#the hearts memory of the sun grows faint

[soracities]

The heart's memory of the sun grows faint. What's this? Darkness?

Anna Akhmatova, from “The heart’s memory of the sun grows faint...” (excerpt from “In Tsarkoye Selo”, in Evening), The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova: Expanded Edition, trans. Judith Hemschemeyer

[darkdemeter]

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

◤✘BUCKY BARNES COLUMN | Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader ISSUE NO.#...

NOTES: ↳ Yes. Yes... YAAAAS! IM DOING IT! I'm frickin' writing a pirate Bucky! Mmmm! Fuckin' love pirate stuff, I'm just living for Bucky being a hot pirate commanding a vessel on the high seas. WARNINGS! ↳ Pirate Bucky — semi dark Bucky — submissive/soft captive reader — possessive Bucky — SMUT 18+, Minors DNI! — P in V sex — memory loss/wiping via magic (reader affected) — light use of physical and sexual acts to avoid conflict — indirect breeding kink? — pet names — brief consumption of alcohol — I think that's it? SUMMARY: ↳ He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him. Yet overboard and on the tide you sail across, in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul… a song so familiar yet unknown. Forgotten. Bucky reminds you yet again that there is no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there.

✎ 4.1k

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic

↳ BUCKY BARNES TAGLISTS

────────────────┘

  There lays a song forgotten in your heart and soul, distantly faint as the receding tide to the shore. With each spare moment of peace you were given to dwell beneath the lapping waters, you spend a portion of it in search of that song. And what time remains within the falling sand’s glass, you bask in the blue and faded black abyss. 

  Tonight is no different. You could not remember the forgotten song that lulls you tenderly, pulling through skin and scale, calling you somewhere far, much too far, away from the balancing hull above. 

  You could not abandon your captain. Betray the trust between you both. After all, it was he who found you washed atop the rocky crevices of the island, who rescued you from a fate of drying out in the sun’s merciless heat. Who took care of you when there was nothing left of the life you once knew. 

  To break that earnt trust, to betray him, you can’t think of anything far more heartbreaking than that. 

“Time’s up, my Siren,” the voice of your captain beckons you. He calls you to the surface. 

  A sigh ripples through the water and your head tilts up towards the surface, the darkened slits in your milky white eyes shrink away from the moonlight penetrating through the waves. The long limb of your tail sweeps back and forth, thrusting you upwards, skin and scales shimmering brighter as you near the barrier between water and air. The breach pulls a lungful gasp of the night's chillingly crisp air, the only warmth coming from The Avenger. 

  Hair drench-pressed and thinned forms a curtain over your features as you peer up at the looming figure pridefully arching over the ship’s wooden rail. The slivered slits of your eyes grow wider as they focus on him, with a lantern beside him, glass scorched and worn by smoke, it illuminates the upper portion of his body. His white shirt ruggedly wrinkled and loosened to showcase a muscled chest, skin tanned by the sun’s heated kiss, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black ink painted legendary stories over his body in memorabilia. Stories forged into his flesh for all to study and cower in fear.

  He summons you with a kink of his finger and you obey his silent command with an all too eager nod. Around you, the water spirals into a column and rises up, pushing you higher to reach the wooden railing. Aboard the ship, the crew is merry in their celebrations. Another successful day of conquest and battle on the high seas, another amassed sum of gold and valuables to add to hull and reputation. 

  Of course spirits would be high and cheerful tonight. And of course, what was a conquest without the captain’s prize at the end of it all?

  Gathering yourself over the rail and onto the deck, the glistening shine of your tail morphs into two shapely legs, the milky hues of your eyes and other remnants of your true body hide in their human disguise. Your eyes find the hourglass on his opposite side, the sand all gathered in the bottom glass pit. Your captain holds something out for you and you graciously accept his gift, pulling the thin veil of your robe over your naked body. 

  His ocean blue eyes scan you up and down, the left corner of his plush, chapped lips turns upwards. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He purrs his question and it brings a cold chill to run up and down your spine, your lungs freeze with what little breath they had at that moment. 

  He turns his body properly to face you, burly shoulders and thick muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. His eyes fold slightly into a sharpened stare of interrogation. 

  “I–I don’t…” You shake your head, breath hitching. “I don’t understand, Captain. I search for nothing that is not you.”

  “Aye?” 

  Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and unique - mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep. 

  Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its link. 

  However, your mesmerised pupils flicker up in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance. 

  Your vision focuses behind him then, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.

  When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own. 

  Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.

  He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf. 

  His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea. 

  The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back. 

  “Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion. 

  “But I—” Still he penetrates you with that cold stare. It prods at you with radiant intensity, it matches the ominous scarlet glow that now burns brighter now as it moves down the upper deck’s stairs. Your eyes dart between the woman who controls the rolling waves of red magic and the ferocity of your captain’s hardpressed gaze. 

  Your head bounces quickly. “Yes...” 

  A few words of compliance are cut off by a gasp. As you attempt to follow his order and return to his cabin, he halts you within his metallic grasp and pulls you back in, curled lips mere inches from your own, in the clutches of his brazen hold, he commands your attention. Your hands are forced to rest over his chest. 

  He drawls with a warning growl, “Yes?”

  “Yes, Captain Barnes.”

  Bucky nods his head once and lets you go, his eyes flicker between the cabin door and you, silently instructing you to hurry along. Your bare feet barely make a sound over the wooden deck in your traversal towards the cabin, where you would await your captain to claim his prize. Treasure that he greedily gets to have all to himself. The conquest he takes glee in ravishing himself full of. 

  Once you’re tucked inside, exactly where he wants you, Bucky scratches at his stubbled jaw, his recent shave already beginning to grow in again. Wanda approaches his side, the fabric of her magic ceasing at her fingertips like embers passing over into lowly ashes. 

  “That was a close one,” Bucky growls, his tongue that savours your taste runs over his teeth. She hisses with a hushed tone, “With each outing she is given to delve into the sea, my magic weakens, Captain.”

  His eyes roll to glare at the woman beside him. She sighs with a bow of her head, eyes downcast as to not provoke him into thinking her words a challenge. 

  “All I mean to say is that you must reinforce her rules. She’s beginning to suspect far too much, and with each piece of recollection, my power is sapped by her own. Enforce her rules once more.”

  Bucky’s shoulders shrug upwards with an all too arrogant huff, haughty in his conviction. He idly tilts his flesh hand, admiring the piece of you he has wrapped up in his iron grasp. 

  “She will do well to keep in mind her place. She’s intimidated.”

  “She’s conflicted, Captain.” Her words bring about a scowl to Bucky’s face, lips coiled into a snarl and nose wrinkling, eyes thinning. “And it will be a matter of time before she is free of you, and you will be known as the captain who lost his siren.”

  The bridge of this knowledge leaves Bucky in a state of strife. An aspect to his notorious reputation was garnered by your captivity. The White Wolf known by all as the fearsome pirate captain who tamed a siren; held you in the oyster of his clutches. If he did lose you, then his reputation would be suffering a heavy loss. As if to sense his change of demeanour, her hands raise up with her glowing, magic tipped fingers. His nostrils flare and the harsh prestige that made him a force not to be trifled with, he commands,  “Do it.”

  Bucky struts off with a roll of thunder beneath his leather worn boots, swiping up a half drunk bottle of rum and swallows an animalistic gulp, joining in on the festivities of his crew. Wanda observes her captain for a moment before diverting her attention towards the cabin. Her hands fold over one another, and with her palms outstretched, the scarlet hue dances through the air in a thin, cloudy blanket, searching and finding the miniscule gap beneath the wooden door. 

  He pummels into you until your back pushes far into the mattress, eliciting sharp whines and sultry moans from your parted lips, breath caught in a pattern of shallow pants. He chases after his second high as he drives his cock deep into you, the sound of skin slapping skin perverts the cabin’s air and already you begin to feel your core tremble in its own pursuit for its fourth orgasm. With each powerful snap of his hips, his throat chokes out a grunt in his exertions, the girth of his cock sinks deep into the channel of your hot, velvety cunt. 

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls lowly with a hiss, “so fuckin’ tight! You feel so good, you’re— taking me so well.” 

  With an exceptionally powerful rut of his hips and he has you on the precipice of screaming, thighs quivering in their hold around his waist, heels digging into the dip of his large, muscular back. Any coherent thoughts and words die on the vine of your vocal cords, only able to procure sounds of pleasure, to chant his name over and over again. 

  “Captain Barnes!” you mewl with fervour. Bucky’s chest vibrates with a husky chuckle. “That’s right, scream my name, let the crew hear you, Love. Let them hear how drunk you are for my cock.” 

  His one palm is laced with sweat, thick and roughened fingers squeeze yours in a passionate display of his dark possessiveness over you. Your captain could be very jealous when another’s eyes lingered on you for even a second too long, many others had suffered the brunt of his fury - weapons ablaze - and you in the end suffered the brunt of his envy with his cock pounding into you for the next several hours. 

  To remind you to whom it was you belong to. 

  His lips suckle one of the erected peaks of your breasts, moaning as his tongue leaves a wet trail around it before passing over to the second to repeat the treatment. Your head turns to the side sharply when the head of his cock splits you open even further than you could previously imagine, hitting a hidden crevice that leaves you without breath. 

  He gauges your reaction, the colour of your eyes blurring, phasing between the natural milky white canvases and the hue of your disguise, your canines and incisors now elongated, all because of the pleasure that pools at the junction where your bodies meet. But for a moment, you catch the glimmer of gold still wrapped around his hand, glimmering metal gnawing and rubbing across his skin, you’re torn between your euphoria and clouded curiosity. 

  “Say it again,” he grunts with a hard thrust that makes his muscles ripple insanely beneath his skin.

  “C’mon, say it for your captain, Love.” 

  Your lips and tongue drag across the flesh of his wrist, the pulse of his racing heart beats through, you can almost taste the rhythm. His sweat tastes strong with his musk, a strong flavour of the salty sea, sandy beaches and gunpowder. 

  You moan softly, almost in a whisper, “Captain… C-Captain Barnes.”

  The effect you have on him is indescribable to him. Never has he been able to put it into words, all he can do is feel it; carnally. The repetitive pounding into that deeper and sweeter spot has your back arching up, the smooth layer of your sweat covered body rubs against his, able to feel each defining muscle, he uses his metal hand to grip hold of one of your thighs, angling you so that you’re spread further apart for him. Your eyes begin to fall heavy and roll back into your skull in your drunken haze, the shimmer of scarlet presently blooms from time to time in them.  

  “That’s right. You belong to me, little Siren. It’s my cock that has you dripping wet.” His thrusts become faster, losing the precise edge he had before, his climax inevitably as close as your own. Your nails embed crescent moons into the skin of his one hand while the other bites into his shoulder. 

  “I’m the only man— fuck! The only man who gets to have you like this. Shit… shit. ’M going to fill you up.” 

  “Please, please… Cap—”

  “Aye, I’m going to fill you up, have you nice ‘nd full until my cum is leaking out of your little cunt, Siren. Fuck… you want that, don’t you? I know you do.” 

  You gasp with each attempt to breathe, each push and pull of his cock strikes you like a match to light the powder keg, the explosion of your climaxes comes as a white hot flash in your vision, momentarily blinding you. Your hot walls squeeze around his large endowment, forcing him to thrust back and forth even harder, grunting hot breaths against the shell of your ear. 

  His seed is flushed into the channel of your pussy in thick, seething spurts that paint your walls that milk him for every precious drop. 

  What he gives makes your lower abdomen weigh a little heavier, a little bit fuller than you were before. His hips grow slower with each dissipating explosion from his tip. His large chest expands hugely with every intake of air to his lungs before deflating as a pleased groan. 

  In his reverie of contentment, having had his fill of his prize - for now - he withdraws his softening cock from your pussy, a moistened pop echoes in the emptiness of your thoughts. Bucky rolls off of you to lay at your side, atop the furs and silken drapes of the bed. Before you can make a move he uses his metal arm to drag you in closer, tucking you into his side, the coldness of his fingers skimming the delicate texture of your arm. 

  The soothing rock of the ship is enough to lull you to sleep, the lids of your eyes inching closer and closer together. 

  “Still deny that you found nothing?” 

  His question only brings your brows to knit together. You shake your head and huddle closer into his side, basking in the comforting warmth of his body. Why on earth would he ask you such a silly question? As if there was anything of importance that outranked him, by being at his side. 

  The answer you give is instant in its resolve, “I don’t understand, Captain. I needn’t find anything out there… I have you.” 

  Your answer, though unable to see it from your position, pleases him and his lips curl into a toothy smirk, long sweeps of his dark brown hair tousled about in his post sex state. You lay your head against his chest to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, eyes closing to seek rest and refuge in the arms of your beloved captain. The man that grants you safety, that promises you nights of passion followed by the comfort of his body next to yours. All he asks in return is your loyalty. Your devotion.

  For you to be his siren. 

  Behind the blurry curtain of sleep layered over your eyes, you awaken and by your estimation, only for around an hour or maybe a little more. The morn still hasn’t risen over the ocean’s horizon, the moonlight shimmering and shining over the waves. The candlelight that bathed the cabin with a sensual atmosphere had now burnt out. 

  Breaths of deepened sleep sound next to you, the chiselled sculpt of his chest you’d used as a pillow takes steady form, as he sleeps. It makes you wonder as to what he dreams about, sometimes a scowl is etched into his attractive visage and he becomes restless, leaving you to somehow comfort him. And other times, mostly after he’s spent drawing orgasm after orgasm from the two of you, he finds respite. 

  You take the time to thoroughly yet delicately rub your eyes, robbing the tiredness of its hold to take you once more. With a tilt of your head, hair coming over your shoulder to graze the top of your breasts, his other hand lay out over the bed, residing just over the edge. 

  The mysterious object that somehow you know is linked with you, but as to how or why, or its significance to you in any case, is still laced around his calloused palm. Despite its odd gleam of familiarity, you believe this is the first time you’ve seen it before, however, the tiny voice in the back of your mind says otherwise. Then you must have seen something like it before somewhere. 

  Something deep in the recess of your heart, you have to know. Is this somehow linked to the estranged longing to a home you can’t remember? Does this necklace bind you to the lost melody of times erased from your memory?

  You take caution in moving carefully, inching your way to lean over the sleeping form of your captain, skin brushing skin, you slowly rotate your hips and hoist a thigh over his waist. Heated crimson flushes into your cheeks as you analyse your newfound position, but also from the way his body stirs lightly, still enraptured by sleep yet his body adjusting to your core lining over his naval. 

  Thawed from your frozen idle of panic, you take a moment to calm the racing of your heart that hammers vigorously against your chest, your nimble fingers reach out towards his flesh hand that clings protectively to the mysterious necklace. 

  This almost feels… too easy. You swallow a silent gulp, fingers grazing against his palm when his body shifts, bumping up into yours, you pull your reach back so fast, your hand slaps against his ribs, doing your best to cover up your true intentions. His stills beneath you once more and your shoulders fall lax with a sigh of relief. 

