebrations in life. Fresh flowers offer a touch of glamour and beauty to any celebration, whether it's a birthday, an anniversary, a graduation, or a promotion. They symbolise new beginnings, growth, and the unfolding of life's chapters. By sending cut flowers, you honour and celebrate the accomplishments and joys of your loved ones, making the moment even more memorable and meaningful.

The Convenience of Cut Flowers Delivery

3.1 Cut-Flowers-Delivery: Effortless Beauty at Your Doorstep

Gone are the days when acquiring fresh flowers required a trip to the local florist. With the convenience of cut flower delivery, you can now enjoy the beauty and freshness of blooms without leaving the comfort of your home. Through online flower delivery services, you can choose from various bouquets, arrangements, and individual stems, all expertly prepared and packaged to retain their vibrancy and fragrance. With just a few clicks, you can have the captivating treasures of fresh flowers delivered to your doorstep, effortlessly bringing nature's beauty into your life.

3.2 Timeliness and Professionalism

Cut flowers delivery services prioritise the timeliness and professionalism of their service. From the moment you place your order to the careful packaging and transportation of the flowers, these services ensure that your fresh flowers arrive pristine. Expert florists handle the selection and arrangement of the blooms, ensuring that the bouquet you send is a true work of art. The delivery process is meticulously planned to maintain the freshness and beauty of the flowers, ensuring that your gift arrives at its destination in perfect form.

Celebrating Life's Moments with Fresh Flowers

4.1 Everyday Celebrations

Fresh flowers have the power to transform ordinary moments into extraordinary ones. Whether it's a simple gesture of self-care or a small surprise for a loved one, fresh flowers elevate the ambiance and bring a sense of joy and appreciation. A vase of vibrant blooms on your dining table can turn a meal into a celebration of flavours and companionship. A bouquet by your bedside can inspire energy and optimism each morning. By incorporating fresh flowers into your everyday life, you infuse each moment with beauty and remind yourself to celebrate life's simple pleasures.

4.2 Commemorating Special Occasions

Fresh flowers are an essential element in commemorating special occasions and significant milestones. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, and holidays all become more memorable and meaningful with the addition of blooms. They become a visual representation of love, joy, and shared experiences. By selecting the perfect bouquet or arrangement, you create a lasting impression and evoke emotions that will be treasured for years. Fresh flowers become an integral part of the celebration, adding a touch of elegance and grace to the occasion.

Fresh flowers have an unparalleled ability to touch our hearts and celebrate the beauty of life. They ignite our senses, evoke emotions, and remind us to appreciate the wonders of the natural world. We create moments of joy, connection, and celebration by sending cut flowers or adorning our living spaces with these vibrant treasures. With the convenience of cut flower delivery, we can effortlessly bring the beauty of nature into our lives and share it with those we care about. So, let us embrace the splendor of fresh flowers and allow their vibrant hues and delicate fragrances to enrich our lives, one blossom at a time.