  Again you dare another attempt to grab the necklace, this time you don’t risk breathing, holding it for what seems like forever until your lungs begin to swell with an ache that makes them feel like bubbles about to burst. 

  You work the chain until it's loosened and finally allow your held breath to escape you, the strain to remain silent proving far more difficult than you would have liked. The weight of your body shifts backwards, now sitting up, you allow your eyes to take in every detail of the object in your hands. The gold chain is light, ghostly as it graces your hands, your fingers lace and loop it around amidst the process of your conjuring thoughts. 

  Like a puppeteer pulling the strings you raise the necklace up by its precious thread. The pearl encaged by its makeshift net swings from side to side, as though even when you are completely still, it has a soul of its own accord. 

  Everything you knew about pearls is forfeit, the identity of this one brings the bevel between your brows to form in thoughtful wonder. Therein lies the piece of some puzzle, the missing notes to the melody to which you only recall the faint rhythm of the song. 

  It has to mean something of greater importance. But if it did, then why is your captain so adamant to dismiss your curious nature to find the answers?

  As if the pearl itself is the key, you hear within your heart and soul the song. Voices sing a tone that is calming to your senses, a sweet and endearing lullaby meant for you to hear whenever you find yourself in the loneliest of places, in the darkest reaches of the ocean, the connection will bring you somewhere you call home. 

  But your home is The Avenger. Aboard the ship with Captain Barnes. The man known as Bucky to his closest inner circle. So why do the voices mingling with the tide call you away from all that? With each passing second you become ensnared by the spell of the pearl, the voices of whom you somehow find solace in become louder, the softened chorus of their song echoes a hundred times over in your head. 

  Before you even give pause to reason, your own voice becomes paired with the orchestra of sirens. You have no words, and maybe you never did, all you did need is the pearl to help guide you in remembering the melody. The uncertainty of your humming eases, the unforeseen instructors aiding you, your voice is soft within its deep reverie when it all comes to an abrupt pause, a gasp severing the tune. 

  He has you by the wrist, fingers bruisingly tight and giving you no choice to pull away from him, as he often did whenever he saw you retreat from him without his say so. 

  Bucky’s eyes bear into yours, penetrating the barrier of the necklace, he stares you down the way a wolf does the lonely prey in its path. His eyes match the brooding darkness of a storm at sea, a breed of villainy that threatens those who dare to try him. 

  “Captain…” Your throat bobs with a nervous swallow.  “I– I wasn’t—” 

  Out of pure instinct to not tempt his fury, your hold on the necklace ceases and it gathers in the roughened pad of his palm, large thumb that has caressed your sensitive nub plenty of times now works against the spherical shape of the pearl, brows heavy in their judgement to assess your punishment. His movement is sudden upon the brink of your awareness, a sharp gasp that cuts into the tender muscle of your chest as he plants you flat on your back, hands both of flesh and metal pin your wrists on either side of you until the bruising ache becomes far too unbearable. But you do nothing to voice the level of your pain. He would not hear of it. His newly erected shaft ghosts over your entrance, the beginnings of your slick painting his already drooling tip.  “I’m beginning to think you like breaking my rules, Siren.”

[perpetuallyburntout]

S4!Five Hargreeves x Reader

Strawberry Blonde - Mitski

‼️SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON FOUR OF UMBRELLA ACADEMY BELOW THE CUT‼️

Okay so I know I wasn’t the only person absolutely crushed by season four of Umbrella Academy, but in the middle of grieving over it, I had the best/worst idea. Technically a fanfic idea, but I don’t know if I have the commitment to write the whole thing, so if someone else would like to, by all means :)

The events of season four start six years after the end of season three. Six years of (mostly) peace. Let’s just say Five met someone in that time (for the sake of making sense, I’ll refer to them as Lover). Met someone he found himself falling for. And they fell for him, too. And it was perfect. And for the first time in a painfully long time, Five was happy. Content. He had his suspicions about how long this peace would last, but… for now, things were good. More than good, they were wonderful. He’d met the love of his life.

And then the events of season four begin to happen. And Lover is there with the group the whole time. At this point, they’re family, too. They want to help, and Five wants them to stay close to him.

Until he and Lila decide to go on their own on the subway, leaving Lover with the others. And in the seven years Five and Lila are stuck together, the same thing happens. And when they finally return, Lover knows something is off. And when the truth comes out, their whole world comes crashing down.

Diego grows angry. Lover just grows somber. It’s even worse, because when they look at Five again, his expression is different. The aching love that used to shine in his eyes whenever he looked at them… it’s dulled to something faint. Still there, deep down, but… unsure. As if he’s questioning himself. Questioning what he should do now. Who he’d pick if given the choice.

Of course, he’s not given the choice. Not even the choice to take Lover far away and talk to them and really explain and try to do something. No, no… the world’s ending. For the final time. And he knows how to make sure it never comes to an end ever again.

Lover’s there for the entire conversation. Every bit of grief and anger they’d felt towards Five suddenly melts away, replaced by desperation. They’d let the world end for the rest of eternity if… if it meant maybe things could be different. If it meant maybe he’d love them, and maybe he’d never love anyone else besides them.

They’re eventually forced to leave with Lila’s family and get on the subway. And while everyone else is confused and emotional, they’re curled on the ground, gasping and sobbing, knowing what this means.

And the Hargreeves stop the world from ending. And all the timelines reset. And everyone else in the world gets their happy ending.

And Lover thinks they’re happy. They do. But they never fall in love again. For some reason, every time they think they find someone, an aching pain in their chest makes them hesitate. An unfamiliar voice calling their name makes them pause. A flash of something, perhaps a memory, too fast to register but not fast enough to ignore the heart wrenching pain of, makes them withdraw. It’s almost as if…

They’re waiting for someone that never existed.

°。°。°。°。°。°。

So! When I had this idea, I was listening to Strawberry Blonde by Mitski, and here’s how the lyrics played out in my head:

I love everybody because I love you

When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape

I looked over it and I ached

(12:00 PM. August 8th, 2024. Lover’s enjoying their day in the park, sitting in the grass, eyes shut against the light breeze and warm sun. They turn to their side, almost as if to tell someone about how lovely the weather is. But no one’s there. A weird pain begins to ache in their heart.)

I love everybody because I love you

I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape

I picture it, soft and I ache

(Others—perhaps friends or family—come over and greet Lover, noticing their confused and distant expression, and ask what’s wrong. Nothing, they say, though they can’t escape the deep longing in their chest for… something that was never there.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

(Flashback timeeee- or… alternate timeline time? Flashback to a time in an alternate timeline, there we go.)

Reach out the car window tryna hold the wind

You tell me you love her, I give you a grin

Oh, all I ever wanted was a life in your shape

So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines

Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

(Shows Five and Lover together, in love, making memories together. Happy.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

(Events of season four began to play out, but ofc with Lover being part of the story.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

(The climax of the story. Flashes of the last two episodes. Five and Lila returning, the explanation, the heartbreak, Five finding out how to save the world for good, Lover meeting his gaze one last time as the subway pulls away forever.)

Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah

(Lover repeating his name to themself, trying to remember for as long as possible, not able to let go.)

Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah

(Flashback ends, returns to Lover in the grass on that sunny day, murmuring the name to themself. They’re not quite sure why.)

°。°。°。°。°。°。

I hope you all enjoyed this little idea! I got a little rambly and wrote WAY MORE than I planned on, but it’s an idea I’ve fallen in love with this past hour and I wanted to be able to share it with all of you <3

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jungkook x reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. swearing 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 5k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.  inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up.

part one: the storm, the envelope and the granddaughter ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ next. masterlist

i. the storm

  for the first time in a long time, your eyes flutter open to the golden curtains of the sun and not the blaring noise of a royalty-free iphone alarm. the rays are harsh and welcoming all at once, as you blink away the stinging sensation and adjust to the muddy path ahead. there was no mistake about it, the town withstood an unforgiving storm last night. however, mud coating the wheels of your bus seemed to be the only indication, as you became distracted with the kiss of summer from the skies above and the clear cerulean painted across cotton candy clouds. 

  memories of amber valley became bygone over the years, as memories always do. but, amber valley seemed to be a long lost chase you haven’t won in years and the older you became, the town disappeared entirely. it was like the smell of your favourite scented markers and the feeling rumbling at the pit of your stomach on the first day of school - nothing but faint ideas from your childhood. 

  “we’re not going to visit grandpa this summer?”

  at age twelve, you couldn’t fathom missing out on the midsummer festival or being away from your horse, marshmallow. for that age, absolutely everything felt like the end of the world, whether it was missing an episode of your favourite show or not getting an invite to a classmate’s sleepover. it was a little different for you, though, as you looked at your dad’s dull eyes. they’d been dull since the divorce went through that february. they never shone since and that’s how you knew things weren’t going to be the same.

  he shook his head at you, but never met your eyes. “no, i’m sorry. he’s coming up for to the city at the end of july, though - “ it would be later in life, precisely at age 25 and months removed from your grandfather’s funeral, when you would learn that he only began coming up to the city to regularly see a hepatologist, “ - so you can see him on your birthday.”

  you did, in fact, see grandpa for your birthday and for the rest of the years to come. he laughed with his whole body and his smile never failed to reach his eyes when he gave you updates on the farm and amber valley. grandpa did his best, but time passing came with you losing your bright eyes whenever he spoke fondly of his town. it was inevitable, when the big city enveloped your teenage self and you became more concerned with interests that come with the turn of youth - clothes, parties and boys.

  now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with any of those ideas. you stood by this at heart, embracing femininity and defending it alongside your love for science and life. you grew up and began wearing high heels to dates, to university lectures and finally, to your 9-5 on the busiest corner of your city’s financial district. you had long outgrown your riding boots, likely tucked away at the back of your closet in your studio apartment. you began just politely smiling and nodding when your grandfather shared local amber valley gossip about individuals who were just names to you now, also tucked away at the back of your mind.

  even though you eventually grew past the age where you needed your parents’ permission to make the trek over to amber valley, past the period of time where your mother refused to speak to your father to coordinate your trip to see your grandfather, the idea of returning to the valley never crossed your mind. like summer camp, it was something you thought you didn’t need anymore and preferred spending your school-less months with your friends in your hometown, working away at your first part-time job and getting your first ever drivers’ license. a seventeen year old city girl wouldn’t want to waste her summer at her grandfather’s old farm.

  “mrs. oh’s husband just left the valley for his deployment overseas. may god watch over that family.” it was one of the last times you saw grandpa, late on christmas eve when everyone else went to bed. your mom, her new husband and your little sister had bade their goodnight’s by 10pm and left the two of you sipping honey lemon tea by the fireplace. 

  your mom’s new husband made a lot of money. that was one of the first things you noticed about him and it was so different from the two bedroom inner city apartment you were raised in. it was certainly different from your grandpa’s farmhouse, where the television only got three channels and all of the windows never fully opened because they would fall apart entirely if you pulled too far. you and your grandpa mused these thoughts on their white leather couch, when the conversation slowly moved back to how the old farm was going.

  you tried to sound interested. “oh really?” the reality was you couldn’t remember if the oh family was the one that ran the general store or the one couple who seemed to be constantly fighting, on the verge of divorce.

  grandpa grunted in response. “mhm. thankfully, they have jungkook helping out around the store. ah, the wasted potential with that boy, but such a kind heart.”

  “jungkook..?”

  “oh, you remember him! the two of you would always bike by the beach,” he said. “i’ll never forget, you two would always come back and show me the seashells you collected that day. always made a competition out of everything.”

  he chuckled and you joined in, hiding the despondence for being unable to recall. grandpa didn’t seem to notice, though, continuing to discuss amber valley. cranberries and pumpkins were the strongest crops of the fall, mayor kim was re-elected for a third time and something about the town soon getting their first chain convenience store since amber valley’s founding. then, grandpa’s face lost his smile and a serious expression formed on his ageing features. he asked you about your job and how life was for you.

  by now, you’re 22 and working an entry-level position with nothing but a bachelor’s in your pocket and a hunger to climb the corporate ranks. like any fresh college graduate, there was no meaning to life if it weren’t for paying overpriced rent, mimosa sundays, dating apps, and maybe remembering to go to the gym every now and then. the life you lived was loud from city traffic and heavy from looming student debt. 

  “my job is..okay. i’m just starting out and i’m really just trying to do my best,” you replied.

  grandpa, still with a serious look, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “it gets stressful, doesn’t it?”

  you opened your mouth to respond again, but failed to find your voice this time. your stress was found in a growing caffeine addiction and getting too tired to give your parents a call on the weekends. adulthood was everything you expected and nothing you expected. you secured a job that you dedicated four years of studies to and just like that, was pushed into a world of hustle and bustle and nothing in between. once this realization settled, you tried to hide it by cracking a faint smile. grandpa saw through it, though - he always did. 

  “well, darling, if it ever does get too stressful..” you became confused when grandpa reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. he handed it to you and you turned it over, finding no writing other than your name in your grandfather’s decorative penmanship.

  you asked, “what is this, grandpa?”

  he finally smiled again, but shook his head. “a gift. it’s yours for when you find that you need a break from the challenges of life.”

  grandpa only gave gifts from the heart. only, this time, you wouldn’t know that he was giving you his entire heart and soul. you had taken this envelope and slid it in the drawer of your desk at home, where you tirelessly worked after hours, even after returning from the office. it was hidden away, but always poked your curiosity at the back of your mind. however, you restrained from opening it, even when it eventually became one of the last things you had from grandpa. 

  ii. the envelope

the only time you took the pristine envelope out of your desk was on the day of his funeral. 

  it was no surprise that grandpa wanted to be buried in amber valley, his home for over fifty years and his birthplace. it was once your heart’s home, too, once upon a time when you were a child skipping rocks by the town river and rode your horse through mustard-hued sunflower fields. for that, you were nervous to return and confront the realities of your coming of age in the face of a town that only lived in your memories, sickeningly reminding you of the years that have gone past.

  wedged between your mother and father who had only began speaking to one another as of three years ago, you stared blankly at the onyx coffin that, in about 20 seconds, was gone from your sight and lowered into the ground. it happened all too quick. you clenched your arm tighter, squeezing the envelope tucked underneath and protecting it from the rain. your very last summer in the valley was marked by constant rain and wind and once again, you greet the town amidst storms.

  the drive was quick, having gone directly to service after the three hour drive from the city. you couldn’t make much of the town through the gloom and suddenly, the valley was so much colder than you remember. like your being since your grandfather’s passing, it lost its colour. it was unwelcoming and felt like a punishment for your neglect over the years. amber valley was unforgiving as much as it was perfection. 

  you couldn’t make out much of the attendees through the gloom, either. many of them appeared absolutely devastated, sobbing and cold-faced at the goodbye of a beloved neighbour. your grandfather was always well-liked amongst the townspeople, helping out his friends with mundane tasks whenever he had free time away from the farm and shared his warm personality at community events. this was affirmed through the stories that were shared about him at the service, recognizable for his distinct good heart, but seemed so far away for you, having detached yourself from amber valley.

  “oh, an unfamiliar face! what’s your name, dear?” a man around your father’s age with salt and pepper hair was handing out hor d'oeuvres at the post-service gathering in the church basement. he seemed to be the most upbeat one in the room - though, it wasn’t saying much, considering the occasion.

  you told him your name, while looking around for either one of your parents. being in a room of strangers wasn’t your favourite activity, especially following a funeral. the last thing you wanted to do was socialize, feeling like you weren’t even in your own body all day. while you were saddened and to an extent, numb, you knew your grandfather’s passing was coming up. his illness was going to catch up to him and you spent months mentally preparing yourself for the day you would have to say goodbye. despite not being surprised, your grief was accompanied by the painful nostalgia of the town that raised you in the summertime.

  the man looked at you, appearing to search your face for something. “you’re the old man’s granddaughter? bunny?”

  the nickname almost made you flinch, having not heard it in so long that you were surprised you recognized it. you began searching the man’s face, too, also looking for some signs of familiarity. for so many years of your childhood, you were almost exclusively called this nickname by adults and friends alike.

  there wasn’t room for a response when the man pulled over another individual by his sleeve, merely attempting to walk by in peace. this one was a man closer to your age and you were too distracted by the glisten of his facial piercings to scan for recognition. the second thing you noticed the adornment of tattoos peeked from below his sleeve and trailed onto his hands. the third and final thing you noticed about him was how gentle his hands were. this was realized because the sight of this man made you drop whatever was in your own hands in surprise.

  the only thing you were holding was your grandfather’s envelope, no longer pristine and stained with a few raindrops. you noticed that you had been clutching onto this keepsake the entire service. you bent down to reach for it, when he also attempted to make the save for you. your hands brushed and you looked up at his eyes, suddenly taken away by confusion.

  “jungkook, you remember bunny?” 

  you forgot the older man was in your presence, as he was the one who pulled jungkook over in the first place. jungkook. this was the little boy you spent hours running around with all those years ago. although you seemed to forget when your grandfather had last brought him up, those moments began to rain down on you upon taking sight of him for the first time in years. you had barely looked, but it hit you.

  jungkook handed the envelope over to you and you cleared your throat, standing up properly and trying not to wobble on your favourite high heels. he also stood up and seemed to mirror your confusion, not understanding who was the person in front of him. you muttered a thank you and fixed an imaginary snag on your cardigan.

  “i just go by my first name now,” you said through a tight smile to both men, still feeling like your gut was punched in after hearing the nickname that your grandpa coined,

  “oh, of course. you’re all grown up now!” the man exclaimed. “do you remember me? mr. kim?”

  the truth was that you didn’t remember him by face, but instead remembered that your father mentioned a man of this name being the mayor. if he was the same person, mr. kim’s father was the previous town mayor, as well, and was your grandfather’s best friend before his own untimely passing. given his larger than life presence, it was same to assume that the man in front of you was the tiny valley’s politician.

  “mayor kim, of course.” you hoped you sounded convincing.

  jungkook was still standing to the side, the same confused look etched on his face. “you’re the girl that tricked me into eating mud that one time?” he blurted, as if an imaginary lightblub flashed above his head

  that took you by surprise and you almost snorted. “i didn’t trick you, you just went for it.” the quick snap back also took you by surprise, having left behind a bit of your normal self in the city before coming down to the valley for the funeral, as well as your instant recollection.

  somehow, this memory was clear as day and you could remember jungkook as a seven year old with a horrible bowl cut and missing teeth. you wore light-up sneakers and candy bracelets that day, sitting on the porch of your grandfather’s farmhouse with him and were exchanging dares to see who would give up first. maybe that was why your grandpa said you two were - 

  “ - always competitive,” jungkook said.

  although the two of you surely shared countless more memories, it was this one that stood against the test of time and it showed when it immediately hit you with a laugh. it took jungkook a second, too, but he eventually gave in and joined with his own. you hadn’t realized it until his swollen eyes became crescents in his giggles, but he seemed to be having his own trouble of a day.

  “there it is, jungkook! nice to see you finally cheer up a bit,” mayor kim encouraged and jungkook’s chuckle immediately fell back to a straight face, almost intentionally. you suspected that this was not the first time today that mayor kim was on his case.

  before mayor kim could add on, his attention gravitated towards something at the other end of the room. he sighed and set down the hor d'oeuvres, checking the time on his wrist dressed with gold. 

  “oh, i’m being called over,” he sighed and turned back to you. “it was a pleasure seeing you again, i hope to see you around town before you have to go back to the city.”

  swiftly, mayor kim weaved his way through the crowd and just like that, it was just you and jungkook.

  you took this opportunity to give jungkook an actual once over, comparing it to the faint image you had of this man from when you were children. undeniably, he was handsome, but you were more concerned with the fact that this was still the little boy you spent your summers with. he grew into his face and you didn’t realize that you accidentally said this out loud.

  jungkook looked as much taken aback as he was amused. “oh, you got jokes, huh? that’s what you learned growing up in the city?” he teased.

  “i didn’t mean it like that - “ you started, but he waved you off with a laugh.

  the conversation was a bit overwhelming, considering you were still stuck in a church basement following your grandfather’s funeral service and could not locate your parents anywhere. jungkook recognized this in your face and eased into a sympathetic smile. somehow, you felt okay enough around him to drop your tense shoulders for the first time that day.

  “i’m sorry, i should be giving my condolences. your grandpa was a loved man by everyone here.”

  looking around the room, it was clear. everyone had shared fond stories and were making toasts in his honour. you felt out of place, but more so because you felt like you should have been joining in with the attendees. instead of being a kind of extended family that once saw you grow up, these people were strangers. you weren’t sure if anyone recognized you, having tried to lay low and not draw any attention to yourself. the only times you seemed to have caught anyone’s eye was when you were sat beside your parents at the burial, but no one dared approach you then.

  “you were like a son to him, too,” you offered. it was true, given the amount of time you spent with jungkook as a child, maybe even going so far to call him your best friend at one point. 

  he let out a long breath, eyes moving to the enlarged portrait of your grandfather propped up on the wall. “that’s nice of you to say. i miss him already. i’m sure you feel the same.”

  you learned quickly that, in light of your disappearance from your grandfather’s farm over the years, jungkook was the one who began helping out and taking over what were your old chores. your grandfather was physically able, but he kept the young boy around for company and made feeding the chickens an excuse to have his presence. hearing this made your heart drop, feeling an unknown sense of regret that you didn’t know existed when it came to the farm.

  “it’s not like that!” jungkook cut in, seeing the tears well up in your eyes. “he would always talk about the two of you going on adventures in the city and how he loved spending time with you whenever he came up to visit. he knew that’s where your heart was.”

  you sniffled a bit, having already promised yourself to limit your breakdowns to two that day, and took a second to reel it in. “sorry…i don’t mean to - “ you sighed. 

  “it’s okay. it’s weird being back here, huh?” 

  it was weird. it was so damn weird that the air of amber valley stuck with you for the months following, like bubblegum in your hair and a melody on loop in your head. you couldn’t shake it. not when you were working an extra 20 hours overtime in a week, not when you became stuck in traffic everyday, and especially not when your boyfriend of three years dumped you because you “changed” so much since the start of the year.

  and, it was true. you changed a lot since your conversation with your grandfather on christmas eve, with his words echoing about the stressors of life everyday. it opened your eyes to how much you were really struggling and it wasn’t simply you who had changed, but your outlook on life. ever since you were twelve years old, everything shifted to the fastlane and years breezed by you in the blink of an eye. everything moved so fast and you never got a chance to catch your breath. one moment, you were 15, sneaking a sip of your first ever drink, and the next, you were 24 and drinking straight out of the wine bottle on a tuesday evening. you wondered how you suddenly found yourself jaded at a 9-5 black hole of a job that sucked out your energy and passions. 

  these days made you think about what truly deserved your energy and what truly were your passions. did you like your everyday routine of gluing on false lashes and slipping on pantyhose? were you happy, alone in your apartment with not even a cat to talk to? your parents had their own worlds and new lives to deal with and long stopped asking why you never call. your friends were co-workers, having no time to meet anyone new. you didn’t even have time for hobbies, given how tired you were every time you finished work and the amount of overtime you did.

  one thursday night, you arrived home from work at 10:13pm and decided you had enough. it was constraining, nearly strangling you with exhaustion everyday. you spent the entire day wondering was “it” was and when you kicked off your loafers by your doorstep, it hit you. this was what your grandfather was talking about.

  almost walking with fear of what was to come, you creeped over to your desk. after your grandpa’s funeral, his envelope no longer lived underneath manila folders in your drawer, but found a place on the surface. you kept it there, as it mocked you every time you opened up your work laptop after hours. you didn’t realize why you left it in plain sight, until this moment when you came to terms with the fact that you were reminding yourself of him.

  “if you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of change. the same thing happened to me, long ago. i’d lost sight of what mattered most in life. . . real connections with other people and nature. so i dropped everything and moved to the place where i truly belong.”

  it took you precisely two weeks to pack up your things after opening the envelope. nobody could convince you not to. your mother complained that you were wasting your degree and your father had concerns about the massive role you were about to take on all by yourself. it didn’t matter.

  two weeks later, you met amber valley and its sunlight for the first time in years, pretending that the storm ceased and the sun shone to welcome you back. 

  iii. the granddaughter

the sun faded quickly when you realized the bus dropped you off on a plain dirt road in the middle of nowhere. the movers took the rest of your belongings separately, so you were left with nothing but a duffel bag and a cell phone that couldn’t find any signal.

  “oops,” was all you could say. you didn’t think it was a crazy idea, that there would be service at the very least.

  it took you a few moments to let the situation settle in and for you to realize that you were abandoned in a place that was unfamiliar to you. was it unfamiliar? you looked around, seeing nothing but fields on fields and accepted that there was no way you could even try to remember where you were, even with the help of the maps app. you knew you made it to town, but you were certainly left at the farthest point of the borders. 

  and then, you heard it.

  it was over at least ten years since you last rode, but your ears perked up at the sound of a horse’s gallop naturally. you had to squint, but it was unmistakable.

  they were going in the other direction and they were going fast, so you had to think fast. you tried yelling and waving your arms, but quickly saw that it was useless. so, you dropped your bg and brought your hands to your mouth, releasing the loudest whistle that your vocal chords could handle.  

  the horse and its rider kept going and for a few seconds, you thought you lost hope. but, then, as you were about to pick up your bag in shame, you watched them take a wide turn back around. they were headed to you.

  you waved your arms back and forth again, affirming that you needed their attention. as they came closer, you could make out a figure of a man with chestnut brown hair peeking out underneath his cowboy hat. he wore medium wash, stained jeans and a plain white t-shirt. 

  “that was the loudest whistle i’ve ever heard,” he hollered, drawing closer to you.

  you shook your head bashfully. “didn’t even know i remembered how to do that.”

  “pretty sure the whole town heard. my name is namjoon, are you visiting someone here?”

  likely a few years older than you, you tried to recall someone named namjoon from your memories. his appearance didn’t ring a bell, so you were searching your brain for his name or if you heard it from somewhere.

  you told him your name and then squinted at him, pausing for several moments before speaking again. “are you. . .joonie?”  

his eyebrows shot up immediately, looking at you like he couldn’t understand what language you were speaking. “pardon me?”

  joonie. he was mayor kim’s eldest son, who was sent to a fancy arts camp every summer when you were younger. you only met him a few times throughout the years, as he often arrived back the same week you were due to leave your grandpa to go back to your parents, but one feature stuck in your mind always. his dimples. you thought you recognized namjoon’s polite smile and piecing it together with his name seemed to be the key. 

  “i’m pretty sure you’re mayor kim’s kid. i’m bad with faces, but you’re joonie, aren’t you?” the confidence in your voice was fuelled by the fact that no one really left amber valley. it was the kind of place where families would raise their children with the kids they grew up with themselves. 

  namjoon seemed to still be calculating your appearance in his head when you heard the faint noise of galloping once again. the two of you looked over to see another person on a horse who was looking around the field, likely looking for namjoon. the man in question brought his hand to his mouth and released a whistle similar to yours - though, you did gloat silently because yours was, in fact, louder.

  still, it was enough to get the person’s attention and they finally made eye contact with the two of you. they began approaching and you could make out that it was a man’s figure. still, even with how small of a town amber valley was, you were surprised to see who it was.

  “jungkook!”

  “namjoon, i just spent fucking 15 minutes looking for you - “

  you tried to keep your expression neutral when you saw that it was actually jungkook on the horse. he wore an all-black outfit of cargo pants and a wife beater tank that exposed his tattooed arms. it made it hard to keep your expression the same.

“oh, hey. did you come to collect something from your grandpa’s property?” jungkook suddenly ignored his previous frustration at namjoon, cleared his throat and dropped his voice by an octave, in addition to cutting his voice’s volume by a cool half. he swiftly hopped off his horse, too cleanly to be casual.

  namjoon’s confusion only doubled, darting eyes between the two of you. “sorry, have you guys met?” he didn’t miss the way that jungkook straightened his shoulders without even trying to be subtle.

  you missed it, though, having cut away your stare to double check if your phone managed to get any signal. none. sighing, you shook your head at jungkook, as he began explaining to namjoon.

  “ - we called her bunny. remember bunny?” he nudged towards you.

  namjoon looked back at you again and concern formed. “you’re the granddaughter. oh, you were at the funeral - i’m sorry about your loss. your grandpa was such a great person.”

  you put on the same tight smile every time someone mentioned him. the worst of the grief came back on some days, but you learned how to manage it day by day as time went on. jungkook watched you do so and cleared his throat.

  “the old bus stop is the worst,” he interrupted, gesturing towards the tiny sign that indicated that it was in service. “people get lost all the time when they arrive. well, we don’t really have a lot of people visiting by bus - “

  you couldn’t help but cut in. “i’m not visiting.”

  the two men gave you and your single chanel duffel bag a blank stare and wondered if the idea was so hard to believe. it was for your parents, who both thought you caught them on some sort of prank show when you told them about grandpa’s envelope. you were wearing platform mary janes and a leather skirt in the dead of the june sun, so maybe they had a reason to be confused.

  there was a moment of silence, so you decided to speak again. “yeah, i’m not visiting. um, i’ve decided to take over my grandfather’s farm. i’m moving to amber valley permanently.”

[call-sign-shark]

After the Storm, the Sun || Tommy Shelby x Reader

➢ Prompt "Don't you Dare" requested by @runnning-outof-time

Words: 1K (no proofreading)

If there was one thing you had never seen since your wedding with the infamous Thomas Shelby it was his smile. As both his wife and new secretary, you knew every feature of his face and how they contorted at his emotions’ discretion. Slightly, almost imperceptible. But day after day you ultimately learned how to read through the lines and catch those glimpses of faint emotions. For instance, you could tell he was mad by the way his sky blue eyes became blank and his brows slightly furrowed. That was when you knew someone had cross the line.  

When it came to sadness, the change in his traits was even more subtile but nonetheless heartbreaking for observant eyes. He would avoid looking at you, rather focusing his attention on paperwork or something else as if a sole glance at your iris could break the fortress he had spent years building around his heart.  All of these held no secret anymore for you — But regarding joy, you could not tell. 

You started to wonder if Thomas was even able to feel happiness, or if the war, responsibilities and Grace’s death had definitely faded colors away  from his life and turned it into a dull black and white movie whose ending would be definitely woeful.

Sometimes you would caught sight of a light, almost imperceptible smirk at the sharp edge of his lips — especially when Arthur would stumble on his own feet. It also happened that one  time John almost choked with his toothpick after laughing too much at Finn’s clumsiness. But these short moments of innocence usually disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as if they had never really existed. Thomas’ genuine smile was a mirage and you, the thirsty and exhausted wanderer lost in the desert of his heart. At first his lack of positive emotions was mere detail, an interrogation born out of curiosity. Yet, the idea of making him smile soon became a bit too obsessive to admit. That was how you came to the decision to do everything in your power to snatch a sincere smirk off your morose husband — a silly mission John, Arthur and his young wife Heaven agreed to join in.

He did not smile when John stole clothes from Polly and made his best imitation of their Aunt, even though it was hilarious when he fell on the floor because he did not know how to walk with heels.

He did not smile when Arthur, wasted with whiskey, cut half of his mustache when he was shaving. The unfortunate event led him to shave it off and wait for it to grow back. Half of Small Heath could not recognized him for days. Let’s not be afraid to state that he cried a little.

Nor did he smile when Heaven’s gargantuan watchdog, Kaiser, jumped on her small frame, happy to see her, and shoved her right in a puddle of mud, ruining both her white hair and her expensive new coat. The expression on her face had been priceless.  As well as Arthur’s silly way to run to her.

You laughed each time, almost straining your ribs, but your husband did not even smirk. 

As days passed your hopes crumbled bit by bit, until you gave up on the idea. A sigh escaped your lips as you watered the roses of the mansion’s garden, for when Tommy’s darkness started to infect your mood the only place you would find peace was that place in which hundreds of wonderful flowers blossomed. Lost in an ocean of colorful petals, you did not notice the threatening black clouds that were coming your way, with an urging desire to rain down on you. When the first lightning bolt striated the sky, its roaring thunder making you jump like a scared cat, it was already too late.

You ran to the mansion, shutting the door close behind you. It was at that same moment, when you were looking down at your soaked up body with a look of pure despair on your beautiful face, that Thomas came out of the living room. His piercing blue eyes, whose quiet oceans had been darkened with memories of war, fell upon your frame. And then it happened. A little sparkle lit up in his irises at the sight of you, his wife, caught in the rain. Your entangled wet hair, your new dress sticking to your skin, your runny make up… 

“The fuck are you looking at Thomas Shelby?!!” 

Tommy took off his little glasses and, all of sudden, burst into laughter. The melody of joy, long forgotten, washed away the dust of his tired soul and boomed in the hallway.  Laughing was so unusual for him that the corner of his mouth felt numb after a few seconds, but Tommy got the giggles and could not stop. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him it was not fun, but the beautiful symphony of his laugh awoke the flame of your love. It was the very same laugh he had before the war. Before Kimber. Before Campbell and all the other bastards… Scared of moving by fear of disrupting such a rare vision, you remained still. It was Tommy who broke down the distance between you and wrapped your hips with his strong arms, not minding to ruin his own expensive suit.

“I love your laugh. I wish I’d hear it more often.” You said with a little smile, your fingers gently caressing one of his hollow cheeks. He has been so stressed out he had barely eaten in a week.

“Well, you should get caught in the rain more.” He replied, raising an eyebrow, “You look like a wet cat.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language, Mrs. Shelby.” He leaned forward to kiss you but you denied him. Surprised, Tommy frowned and looked at you in hope of getting a reason behind your refusal, "Come on, kiss me."

“No.” You taunted him, freeing yourself from his embrace and taking a few steps back toward the closed door of the mansion.

"Don't you dare, Y/N." He warned you, for the cunning gleam in your eyes foreshadowed what you were about to do.

"Catch me, Tom!" You suddenly said, before rushing outside and running under the batting but warm summer rain. In truth, you were convinced he would not follow you.

How wrong you were.

“You bet I will.” He muttered to himself, putting his glasses on the nearest furniture before joining you in the chase.

The rain was pouring in Arrow House, but for the first time in years, sun shone bright in Thomas’ heart.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivated me, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Arthur's wife is Reader in the ongoing series Heaven in Your Eyes.

[requiemforthepoets]

i’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar are two peas in a pod, but as you both grow up and began carving your own paths, everything just changed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this one’s a bit new, i tried writing in third pov. so i hope this little experiment will be okay. hope you’ll enjoy this one :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: angst, mention of death and sad ending (if you squint enough)

Once, their lives had been intertwined like the roots of an old tree, growing together. From the time they were children, she and Oscar had been inseparable, they’d always share everything—school days that are filled with laughter, birthday parties that are often celebrated together and marked by chaotic games, playing by the streets under the bright sun during the summer and countless sleepovers in a tent by the backyard, where they would both whisper secrets under the starlit skies. Those were the golden years, spent building forts out of blankets and dreaming of grand adventures. They are each other’s constant—constant presence amidst the ebb and flow of growing up.

It was one autumn afternoon, as they are both sat beneath the sprawling oak tree in Oscar’s backyard, he looked at her with wide eyes that are filled with excitement.

“I’m going to be a race car driver,” he said, as his voice are laced with a mix of determination and excitement. She grinned, heart swelling with pride, “I’m going to be an artist!” She exclaimed, voice full of hopeful ambition.

They promised—pinky promised, a promise that holds the highest regard of promises, that no matter where their dreams take them, they would always find a way back to each other, in this spot beneath the oak tree, and right in this moment.

But as the years passed by, their lives began to diverge. Oscar’s path took him into the fast paced world of racing, while she decided to move and pursue her studies in another country. She immersed herself in the world of art, and the moment she graduated, she began to work tirelessly in her own studio. Their lives, once so closely knit, started to drift apart. Phone calls became less frequent, messages less personal. Soon, they found themselves swallowed by their own ambitions, those promises that were made under the oak tree are slowly becoming a distant memories.

Today, she was back in town for a brief visit, her heart unexpectedly drawn to the familiar Brighton streets—a familiar yet distant street and an unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, things could feel like they once did. The street was much quieter now than the last time she remembered, lined with the same old trees and houses, but the sense of nostalgia was evident. She could still hear the echoes of the shared laughter and see the faint traces of their carefree childhood days, making her smile to herself.

Mrs. Lee, a kind old lady that had been their neighbor for almost forever, was still around. She had managed to stop by for a chat, and she was happy that Mrs. Lee could still remember her despite being gone for too long. Mrs. Lee had told her that Oscar was in town, having just finished a successful race season and dropped by earlier at Mrs. Lee’s house to say hello.

The idea of running into him was both exciting and nerve-wracking for her, she didn’t know if she’s ready to face the man who was once her closest friend, that is now a celebrated figure. Despite of losing contact with each other, she never failed to support Oscar. When she got the time, she would tune in and watch Oscar’s race.

As she walked past the old houses, she saw Nicole, talking to someone outside a small café, the kind where she and Oscar used to grab ice cream after school. Her heart skipped a beat, hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should approach her or just quietly walk away. The fear of Nicole no longer know or recognize her lingers, since it has been years since she left Australia.

But as if sensing her presence, Nicole turned her head and saw her. Nicole’s eyes widened in surprise, and a genuine, warm smile spread across her face. She quickly said her goodbyes to the one she’s talking and immediately rushed to her from across the street, where she were stood.

“Oh my goodness, y/n? Is that really you?” Her voice was filled with a mix of disbelief anf happiness. She nodded, trying to steady her nerves. “Hi, Nicole. Yes, it’s me, little ol’ y/n. It’s been a long time.”

Nicole pulled you into a tight hug, her embrace as familiar as ever. “It really has, darling. You look great! What brings you back here?” She broke the hug and looked at her softly.

“Oh, you know, I’m just visiting the house and the folks,” she said, her voice slightly cracking. “And thought I’d walk around and see how things have changed.” Without replying, Nicole hugged her again.

“Have you and Oscar already seen each other? I’m sure he would be thrilled to see you! He’s just inside the café grabbing a few drinks.” She smiled in excitement. “Not yet, I just got here and dropped by at Mrs. Lee for a chat.”

“Come on then!” Nicole gently guided you towards the café, and as she got closer to the establishment, she can see the familiar figure of Oscar.

The nerve had began settling in, she doesn’t know how Oscar would react to seeing her again after so many years. They had lost contact and she’s not sure if Oscar even remembers her.

“Look who I bumped into!” She said excitedly as she approached Oscar, with her trailing right after Nicole. Oscar’s eyes went wide, causing her to smile and shyly wave at him.

“y/n?” He quickly brushed off his shocked reaction and had been quickly replaced by a smile. “Hey, Oscar. Been a long time, huh.”

Oscar rushed towards you, engulfing you in hug. A hug that felt like home. “Way too long.” He responded while still hugging you. “I didn’t expect that you’ll be back in Australia.”

She chuckled, “well, here I am. In the flesh.”

“y/n, why don’t you come over for dinner?” Oscar just looked at you, hopefully. “Yeah, sure. I would love to.” Nicole cheered excitedly.

The dinner at the Piastris went very well, it is nice to see them again, and she was surprised how Oscar’s sisters had grown so much—to which they were happy to see her again, and Chris was glad as well that she’s back in Australia. Right after dinner, Oscar had invited you by the backyard. She had followed him and realized that they were heading to the oak tree where they used to sit and talk about everything.

“I can’t believe that this tree’s still here. Wow.” She said in amazement. “Yeah. I never really wanted this tree to be removed, honestly. It holds a lot of memories.” He chuckled.

They both sat down under the oak tree and looked up at the star, just like what they did back when they were still kids. There was a comfortable silence between them, until she decided to break the silence.

“You’ve really made a name for yourself,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, y/n. That means a lot,” Oscar replied, “and you? How’s everything going on with you?” He turned to look at you.

“Busy, but good.” She answered. “I’ve been working on some big projects. It’s fulfilling and keeps me busy, you know. But I sometimes miss how life had been easy for us back in the old days.” Oscar nodded, understanding.

“I’m really sorry for what happened to your parents.” She smiled at him. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“But still, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me the most.” She sighed. “It’s okay, Oscar. Really. As they say, life has many ways of testing a person, and this might be mine…” she trailed off.

“How do you feel now?” He asked. “I’m okay. I mean it still hurts, but learned to kept myself busy, you know—emotions can’t can’t hit a moving target…” she trailed off.

“So what are your plans now?” She pondered for a bit. “I don’t know. I don’t really think much about future plans, if I’m being honest. Wherever the wind will take me, I guess? I’m happy where life took me these past couple of years, and I intend to keep it that way.” Her response caused Oscar to chuckle.

“So, you’re more like carpe diem?” He replied, “eh, pretty much!” They both laughed at her response.

They continued talking, reminiscing about the everything. It fascinated her the life that Oscar managed to achieve, and she couldn’t even be more prouder for him. Yet, as they spoke, she felt a tug of longing for what could have been and the feelings that she had harbored toward Oscar for the longest of time. She had always imagined a future where their paths might cross in different way, but now it seemed clear that their time had passed.

“It has been a fun night, Oscar. I really did miss this.” She turned towards him and smiled softly. “It has been, really.”

“As much as I want to stay up late and catch up, I still haven’t recovered from my flight.” She chuckled. “Well, it’s best you go and rest.” He smiled.

They both head back inside the house and bid her goodbyes to Nicole, Chris, and her sisters.

“Thank you so much, Nicole and Chris for a lovely evening.” The couple smiled at her. “You’re very welcome, y/n. If you need anything, just come or call us.” Nicole said.

“You’re welcome here anytime, kiddo. You’re basically a family to us.” Chris patted her shoulder. “I will. Thank you so much again.” They hugged her briefly.

Oscar walked you to the gates, before she leaves, she turned to him. “Thank you, Oscar. It was really nice seeing you again.” He smiled. “It was really nice seeing you again too. It was due time we see each other again.”

He hugged her again once more, but a bit tighter this time. “Promise me you won’t be a stranger,” he said, his voice carrying a bit of the old familiarity.

“I promise,” she replied, though she knew that the distance between them would always remain. “Take care of yourself, Oscar.” With one last pat at his shoulder, she walked away.

There was a lot of things that had been unsaid tonight. But despite the heaviness she felt in her chest, there are things that are better off unsaid. Seeing Oscar so happy and successful was bittersweet. Her feeling for him, once so strong, but in the end, only three things had mattered—how much you loved him, how you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things are not meant for you.

[bakvrue]

luminance

genya x reader, 1.4k, genya is taller than you, fluff, fem reader, maybe unsafe swimming practices, divider by saradika

“How did you hear about this again?”

Genya’s hand is in yours as you lead him along a dark path. The trees and bushes towering over you are bathed in nothing but the light of the stars as their leaves dance in the wind.

“The little old ladies in town told me about it. They said that it’s a town tradition to go, so we have to!”

You hold his hand a little tighter, asking him to trust you. 

You’re only here for a small mission but you quickly came to love this small town and all of its people; the grandmas who pile food on your plate, the kids who run up to you to hold your hand, and the streets that make you feel like you're walking home. 

You smile remembering the faces of the women who told you about the town’s unique lore, their whispers and giggles had followed you all week as they watched you and Genya patrol the town together. They saw you hang off his every word, how your heart flutters every time he looks at you for too long, and how his face turns red every time you catch him. 

He looks at you as if you molded the sun in your two hands and you look at him as if he hand-carved every crater on the moon. How could they not notice?

But what you neglect to tell Genya is what the town’s folklore actually says. 

The dirt path slowly gives way to sand as you continue to walk and the stars guide you until you hear the faint sound of waves crashing. 

The path straightens out in front of you and your breath hitches in your throat.

The sea meets the horizon in an explosion of stars, interstellar colors dance across the water that crashes along the rocky beach, and with each break of waves a bright blue sparkle dances along the sand. The blue sparkle glows so brightly, you’ve never seen anything like it.

“Wow,” you sigh with wonder. Your body feels lighter than it has in years, the beauty catches you off guard and you can hardly take your eyes off of the crashing waves.

Genya squeezes your hand tightly and your gaze turns to him. He opens his mouth but he doesn't have the words he wants to say yet. There's a familiar feeling in his chest, like an old memory waking up from a thousand years of slumber.

“Come on, let's get closer!”

You let go of his hand and run towards the beach, your arms held out to your sides like a little kid running toward the ocean for the first time. 

And his memory comes flooding back. 

His mother sits along the banks of the river that runs near his childhood home. The sun casts shadows through leaves onto her hair as she mends the holes in his younger brother's clothing. Most of his siblings are all playing in the shallow water, their giggles and shouts bouncing off of the river's surface, but Koto, his youngest brother, sleeps gently in Genya’s lap.

“Genya,” his mother calls, remembering the sound of her voice for the first time in a long time. He takes a deep breath in and watches you reach the glowing water's edge. “Genya, my wish for you is to find someone who shows you what it’s like to have wonder. You and your brother take care of our family so well, you both grew up so fast. You’ll meet someone—”

The tiny version of himself cuts her off, “Like a wife?” Baby Genya’s eyes pop open, his face growing more and more red, and his mother chuckles to herself 

“Something like that,” she smiles at him and Genya looks down at his sleeping brother in his lap. “I can take Koto,” she motions to him. puts down her sewing as the Shinazugawa sisters come running up, begging to play with him.

“Come on Genya!” “The water is so cold!” “You have to play with us!”

Another nod from his mother and he gives in. Sumi pulls at his hand while Teiko runs ahead of them, her arms spread out to her sides before she jumps in the water.

The sun from that day fades and he sees you smile at him.

You extend a hand to him, inviting him to join you.

He’s heard the tales of this beach, and even the old wives tale the women have probably told you. He takes a deep breath and exhales. 

Wonder, huh?

He kicks off his shoes and gives you a dastardly smile, one that you're soon to regret.

“Genya, what are you—” 

He runs at you, catching you off guard. This mountain of a man gets to you in mere seconds and throws you onto his shoulder. You scream and laugh as he continues running into the water, each glowing step getting slower and slower as the water rises. Every splash he makes in the water glows brighter blue.

“The water’s freezing!” you squeal as the bioluminescent waves splash against your heels.

He takes one final step, “Better hold your breath!” He laughs before dunking you both underwater.

You surface quickly and realize the water is only waist deep, you keep your shoulders under the water. The night air touching your wet clothes is colder than the water now.

Genya surfaces and flips his hair back, the sea sparkle illuminating his face with a beautiful blue glow. He takes your hand in the water and pulls you to him and in turn you wrap your arms around his neck, not letting your nerves have any say in this moment. You’ve never been this bold with each other, hugging quickly or poking at him or sleeping on his shoulder is the closest you've been. But now you're face to face.

You playfully slap at his chest for dunking you, stirring up the water and with it and even more blue blossoms around you. You don't have the heart to chastise him, even as pretend, so you just laugh. And he joins in, his head falling back in true laughter.

Watching him laugh, the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners and how each laugh comes with rippling blue waves… you don't think you've ever felt this happy in your whole life. 

His laughter slows and he sighs your name, bliss leaking out of his every pore. His hand rises out of the water and he cups your neck. 

Any last nerves you had melt away just looking at his face. This is the man that you… You stop yourself. Maybe you shouldn't say it yet, even in your own head. But the man that you like very much, and the two of you are floating in the ocean together, not a care in the world. 

Your breathing starts to match his as the two of you fall into sync. Your eyes map out every feature of his face, committing it to memory as his eyes fall to your lips.

Genya’s face starts turning red, the glowing algae gives him away, but you're sure that it's doing the same for you. Letting him see every imperfection you have, every scar and doubt and negative thing about you. And he's here anyway. His heart is so close to yours that you can practically feel it beating in time with yours.

His lips are soft against yours as you breathe him in. A culmination of everything you've ever felt for him being poured out under this night sky. Your arms tighten around him, holding onto him with everything you have. Your ache to be closer, your desire to have him all to yourself, to give him every piece of yourself and watch him cradle it, and then to do the same for him. He’s desperate to keep you close, arms sliding around your waist and holding you so tightly. 

His lips pull against yours as the waves continue to crash, the illuminated ocean guiding your way back to his lips over and over again, your body finding its new path home. 

Your first kiss with him will always taste like the salt of the sea.

It is said that lovers who bathe in the blue sea sparkle together will have their love story written in the stars, for two lovers who take the plunge together are bound to become soulmates and live out the rest of their days together, in this life and the next.

[pickingupmymercedes]

An impossible dream - Lewis Hamilton

request: "hey!you are so good in writing angst and I feel there's a lack of angst with lh and sometimes i just want a heavy heart 🫣 but i was listening to beyonce and her song best thing i never had made me wish to read something like that with lewis"

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angsty, Lewis being kind of a jerk (but not really)

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Sorry it took this long anon, but I hope it gives you all the feels, because it did for me.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The opulence of the Monaco in a Grand Prix weekend shimmered around as the warm glow of the setting sun bathed the city in its usual golden hue. Y/n and her husband cruised through the narrow, winding streets in his collection worthy of a car. The engine purred smoothly, a low, contrasting hum to the noise of her own mind as they made their way to a party very few could ever get close to.

Her husband reached over and took her hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You've been quiet" he said, glancing at her with concern. "Are you okay?"

She turned to him, managing a small smile. "Just nervous to be back in Monaco," she replied, barely above a whisper before she continued "I have a lot of past history in these streets" she admitted, her voice carrying a mixture of nostalgia and pain.

He nodded, understanding deepening in his eyes. "Is it because of your ex?" She hesitated for a moment before nodding and he squeezed her hand, a silent show of affection.

"I've seen how it affects you, still" he replied softly. "I'm happy to wait until you're comfortable to talk about it."

"Thank you for never pushing" she said, her gratitude genuine.

He smiled, bringing her hand to his lips for a tender kiss. "You’re really the best thing that’s ever happened to me" he said, his voice filled with love.

She saw him before he saw her, the man whose name once caused her heart to race faster than his car on the track and she instinctively tightened her grip on her husband's arm.

He noticed the man beside her, and then his gaze dropped to her left hand, where the large diamond ring sparkled under the golden lights. His expression turned unreadable, a myriad of emotions: shock, recognition, questioning, and even a composed understanding.

As the night wore on, and her husband was eventually pulled into conversations with some business magnates, she was left momentarily alone, drifting towards the balcony, seeking solace in the night breeze and the endless horizon of the sea. The memories of past sunrises in this very place, leaving a bittersweet and relentless feeling.

"Y/n." His voice was a soft murmur behind her, as gentle as the evening wind. She closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself before turning to face him.

"Lewis," she acknowledged, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

"Do you even remember those sunrises?" He took a step closer, the faint scent of his cologne bringing back a rush of memories.

She looked away, back towards the dark waters. "Please, don't." she whispered; her voice almost lost in the breeze.

"What's happened, Y/n? Why did you disappear?" His tone was soft, but insistent.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside her. "Some people need to grow up and stop chasing impossible dreams" she said, her voice more composed than she felt.

"Is that what you think we were? An impossible dream?" His eyes boring into hers, searching for the truth.

She met his gaze, her eyes betraying the pain she had buried. "I couldn't keep pretending, Lewis. Being a satellite to you, yet always on the outside... It was killing me. I needed stability, something real."

"Is that what you have now?" He nodded towards the crowd inside. "With him?"

"He makes me feel safe" she replied, her voice firm.

He looked at her, his expression a mix of sadness and frustration. "Are you happy, Y/n? Truly happy?"

Her heart ached at his words, but she forced herself to keep her composure "Happiness wasn’t a luxury I could quite afford. Not anymore."

He shook his head, stepping closer until there was little to no space between them, his perfume making her dizzy. "You deserve more than just safety. You deserve to be loved, completely and unconditionally."

"And you think you could have given me that?" A tear threatening to slip down her cheek, the tinge of anger to her voice just as she quickly looked up and closed her eyes.

"I know I could have" he said softly, his voice filled with conviction. "I loved you, Y/n. I still do."

She looked back at him, the weight of his gaze and words pressing down on her made her laugh. "Gosh, I wanted you so bad... But, it's too late now, Lewis."

"Don't you ever wonder what could have been?" He asked, his voice teasingly sweet.

"I used to. I’m through with that, though." she admitted, her voice trembling. "He is my life now."

He reached out, taking her hands in his just as she turned to look at him again. "You don't have to settle for safety, Y/n. Not when you could have so much more. It's never too late, you know?!"

"I'm pregnant." She blurred out; her voice steady but not above a whisper.

Lewis froze, his eyes dropping to her belly. He blinked, processing her words. 

"It's still early days." Her hand instinctively going to her still-flat stomach as she felt the need to explain herself, even after all this time.

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. "I just... Make sure your happy, okay?! This kid needs you at your best."

"I know" she whispered, her voice breaking slightly as he turned from her and she understood the cue.

As she rejoined her husband, she felt as if a piece of her heart had been left behind in the shadows of that balcony.

Her husband’s eyes lit up. Relief and affection evident in his expression as his arms encircled her. He kissed her head tenderly from the side, his lips brushing her hair. "Are you both alright?" he asked softly.

She nodded, forcing a smile as she looked up at him. "Yeah, someone's perfume made me nauseous, just needed a little breather."

Her husband smiled warmly, and she leaned into his embrace, seeking comfort in the familiarity and security he offered.

As they stood together, surrounded by the opulence of the setting, she couldn't help but glance back at the balcony, where Lewis remained, a solitary figure against the backdrop of their shared memories, his eyes still locked on her as they would always be, as long as they kept bumping into each other.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf @priopp123

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[peachdues]

I took several angsty showers this week which resulted in more writing for The Divining Rod. Have fun deciphering this. @amywritesthings this is for u, I will be in your DMs later.

TW: memory loss • self-harm • very vague references to past torture that will NOT remain vague when the story is actually published

READ THE PROLOGUE

“The snake pressed me into the wall. Quiet. We had to be quiet, or else we would be found.”

Deep inside his chest, Obanai’s heart skitters to a halt.

“He asked me to show him. Let me see, my sweet,” you warble, a near perfect imitation of the maze demon’s hiss. “Show me your Hashira and I will let you see the sun.” Your lip curls into a faint smirk. “It was a trap. I may have been in the dark, but I was not blind.”

There is a faint ringing in his ears; a dull whine that steadily grows louder, as all his strength seeps from his limbs, curling his shoulders forward.

“But I slipped; I said a name.” You whisper in horror. “The snake told me not to open my eyes, but I said a name. And the demon heard me.”

It takes everything in him not to rip his bandages from his face and vomit all over the floor. To your credit, you remain utterly oblivious to his suffering, though Kaburamaru untangles himself from your arm, his tongue flickering nervously to taste the thickening air.

Kocho must sense what is coming, too, for she steps forward. “Y/N — perhaps that’s enough for right now —“

“There is no Obanai.” That far away, haunted look of yours has returned, only now, tears fill your wide, unblinking eyes. “There is no Obanai. I promise. There is only a snake whose face I am not allowed to see.”

“Y/N,” the Insect Pillar’s voice is clear and firm even as Obanai’s legs threaten to give way from beneath him. No one notices as he backs away, horror roiling violently in his stomach, hot and acidic. He wants to rip himself open, crawl out of his own skin and slither into whatever dark hole was out there for scum like him.

“There is no Obanai.” Your shoulders begin to shake and your breath turns choppy. “There is no Obanai!”

The Snake Pillar’s heel barely makes it past the door’s threshold when it comes. That now too-familiar splintering in his chest that he’d learned meant you, too, were about to fracture; shatter. Your last fit had been a tearful disaster, your hands tearing at your hair in an effort to make the fragmented pieces of your mind fit back together into something you recognized.

This time, you explode.

Kaburamaru winds himself around his leg, his face turned away to the hall, unable to bear the sight of your thrashing. But Obanai cannot look away; he is doomed to watch as Kocho and a flurry of her young apprentices converge around your hospital bed right as you begin slamming your head back against the headboard over and over, your defiant scream that he does not exist splitting his eardrums.

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Devotion

Summary - Cregan's obsession with his wife is obvious, constantly showering her with affection and praise, making sure she always feels his unwavering devotion. Even amidst the grandeur of her brother's wedding, he struggles to restrain himself, after all, she is his, forever and always.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Strong reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2302

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek as his face hovered inches from mine. I smiled, a faint blush spreading across my cheeks at his intimate compliment. 

His arms wrapped around me from behind, the touch both reassuring and affectionate.

I was dressed in a delicate grey gown, chosen for its simplicity and ease of travel. It was perfect for our journey to Dragonstone, where we were to attend the wedding of my brother Jace and his betrothed, Baela. 

Despite its understated elegance, the dress shimmered subtly, catching the light as I moved.

"I've been told," I whispered, leaning back to place a soft kiss on his cheek. 

Cregan was never shy with his affections, always finding ways to remind me daily of how much he cherished me. His compliments were a constant comfort, his words a balm to my heart.

"Now, come," I said, slipping my hand into his. "We must hurry. I do not wish to delay our travels any longer." The excitement in my voice was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and eagerness to reunite with my family.

The journey, which usually took around a month had been shortened to just under three weeks, thanks to my fervent eagerness to reach Dragonstone. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the rugged coastline, Dragonstone emerged from the mist like a majestic sentinel. The castle's towering spires and weathered stone walls loomed against the fading light, blurred into a series of excited memories as we approached.

As we finally arrived, the sight of my mother waiting for us was like a beacon. Her face lit up with the brightest smile, a warmth that instantly melted away any lingering fatigue from our travels.

"Your Grace," I greeted, my own smile matching hers.

"Come here," she whispered, her arms opening wide. 

She enfolded me in a long, tender hug, holding me as if she could keep me forever. When she finally drew back, her hands gently cupped my face, her touch a soothing balm.

"I have missed you dearly," she said, her voice a soft murmur that wrapped around my heart like a comforting embrace.

Her gaze softened as she placed a gentle hand on my stomach, a radiant smile lighting up her face. 

"You're going to be an incredible mother," she murmured, her words brimming with affection. I smiled widely in response, the news still fresh in my mind. The maester in Winterfell had said I was barely a moon along, now, after our journey, it was almost two moons.

Jace was next. As I moved towards him, he pulled me into a hug so tight that I could hardly breathe.

"I trust you would like your sister and niece or nephew alive?" I joked, my voice muffled against his shoulder. 

He chuckled, loosening his grip with a sheepish grin as his eyes wandered to my still-hidden belly, where the babe was growing though not yet visible.

Turning to Baela, I found her beaming at me with a warmth that matched her smile. "The beautiful bride," I murmured, drawing her into a hug as well. 

"Where are the little ones?" I asked, glancing around for my younger brothers, eager to see them.

"Inside, eagerly waiting to greet their older sister," Rhaenyra replied, linking her arm with mine. Her voice was filled with the same warmth that defined our family's gatherings.

I looked back at Cregan, who stood nearby, his face alight with the joy of the reunion. The sparkle in his eyes reflected the enchantment he felt witnessing these heartfelt moments. 

I beckoned him towards me with a smile, and he moved to my side, walking in step with me as we proceeded together.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

I thanked the handmaidens as they finished dressing me, their hands moving with practised grace as they adjusted the final details of my attire. The red and black beaded gown I wore was nothing short of ethereal. 

The delicate beadwork shimmered in the candlelight, and the sheer material, coupled with the plunging neckline, made me feel both beautiful and slightly hesitant. 

The gown was daring, exposing more skin than I was accustomed to, and the subtle curve of my barely visible bump was hidden beneath the fabric.

"Gods be good," a deep voice mumbled from behind me. I turned to find my husband standing in the doorway, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide as they roved over me.

"Is it okay?" I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty. His silence stretched on, and I shifted nervously, my fingers playing with a strand of my hair before settling on my stomach.

"I know, I think it looks rather scandalous. Perhaps I should change," I rushed out, my insecurities bubbling to the surface. 

Before I could move, he closed the distance between us in quick strides, taking my hands in his.

"You, my sweet wife, are a vision," he began, his voice filled with awe. "The epitome of grace and beauty." His hands moved gently up and down my arms, his touch soothing my nerves. His fingers then traced the curve of my stomach with a tender reverence.

"I can already tell that our little one will be as beautiful as their mother," he added, his eyes soft with affection. 

I visibly relaxed under his tender attention.

"A true dragon, in dragon colours," he continued, his fingers brushing lightly down the exposed skin of my chest. The heat of his touch sent a shiver through me, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

I grabbed his hand, interlacing my fingers with his. "We should really be off. I do not wish to miss a moment of the celebration," I said, my voice soft but firm. 

He exhaled deeply, stepping back as if he had to physically restrain himself from drawing me closer.

"Of course," he murmured, a mix of longing and admiration in his eyes. 

He offered his arm, and I took it, the touch of his hand a comforting anchor as we made our way towards the grand hall where the celebration awaited.

The wedding was grand, a magnificent celebration to commemorate the union of Jace and Baela. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh flowers and the rich aroma of roasted meats. Laughter and music swirled around us, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with the energy of celebration.

The festivities stretched late into the night, with joy, melodies, and merriment filling every corner. 

Amidst the revelry, I noticed Cregan growing increasingly fidgety, his usual composed demeanour slipping.

As the musicians struck up a lively tune, we took to the dance floor. His hands gripped my waist firmly, and I wrapped mine around his neck, feeling the tension radiating from his body.

"Are you alright?" I asked, tilting my head slightly to catch his gaze. He took a deep breath, nodding, though his eyes betrayed his unease.

I placed a hand on his chest, furrowing my brows in concern. "Please tell me if something is bothering you," I urged softly, wanting to ease his distress.

He leaned closer, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down my spine. 

"I do not think I can restrain myself any longer," he confessed, his hands travelling up and down my sides with a possessive urgency.

"I need you," he murmured, his tone tinged with a desperate whine. "Please."

His words and the intensity of his touch sent a wave of heat pooling between my legs. I bit my lip, struggling to maintain my composure as my own desire mirrored his.

"Lead the way," I whispered, giving in to the need that coursed through me. A victorious glint sparked in his eyes as he stepped back, taking my hand and rushing us toward my chambers.

Once inside, the door barely closed behind us before Cregan's lips were on mine, his kiss urgent and demanding. His hands roamed over my body, pulling me closer as if he couldn't bear even a moment's distance between us.

My fingers tangled in his hair, matching his fervour as our bodies pressed together. The weight of the evening's formality melted away, leaving only the raw, unrestrained need we felt for each other. He backed me toward the bed, his lips never leaving mine, and we fell onto the soft covers in a tangle of limbs and desire.

"I've wanted you all night," he breathed against my neck, his voice a ragged whisper. "Seeing you in that gown, so beautiful, so perfect... I couldn't think of anything else."

"Now I want it off," he growled, tugging at the material. I laughed, gently pushing him back as I carefully slipped out of the dress, placing it aside with deliberate care.

"Have me then," I teased, my voice low and inviting, leaving myself naked and exposed before him.

"I will," he promised, his eyes burning with an intense desire. He quickly discarded his own clothes, his movements hurried and eager, not wanting to waste another moment.

I scooted back on the bed, watching as he knelt before me, his gaze locked onto mine with a fervour that made my heart race. His hands slid up my legs, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within me.

"You're breathtaking," he murmured, his voice filled with awe as his fingers traced the curves of my body. "Every inch of you."

His words sent a flush of heat through me, and I arched into his touch, craving more. He leaned in, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His hands continued their exploration, each touch leaving a trail of burning desire in its wake.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our bodies pressed together.

"Cregan," I moaned softly as his lips travelled down my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. 

"I need you," he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with desire. "I need all of you."

"Take me," I replied, my voice barely more than a breathy plea. "I'm yours."

My words were all the confirmation he needed. He adjusted himself, positioning his body above mine, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. 

Slowly, deliberately, he entered me, his movements controlled and purposeful. A soft groan escaped my lips as he filled me, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating.

He started with a slow, measured rhythm, each thrust deliberate and deep. His eyes never left mine, the connection between us palpable and electric. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I arched my back, meeting each of his movements with my own. 

The pleasure built gradually, a slow burn that intensified with each passing moment.

As the heat between us grew, his pace began to quicken. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate as if he couldn't get enough of me. The room was filled with the sounds of our lovemaking, soft moans, breathless gasps, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"Cregan," I moaned, my voice barely a whisper, filled with raw need.

His hand moved from my legs to the sensitive spot between us, his fingers finding my clit with practised ease. "Cum for me, princess," he groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly command.

The sensation of him inside me, the feel of his body moving against mine, combined with the skilled movement of his hand, sent electric shocks of pleasure through my entire being. 

My eyes rolled back, lost in the overwhelming ecstasy that built within me.

With a final, deliberate thrust, the cord in my stomach snapped. I cried out, the pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. My body convulsed, shuddering as the orgasm tore through me, his name a desperate plea on my lips. 

Cregan followed soon after, his own release leaving him breathless and trembling. 

As the waves of pleasure subsided, we lay together in the aftermath, our bodies still entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of our passion. He held me close, his arms wrapped protectively around me as if he never wanted to let go.

"We should return," I said, attempting to pull myself away from Cregan's embrace. "Cregan, come on," I added, laughing as he finally relented.

He helped me get dressed, his hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary, savouring the feel of the gown's fabric against my skin. 

Once I was clothed, I smoothed down my hair, trying to make myself look presentable despite the flush in my cheeks and the sparkle in my eyes.

Hand in hand, we made our way back to the celebrations. The laughter and music seemed brighter, more vibrant, as if our shared moment had infused the celebration with a deeper sense of joy.

"There you are," Rhaenyra said, her eyes lighting up as she saw us approaching. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and I nervously giggled, trying my hardest to keep our recent activities a secret.

"I needed a moment to myself," I lied, patting my stomach and hoping my mother wouldn't notice the lingering flush on my face or the slight dishevelment of my hair. I settled into my seat, Cregan sitting close beside me.

My eyes met Cregan's, and he gave me a knowing smile, his hand finding mine under the table.

"Are you enjoying yourselves?" she asked, her gaze flicking between me and Cregan.

"Very much," Cregan replied, his voice warm and genuine. "It's a beautiful celebration."

My mother nodded, satisfied with his response. "It is," she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked at me. "I'm glad you're here."

I leaned into Cregan, feeling the warmth of his presence beside me. His eyes met mine, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with a fierce tenderness that made my heart swell. "I will always love you."

"I love you too," I replied, my voice equally soft and sincere. "Forever and always."

A/n - Editing this rn and there was originally no pregnancy and then I had a very sudden impulse to add it could not tell you why lmaoo

[soulofapatrick]

Secret's Out - Henry Fox x Male Reader

Summary: Henry comes to visit you at the Lake House to take a break from studying

Words: 1.8k 

Warnings: None really, heavy making out

Notes: I have one more Henry story in the works then an Alex one

Y/N’s POV

The summer sun bathes everything in a warm, golden glow as I sit by the window of the lake house, my heart beating a little faster with each passing moment. This place has become my refuge for the past few months, a quiet haven where I’ve immersed myself in my studies, allowing me to escape the world and focus. 

My heart and mind have been a whirlwind of emotions ever since I realised just how strong my feelings for Prince Henry were and how Henry wasn’t ready to tell the world. He wasn’t ready to share our relationship with the world, and even though it ached inside, I had agreed to wait patiently. Love is not about rushing someone; it’s about giving them the time they need to find their own comfort. 

A soft knock on the door rouses me from my thought, and I find Alex, my older brother standing there with a knowing smile. He’s been my confidant throughout this journey,, the one who’s listened to my heartache and dreams. 

“Hey Mouse,” Alex Alex's mischievous grin is enough to make my insides twist with a combination of nervousness and excitement. The nickname has stuck with me since childhood, a playful jab at my somewhat introverted nature. But today, hearing it from Alex feels different, almost like he knows something that I don't. "Ready for some company?”

“Company?” I respond, my attempt at casualness belying the fluttering nerves that seem to have taken residence in my stomach. My heart beats a little faster, and I wonder what Alex is up to this time. 

As I watch him step into the room, his vibrant energy filling the space, I can't help but wonder what my wild-child of a brother has in store for me today. Alex has been persistent in his efforts to drag me away from my books and studies, insisting that I need a break. Little does he know, this very house is where I feel closest to Henry, where I yearn for him the most, as it became our secret sanctuary a few months ago.

“I have a surprise for you.” Alex announces, his grin growing even wider. I raise an eyebrow at him, my curiosity fully engaged now. 

“A surprise?” I I echo, the corners of my lips tugging into a reluctant smile.

“Close your eyes.” He instructs, and although a part of me screams to hold onto my reservations, I comply. I shut my eyes tightly, letting my other senses take over. The rustling of fabric and the faint sound of footsteps gradually diminish as Alex seemingly exits the room. 

My world becomes a canvas of darkness, and my ears become hyper-aware of every little sound around me. There’s a quiet hush in the room, the kind of silence that’s laden with anticipation. I can almost sense the air shifting as Alex’s energetic presence departs. The room growing still, almost expectant, until a new set of footsteps grace the floorboards. These are softer, more measured, yet they send my heart into a frenzy. They’re familiar, like a melody that’s been etched into my memory. They’re the kind of footsteps that I’ve been longing to hear for four months - Henry’s footsteps. 

My heart skips a beat, and a rush of emotions floods through me. The surprise Alex had promised is becoming clearer, and my pulse quickens with every delicate football that draws nearer. It’s as if the distance between us is shrinking, and in this cocoon of darkness, I can feel him coming closer to me.  The soft steps seem to echo in the silence, a rhythm that syncs with the thrumming of my heart. They’re cautious yet purposeful, as if he's taking his time, just like he always does. I hold my breath, my body tensing with anticipation. The darkness behind my closed eyes feels heavy, but his presence in the room is almost tangible

And then, it happens. 

His presence envelopes me like a warm embrace, and the world outside of this room fades into obscurity. I sense his closeness, his warmth, and then I feel his breath, sweet and familiar, brushing lightly against my lips. Time itself seeming to hold its breath as our lips meet, and it’s as if every moment of separation melts away. His kiss is gentle but filled with a longing that matches my own, a testament to the months we’ve spent apart. 

His hands find their place on my face, cupping my cheeks tenderly, guiding me to my feet as if I were a delicate treasure he’s been yearning to hold. It’s a sensation that’s both electrifying and soothing, like coming home after a long and arduous journey. My lips parting slightly beneath his, welcoming him with an intensity that mirrors the love we share. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, whispering promises of the moments we’ve missed and those yet to come. There’s a sense of completeness, of being in the arms of the one person who truly understands me. 

As our lips linger in that tender, perfect moment, I feel like I’m floating in a sea of emotions. It’s a kiss that defies the bounds of time and space, a kiss that shakes off all the stress and anxiety from studying. 

But then, with a gentle and lingering touch, Henry breaks the kiss. His lips part from mine, but his thumb continues to stroke my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He looks at me with bright blue eyes, glistening with affection and longing, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“Hey,” he greets me quietly, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile, scared moment we’ve created. 

“Hey,” I respond, my voice barely above a whisper matching the intimacy of the moment. There’s no need for grand declarations or elaborate words. He’s here, standing in front of me, and that’s all I need right now. 

Without a second thought, I stumble forward, closing the gap between us and wrapping my arms around him. I rest my head on his shoulder, finding solace in the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the sensation of being enveloped in his warmth. Henry’s fingers gently card through my hair, a soothing gesture that sends ripples of comfort down my spine. It’s as if he’s trying to convey all the words he can’t express in this moment through the gentle caress of his touch. 

In a hushed murmur, he whispers soothing words, his voice a melody that dances through my ears, “I’ve missed you so much sweetheart.” He murmurs, lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine, “I love you, more than words can say. I’m so proud of you.” His words hold an intimacy that goes beyond mere declaration of love, a connection that has thrived despite the challenges and secrets that have defined our relationship. 

Before I can respond, henry’s lips find mine once more. And the world narrows down to the sweet sensation of our mouths meeting. His lips move against mine with a gentle urgency, as if trying to convey all the emotions he’s held inside during the distance between us. His hands are on my hips, guiding me backwards until my back hits the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the kiss. It’s a welcomed juxtaposition, grounding me in the reality of this moment, where the cool surface supports me as henry’s body presses firmly against mine. 

His lean, muscular form moulds against my own, and every point of contact sends electric shocks through me. I can feel the powerful rhythm of his heart, the warmth of his skin, and the strength of his embrace. It’s as if our bodies are trying to memories every curve and contour, as if they’re saying ‘this is how you fit with me, this is how we belong together.’

Henry’s hands roam my body with a touch that’s both tender and possessive. They glide over my waist, up my back and down to my hips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A strangled sound is swallowed when he rocks my hips forwards, erections rubbing in a delicious friction as he murmurs against my skin, “Fuck me Darling, I’ve missed you.” 

His lips leave mine in a slow, tantalising descent, trailing down my neck, one of his hands finding it’s way to my unruly locks and tugging almost painful to expose my neck. The sensation is almost painful, but the intensity of the desire that courses through me is undeniable. I arch my neck even further, silently inviting him to leave his mark, to claim me in this secret moment. 

His lips make contact, and the world seems to spin as a combination of pleasure and yearning courses through me. Henry’s lips are both soft and demanding, creating a sensation that’s nearly maddening. The pressure of his kiss sends a shiver down my spine, and I can feel the heat building between us, a wildfire of longing. His lips lingering for a moment, leaving a mark, a hickey, a visible testament of our stolen passion. 

And then, with a hunger that matches my own, he draws me back into a heated kiss, our mouths colliding almost bruisingly. His tongue brushes against my lips, seeking entrance, and I part them willingly, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Our tongues engage in a fierce, passionate battle for dominance, each of us seeking to convey the depth of our desire. It’s a dance of raw, unbridled need, a silent proclamation that nothing and no one can come between us.  

Except my Dad. Who is standing in the doorway, grin like a Cheshire Cat, one hand raised to knock. Henry breaks away from me in surprise despite Dad’s presence calm and unbothered, while I try to flatten down my wild hair. I must look like more of a mess than Henry who’s plump lips are kiss-swollen, hair wild, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with love and lust. If Dad wasn’t watching us I think I would jump Henry right here and now. 

“Well,” Dad clears his throat, shaking his head fondly, “Alex and Bea have already made it halfway through the food, I’d hurry up if I were you.” He chuckles, eyes twinkling with amusement, “You can continue this romantic reunion later.” 

“You’re not mad?” I find myself asking, heart almost pounding out of my chest. 

“Of course not Mouse,” Dad’s grin softens into a loving smile, “He’s a good one, don’t lose him.” 

And with that, Dad turns and leave the room, leaving me and Henry to stare at each other, processing what dad’s said. 

“I fucking love you.” I grin at Henry, watching the way his shoulders slump with relief.

“I love fucking you.”

“Henry!”

He runs off giggling and I can't help but follow, shaking my head with a fond smile.

-------------

Red White and Royal Blue Masterlist

New Tag List Form

TAGS: @clarks-letterman @spencer-reids-wife

[optimist-pine]

Snow

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: It snowed, and the brilliant beauty of it created this drabble.

Era: Between seasons 2 & 3, on the move

The sparkling grass crunched under every step of your boots. Frost coated the ground as far as the eye could see, shimmering in the fresh morning's sun. You inhaled, long and deep, the sharp sting of cold wintry air assaulting the back of your throat.

Complete contentment washed over you, the scent of a blank slate filled your lungs and your eyelids fluttered shut with the feeling. So quiet was the world in a moment like this. You would stretch it as long as you possibly could, soaking in every minute detail.

Like the way the breeze rustled your hair and slipped down the back of your coat, cooling the sweat that had built against your skin. Or how the silence only amplified the birdsong and made it echo and pulse. The nearby stream, half frozen as it was, made it as melodic as a garden full of windchimes.

A soft crunch turns into faint footsteps and you return to the world once again, a puff of air billowing out from the sigh that escapes your lips.

"Ya finished?" Daryl asks. His voice is soft and it causes a swell of gratitude to rise within you. Without fail, he graciously gives you these moments to shut off every thought and just simply feel that you're alive. To know so deeply within yourself that the world isn't dead, but instead is thrumming with life in overflowing abundance. It's not just a possibility, it's true and real and so are you.

"You smell that?" Your ask in a hallowed whisper. Your hands lift themselves outstretched at your sides, fingers opened to the sky.

You don't see, but he's watching you curiously. He would most absolutely never admit it, but he secretly savors the moments when this invisible switch flips in you. When your heart practically writes itself on your sleeve and you suddenly appear to be overwhelmingly in love with life itself. How it pours out of you so intensely that he can feel it too. How he inexplicably craves it. How no greater desire exists within him. "Hm?" He responds distractedly.

"Snow." You say simply. And the exact moment you open your eyes is when the flakes begin to fall. At first they're only tiny little pellets, just enough to claim that it's actively snowing. But it doesn't take long for the grey sky to let loose and soon the flakes are large and fluffy and you could swear that God just shook up a snow globe somewhere above.

You do a little spin, sticking your tongue out in pure joy. The flakes are beginning to cover you, collecting on your hair and eyelashes, and the ground is growing whiter by the second. "It's beautiful." You laugh.

A small thought nags at the back of Daryl's mind that the two of you should be getting back to the rest with your catch. But as he watches you, as he studies designs of the flakes on his glove that have yet to melt, he decides that will just have to wait.

And he'd die if you told anyone, but on the way back, when he can no longer put up with your relentless teasing, he finally succumbs and holds his own tongue up to the flurry. He's sure to follow it up with the idle threat, "Ya tell anyone an' I'll kill ya."

Amusement palpably rolling off you, you respond, "Yeah, yeah, ya big ol' softie." The look on his face causing you to laugh on and off the entire way back. There's no way you're sharing the memory with anyone else, maybe it's selfish, but this one's all yours.

[theladyofbloodshed]

You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be - Chapter 24

Splitting the high lord's meeting into two parts

Their delegate arrived beneath the dusky pink skies of the Dawn Court, once he’d inspected the area for a trap. The heat hit Azriel like a slap. On the short walk up the polished, marble stairs leading to the palace, his leathers stuck to his skin.

Whether Nesta intended to or not, she kept close by. Occasionally, her elbow knocked against him as she pinched her skirts to keep from tripping. Twice, she stumbled – not from the skirts, but her gaze was fixed upon the soft clouds tinged by the rosy dawn and gilded with dawn’s light.

‘Look at the palace,’ Azriel murmured.

Nesta turned her face upwards then stopped walking. Her lips parted at the sight of the near-opalescent golden stone. It was littered with balconies and verandas that were linked by bridges. Periwinkle flowers clambered up the many towers.

He couldn’t read the emotion on her face. There was so much to their world that she hadn’t experienced yet. He hoped, one day, Nesta would see it all with him.

An attendant wearing the gold and ruby livery of the court saw them to their rooms which were reached by a spiralling staircase. The too-near edge fell away into warm-coloured rock below with clusters of pale peonies growing between the cracks.

Azriel fell back to be closer to Nesta. She was already trembling from the height without even stepping onto the first one.

‘I’ll be with you,’ he said softly, as the others disappeared from view.

Nesta braced herself with a stiff nod then took the first steps as close as possible to the inside as she could without banging her head on the ones above. With his wings splayed out, just in case, Azriel stayed close by and kept his hand on her spine for support. But she did well. Nesta forced herself on without ever looking over the edge. It was how she approached everything.

‘Your rooms,’ the attendant said, with a deep bow at the waist. ‘As requested, the meeting will be held in the great chamber in fifteen minutes.’

‘And how do we reach it?’ drawled Rhys.

The attendant gestured to the left of the corridor that they were in. ‘It is the first door.’

Fantastic, Azriel thought. They were put there to be spied upon. To get to other rooms, everybody would need to pass theirs. It was a sign that they were not truly welcomed there.

There was little time to gather themselves. Rhys had already used his powers to discover that winter was the only seasonal court in attendance. Day had also arrived, so Helion would no doubt be charming Thesan.

Azriel looked to Nesta. She was pale like the magnitude of her decision to come with them had only just landed. He tried to catch her eye, but she was fussing with her skirts, ensuring they were sleek about her legs. Instead, he sent a shadow to coil around her wrist. She didn’t look at him still, but her thumb brushed against its spiralling body in answer.

The chamber had been arranged so that deep-cushioned oak chairs made a circle in the heart of the room around the shallow, circular reflection pool which was carved into the polished, marble floor. The sun streamed through the open archways, catching the dark water which was laden with pink and gold water lilies. Fish darted beneath, hiding in the shadows. Platters of food had been lain out between the wisteria-twined pillars although nobody had dared touched a bite. The cured meats, pastries and garlands of fruits lay undisturbed with the memory of Amarantha still fresh in everybody’s minds.

‘Welcome,’ greeted Thesan, eyes flitting to them all. ‘Or, since you’ve called this meeting, perhaps you should be doing the welcoming?’

A faint smile touched Rhys’ lips. ‘I may have requested the meeting, Thesan, but you were the one gracious enough to offer up your beautiful residence.’

The other pair came to preen like a pair of peacocks puffing up their feathers. Kallias had barely moved his chin an inch before Mor was squealing loud enough to draw the room’s attention. She flung herself at Viviane. Their conversation was rapid and neither minded as they cut into each other’s speech.

Never one to deny attention, Helion strode over. His entourage matched their own for size – and power. He threw himself into the throng, dominating the conversation with his words.

Azriel simply kept his eyes on Nesta. Kept close. Let shadows twine their hands together.

Then, Helion noticed her. Like a fucking wolf scenting a lamb. His attention lingered on her. It was too long to be considered polite. But Nesta stared right back at him. Unruffled. Unimpressed.

Good.

‘Who is your guest?’

‘She is my sister and our emissary to the human lands,’ said Feyre, stepping back so she could stand at Nesta’s side. ‘And she will tell her story when the others are here.’

‘She is fae.’

‘No shit,’ muttered Viviane.

Thesan angled his head slightly, inspecting Nesta. ‘Who made her?’

Nesta surveyed them all, one by one. He was wrong to think of her as a lamb. Nesta had never been a quivering, meek thing that hid. She stood tall, not a flicker of fear in her eyes as she said, ‘Hybern did.’

‘They threw her in the Cauldron,’ Feyre explained. ‘Along with my other sister, Elain. After the High Priestess Ianthe and Tamlin sold out Prythian and my family to them.’

Helion’s eyes blazed like a forge. ‘That’s a heavy accusation to make – especially of your former lover.’

Feyre took a seat then folded her hands in her lap. ‘It is not an accusation. We were all there. And now we’re going to do something about it.’

***

Despite the tardiness of the remaining courts, the frost did not abate in the room, even as attendants carried platters around the room of food and wine was offered. Only when the Dawn Court delegate began eating did other courts follow suit although Nesta could not. Her stomach churned with worry and adding food to the mix seemed too great a risk. Azriel did not spare her a glance; the focused spy-master had become his shield, but often she felt a shadow twining itself around her ankle beneath her skirt as if that was the most he could offer in comfort without openly revealing their bond. One male who was unable to take her eyes from Nesta was the high lord of the Day Court. Nesta ignored him. He watched her constantly like a hawk. His gaze trailed her fingers when she twisted them in her skirts, her tongue when she traced her lips. The stare was enough to burn, but she refused to acknowledge him. To acknowledge any of them.

When the Summer Court arrived, Nesta thought the atmosphere could not be more tense. Kallias, the Winter Court high lord, had grown even colder. Then, the Autumn Court arrived. Morrigan’s easy smile dried up. Beron was slender-faced and brown haired, his wife stood beside him, glancing briefly to Helion before averting her gaze. His sons sneered at the room; each one wore rich clothing gilded with golden threads or brocade vests. They were by far the most elegantly dressed, Nesta had to admit. 

‘Enough,’ murmured the eldest one, Eris, to bring his younger brothers into line.

With the tension mounting, Thesan cut in. ‘Rhysand, you have called this meeting. Pushed us to gather sooner than we intended. Now would be the time to explain what is so urgent.’

Rhysand blinked, slowly. ‘Surely the invading armies landing on our shores explain enough.’

‘So you have called us to do what, exactly?’ Helion challenged, bracing his muscled forearms on his gleaming thighs. ‘Raise a unified army?’

‘Among other things. We-’

It was exactly like that night in the cottage when the door had shattered and the freezing cold had roared at them. Like a crack of lightning, as vicious as a spring storm, Tamlin winnowed into the chamber and smiled like a wolf.

Only the soothing stroke of a shadow against her ankle kept Nesta in the room. There had been so many fae in her life since that day, but he – the High Lord of Spring – had left his mark. Elain had been crying in a ball on the floor. Father had not moved from his cradle by the fire, too shocked to speak. And Nesta had tried and tried to put the ruined door back onto its hinges even as the rain blew in because that seemed the only normality after he stole Feyre.

Kallias asked, ‘Why are you here, Tamlin?’

Tamlin’s claw dug into the wood, puncturing deep even as his voice remained mild. Nesta knew what those claws could do.  ‘I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern—to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge—either her own or her … master’s.’

Strange words, Nesta thought. But, something in them tugged at Nesta’s attention. Feyre had returned for this one. Had sworn she loved him. They’d painted together beneath the sun as Feyre told her everything. But it had been Rhysand who she returned with. What had happened in those weeks beneath the mountain? Nobody ever mentioned them as if to do so was to spill a secret too terrible for the world to know.

‘You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,’ Feyre breathed. ‘You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.’

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhysand. ‘When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?’

Nesta felt herself go still, appalled by his words. Hearts were easily broken things, but to parade such an intimate moment was a low blow. She stared at the male, hate burning in her eyes. Nobody else was smiling except the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

A voice as cold as death spoke beside Nesta, ‘Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.’

Azriel’s words settled around the room. She felt a surge of pride that he had been the one to defend her sister. Amongst the high lords who looked upon him with a mixture of wariness and revulsion, it had been Azriel who stepped up for Feyre.

Tamlin only laughed. ‘They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind—after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us … Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what he stands to gain—what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition—and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.’

Rhys let out his own dark laugh as if the words meant nothing. ‘Well played, Tamlin. You’re learning.’

The High Lord of Spring looked at Rhysand a moment longer then dismissed him. His gaze went to Kallias. ‘You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.’ He jerked his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane—the few other members of their retinue who had remained silent. ‘You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?’

What had happened, Nesta wondered, to cast such a shadow on Rhysand? What had happened to her sister? She caught the uncomfortable glances passed between delegates, the neutral expressions on Cassian and Morrigan’s faces. Colour botted on Feyre’s cheeks, but she held her chin up in defiance.

It was Rhysand who spoke, breaking the terse silence. ‘I had no involvement in that. None.’

Kallias’s eyes flared like blue flame. ‘You stood beside her throne while the order was given.’

His skin paled. ‘I tried to stop it.’

‘Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,’ Kallias spat. ‘That you tried.’

They bartered more words at Rhysand – ones that Nesta didn’t understand the context of. Whatever had occurred under the mountain had been an awful secret. The reluctance to befriend Rhysand seemed to have valid reasoning though. She watched him scramble for words, to defend and explain actions. Even Feyre jumped to his defence, placing a hand on his arm and saying, ‘I believe you.’

‘Says the woman,’ countered Beron Vanserra, ‘who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead for Amarantha to butcher as well.’

Nesta went cold. She leaned forwards in her chair trying to gage Feyre’s reaction, but her sister had gone pale. Her fingers tightened on Rhysand’s arm.

Clare.

Clare Beddor.

Had Feyre given her friend’s name? Was Feyre the reason the Beddors were murdered?

Her ears were ringing. She could smell the smoke from that morning. Feel the cold ground on her bare feet as she ran through the village to the smouldering ruin. Watched in numb disbelief as bodies were pulled from the wreckage. Only four bodies. A mother. A father. Two younger brothers. No Clare. She remembered Elain pulling a threadbare blanket on her shoulders and guiding her back home before the village could call her a madwoman for going without shoes.

Her Clare. Clare who carried the burden of her family as much as Nesta did. Clare who had been her friend without money and with it. Clever, quiet Clare who yearned for so much more than life had offered them.

‘Hybern turned my sisters fae after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!’

Nesta felt the attention in the room turn to her, but she was elsewhere. She was in a field with Clare, counting clouds, wishing they were on a boat to the Continent where they could be so much more. Clare’s fingers entwined with hers as they spoke of the boys in the village – the lack of prospects that the village offered. Clare who had seized her by the cheeks and kissed her squarely on the mouth one day within an orchard, leaving them both in fits of giggles. She had been Nesta’s only friend. Her Clare.

The shadow on her ankle pulled tight, sensing her distress. Nesta did not hear the argument raging around her between the High Lord of Spring and her sister. Her sister had murdered Clare Beddor.

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining, jungkook as a parental figure 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 3.8k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. no warning except main characters being dumb and some SERIOUS tension

part six: the dreams and the sunday market ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

xv. the dreams

you were dreaming of kissing jeon jungkook.

  it was akin to a recurring nightmare, the way you woke up in cold sweat after picturing his beautiful lips on yours in your sleep. ever since the night where the two of you shared dinner, the image haunted you and chased you even in your lack of consciousness. it didn’t help that your day always began at five a.m, leaving you waking up, distraught, and no sun to warm your surroundings. 

  today in particular was not looking to be on your side. you slept through your first two alarms after getting lost in the dream of kissing jungkook on a beach in front of luscious palm trees and golden sand. even worse, it was the day of jungkook’s return to the farm.

  in the hours between your awakening and jungkook’s arrival, your nerves casted away your grogginess. you wondered why you didn’t decline his offer to finish the gate, but remembered he made it clear he didn’t have feelings for you - there should be no problem, then.

  since he was coming in the evening, you had an entire day ahead of you. somehow, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. it was maddening, as if the thoughts of jeon jungkook settled beneath your skin and chased your every move. it was a gloomy day with light showers, but the thoughts kept you warm and you didn’t like it one bit. 

  by 5 p.m, you were wrapped up for the day. it shouldn’t have taken so long, but with your late wake-up and the plaguing image of your childhood best friend, you found yourself sluggish. you decided that you were going to proceed like you’d done in the weeks prior.

  the last thing you wanted to take care of was inspect the garage once more. you’d been meaning to test out the old tractor inside to determine if you could sell it off or not, but it was a problem when the door was stuck in the same place. now, you were outside, wrestling with the garage, once again.

  “i guess this does have to be fixed. . .” you mumbled to yourself, remembering jungkook’s words.

  then, you heard your name being called. it startled you, since you hadn’t had any visitors in quite some time, considering jungkook’s absence. however, you knew that voice from a mile away and weren’t surprised when you turned around, taking notice of him approaching across the fields, coming face to face with the man in question.

  you hastily wiped the beads of sweat on your temple. “hey,” you said when you saw jungkook, who likely wandered to the fields when you didn’t answer the front door.

  “hey, y/n,” jungkook replied, setting his toolbox down by the fence he was to work on. today, he was wearing a black button down over a white t-shirt with jeans. his hair had grown slightly longer since you first arrived to amber valley and you liked the way it fell over his eyebrows. 

  as you always did, you graciously thanked him. “i really appreciate you coming to help me out.” even though he essentially shut down any possibility of you being able to come to terms with any feelings you had. you didn’t say that part out loud. 

  “stop that, you know i just want to lend a hand,” he waved you off and you wondered if that was what you knew. you weren’t sure if that was what your silent agreement with jungkook truly involved, with his persistence and your strong will - two things that were not easily challenged, but crumbled at one another.

"you still fighting with that old thing?" jungkook chuckled softly, looking at the garage door behind you.  

you only rolled your eyes. "i thought i could get it."  

he shook his head, continuing to laugh, and then glanced at the watch on his wrist. “oh, i guess this is the first time i’ve come by in the evening. you’re done work for once.”  

you didn’t realize this fact either and tried to fight a silent panic - you usually had a task that you could pretend to be busy with, in order to distract yourself from jungkook’s presence. then, you began what to wonder what was wrong with you? it was just jungkook. were your vivid dreams really chasing you into acting strangely? and was he not quieter than usual, or were you overthinking things?

  jungkook eventually excused himself to get to work and you decided that you needed to push your barrage of thoughts and questions away. instead, you entered the kitchen and proceeded to make dinner as usual, except a bit extra for your handyman of a friend.

  when you peeked outside after finishing, you saw that jungkook was drilling something into place. he’d taken off his button down shirt at some point, tying it around his waist. you cleared your throat loudly to get his attention, but it didn’t stand a chance against the sound of the drill.

  “jeon jungkook!” you yelled, but he still couldn’t hear you. it was only when you brought your hands to your lips and let out a loud whistle when he finally caught your eye, turning the drill off promptly.

  jungkook shook his head in disbelief, walking towards you with a laugh. “namjoon was right, that is a really loud whistle you can do.”

  “i made dinner,” you said, hiding your nerves. in reality, you knew little could go wrong, as the two of you were sharing meals together for weeks. unless, of course, if he tried setting you up with a friend again.

  “you know, i took you as someone who would be shit at cooking, but you’re pretty good,” jungkook teased, as he left his tools on the ground and walked towards you. “and thanks, of course.”

  you rolled your eyes. “i’m good at everything.”

  “lies. there’s a bunch of things i’m better than you at,” he mused, as he opened the door back inside for you. 

  the half-serious bickering made you drop your shoulders in ease, settling back into the same comfortable atmosphere that you always shared with jungkook. this was still the brat that used to whine if you got a better guitar hero score than him.

  the two of you soon settled into some local gossip. jungkook began telling you about how your grandpa used to constantly predict that the lee family would divorce sooner or later, which was apparently now in progress. you wondered how close he really was to him.

  “i wish we gave him one more summer with the three of us,” you said, as the two of you moved in fluid motions around the kitchen. the movements were natural and almost domestic, with jungkook knowing where all of the plates and silverware was and made it his job to set the table. meanwhile, you began getting the food ready.

  he nodded. “i think he would have liked that. he’s probably happy that we’ve become friends again.”

  the image of your dreams last night flashed before your eyes when jungkook said the word “friends” and you chose to ignore it. 

  instead, you responded, “i’d like to think that we never stopped.” your voice was quiet, unsure of the statement that you just offered. 

  it was nice, the way that you and jungkook managed to pick up your friendship after thirteen years as if nothing happened in between. and, even then, over the past month, the two of you slowly began to grasp the lives you led in the time apart. the people you grew into. somehow, it still clicked.

  jungkook paused, in the middle of bringing out plates from the cupboards. “you know, me too,” he said. “too bad you stopped responding to my letters.”

  this made you also freeze in place, eyebrows furrowed at his remark. “what do you mean? i didn’t stop responding,” you turned around to face him. “you’re the one that stopped replying.”

  “i’m pretty sure i was the last one to send a letter, bunny,” jungkook chuckled, but you sensed some bitterness. “i sent you a letter one spring and then when june rolled around, your grandpa randomly told me you weren’t coming back.”

  you shook your head, lips parted. “i never got a letter.”

by now, you finished setting food on the table. it was a full american-style breakfast, with chicken and waffles, scrambled eggs, and a platter of fruit from the farm. you made a jug of iced tea and set out some water. jungkook’s eyes trailed to the table and his eyes were unreadable.

  “that’s too bad,” he spoke slowly, as if remembering something. “breakfast for dinner?” then, jungkook shook his head, as if shaking the thoughts off, and proceeded to set the rest of the table.

  your eyes widened. “sorry, do you not like it? i thought it would be a good change - “

  “no, it’s not that! thank you, it looks delicious. i love breakfast for dinner,” jungkook smiled. it was as if he flipped a switch and you were itching to know what he was thinking before.

  “if you’re not up for it - “

  “you’re annoying, come sit down with me,” jungkook interjected again, but was playful and rubbed his hands together, ready to dig in.

  you punched his shoulder, which you knew did little damage, but he yelped anyway. sitting down across from him, jungkook began serving the both of you and you didn’t object when he plopped food on your plate for you. it was the same routine that you had before and frankly, it was nice.

  “i just didn’t think it would you’d never come back to town again,” he commented and you were confused, until you remembered what he said earlier. 

  you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “me neither. i don’t know what hapened, i used to love it here. . “ you trailed off, looking around your surroundings and out the window, where the silver of the amber valley sky looked down on you. “i did try looking for you at some point, but you aren’t on social media.”

  jungkook shook his head, pouring two cups of iced tea. “not really. and especially not after i started taking care of jiwon.” he passed one cup to your side, which you quietly thanked him for. “i think i saw you one time online, in early high school, but you looked different and i wasn’t sure.”

  like every teenager, you had a phase of experimenting with your look and went through different kinds of hair colours and makeup styles. now, in your twenties, you’d grown tired of constant change and like your city life, settled for mundane and simple. just before his passing, your grandpa once remarked that you began to look like yourself again.

  “we would’ve still been best friends in high school. i’d keep you around to copy off your homework,” you joked, cutting into a waffle. you weren’t kidding when you told jiwon about how smart jungkook was, as he’d always been since you two were young. though you were academically gifted yourself, you’d held jealousy for the way jungkook learned every hobby you liked at twice the learning speed.

  “aw, i was your best friend?” jungkook banterd, which made you kick him underneath the table. “i’m joking. we’re best friends forever, isn’t what we put on the tree?”

  “oh my god, don’t remind me of that!” your cheeks went hot, as you recalled that memory that jungkook was referring to.

  when you were about nine years old, you and jungkook had the genius idea to carve your names into a random tree by the town square. while doing so, you were caught by mayor kim walking by, who made a big deal out of you kids “defacing” town property. when he scolded you and told your grandpa though, the latter got a kick out of it. 

  the rest of the conversation was light, which was exactly what you needed. in spite of this, jungkook’s remarks about your letters echoed in the back of your mind. you made a mental note to look into his claim - though the said letters from your childhood likely lived in your dad’s apartment, where you had spent your middle school to high school years at.

  midway through the dinner-slash-breakfast, you caught the way jungkook’s eyes were fixated on you and didn’t move. you gave him a questioning look and he sighed.

  jungkook said, “there’s jam on your face.” his tone was pretending to be disappointing, but holding back a laugh.

  “oh, where?” you began wiping your cheek, which turned out to be dry. you continued swiping around, still missing.

  he groaned. “it’s literally right there. by your nose, bunny. come on.” 

  after looking like he was about to simultaneously lose his mind and burst out laughing, his chair creaked loudly against the wooden flooring and jungkook stood up. he made strides around the table over to you and bent down to meet you at eye-level. you jumped at the sudden movement and the fact that jungkook’s face was inches away from yours. he was so close that you could count every single one of his long eyelashes if you tried.

  “it’s right. . .here.” at some point, jungkook ripped away a piece of paper towel from your side and you nearly flinched when you felt his touch on your cheek. 

  he gently wiped away the spread with a tilted head and a crease forming in between his brows, seemingly looking everywhere but in your eyes. you were so close to him that you could hear his steady breathing. you wondered if he was close enough to hear the army marching in the middle of your chest. it was hard for you to breathe yourself when your entire body froze at the contact.

  you managed to let out a whisper, fighting the shiver creeping up your spine. “thanks.”

  jungkook’s lips looked exactly like they did in your dreams. “no problem.” his voice was low and you swore you saw his eyes flash to your own lips, before looking up at you.

  you weren’t sure how long the two of you were still for. the only thing in your ears was the sound of your heart, which was amplified over the ticking of the grandfather clock several feet away. nobody dared to move until the ringing of a cell phone, which caused both of you to jump.

  it was jungkook’s. the phone was sitting on the dining table and it rang because you knew he always kept his phone off vibrate for his sister. when you saw a picture of jiwon and jungkook making silly faces at each other flash on the screen, you cleared your throat and scooted backwards, knowing that jungkook was going to immediately take the call.

  “sorry, one sec,” jungkook eventually snapped back into reality when he saw his screen. he picked up his phone and trailed into the living room to take the call.

  it was time for you snap back into reality, too. you felt stupid and like you wanted to bang your head into the table in front of you. there was no way he was going to kiss you, you’d witnessed one too many reruns of this fantasy in your dreams. you just spoke about how great your friendship was.

  best friends forever. you repeated that in your mind, along with jungkook talking your ear off about how great you and taehyung would look together.

xvi. the sunday market

on the last sunday of each month, the valley closed up most of its main roads for pedestrian access only and the community came out to hold a market in the town square. local busineses came out to sell their usual and offer up fun, seasonal products to buy. your grandfather usually set up a stand, but you found yourself a little too shy to be doing it alone for your first month in town. thankfully, you were wedged between jimin and hoseok, right in between their booths. 

  “honestly, i’m glad you’re with us, y/n. at least we can all smell like fish,” hoseok hummed, as he began unfolding a tablecloth.

  to this, jimin rolled his eyes and continued shuffling through some flyers in his hand. “we’re not even selling fresh fish this month.” in front of him was instead a variety of different seafood products, such as artisanal spread, marinated seafood in jars and sustainably sourced caviar. 

  meanwhile, you were proud of what you scrambled together last minute. cartons of eggs, jugs of milk, yogurt, and quick-growing crops like microgreens and radishes. you took your job very seriously and wanted to make a good impression on the townsfolk.

  “thank you, y/n! hoseok, can you put some sunblock on for once? sheesh, you’re going to get burnt!” hoseok’s mom, mrs. jung, was one of your first customers that day and happily took home some fresh basil and eggs. her sneer at hoseok was clear as day, even underneath her floppy hat, snapping at her son from right beside you.

  hoseok groaned. “mom, i’m almost thirty. stop!” and still, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen. 

  mrs. jung ignored him. “bye, y/n! bye jiminnie!” she blew a kiss to jimin, which made hoseok grumble.

  you laughed at the interaction, as you fanned yourself with one of jimin’s flyers. it’d been less than an hour since the market began and it was still early in the morning, so the square was sparse. you could even look down to your left and still see seokjin’s booth on the other side of the market, beside the mayor’s booth manned by namjoon. 

  it was now the end of june and marked your first month in town. the skies were clear and bright, a sight that you promised yourself you wouldn’t take for granted. every morning, you woke up before the sun did and by the time the morning came up to greet you, you were filled with vibrant energy for the day.

  “hi unnie! you look like you’re in a good mood today!” it was jiwon, holding onto peanut with one hand and her teddy bear in another. she was stylish for a kid her age, wearing jeans and a trendy graphic t-shirt that you suspected was jungkook’s influence.

  taking a cautious scan of your surroundings, you let out a quiet breath of relief when you saw that jungkook wasn’t around. he was definitely nearby, though, you had a feeling he wouldn’t let jiwon roam around with the puppy with anyone else.

  you greeted, “hi jiwon! you’re up early.” it was about nine in the morning and if you were a kid, you would not be a morning person during summer vacation.

  “yeah, oppa made me come with him,” she yawned extra loud, clutching her leash close.

  to your right, jimin cleared his throat. “where is jungkook?” he asked.

  “he’s avoiding y/n,” jiwon sang, like it was a normal thing to say out of the blue.

  your ears turned pink. you thought the two of you were good. it’d been over a week since your dinner with him at the saloon. now come to think about it, since your last encounter, jungkook had yet to make another return to the farm to finish whatever gate he was repairing - you stopped keeping track at some point, just letting him come over and continuing to hope that he found something new to fix. 

  hoseok pinched his nose. “jiwon, you can’t rat my boy out like that,” he whispered, side-eying you, even though you could clearly see. 

  to add fuel to the fire, you noticed the way jimin was scoping his surroundings. his eyes narrowed over to a corner, where you finally saw jungkook talking to mayor kim. when you did so, he looked over and made eye contact with you for the briefest of seconds, before darting away. before you knew it, jimin began hollering.

  “hey! jungkook! come here!”

  “what are you doing?” you hissed, taking a step towards jimin’s booth. “i thought we made a truce, park jimin.”

  “trust me, i’m helping you out.” jimin’s cheeky grin made you take a deep breath, holding back profanity for jiwon.

  you weren’t sure if the boys knew anything about what was going on with you and jungkook. hell, you weren’t even sure what was going on with you and jungkook. ever since he began detatching, you’d become confused and kept second guessing if you said or did something wrong. maybe coming by his house randomly was weird, but he did the exact same thing. the way he randomly suggested taehyung as a date for you also sent mixed signals.

  jungkook and mayor kim looked towards your direction, taken aback. then, jungkook gave the latter a polite smile, before walking in your direction. great.

  “did you need help with something, jimin?” the tight-lipped smile and tone coming from jungkook indicated he didn’t want to help with anything at all.

  jimin’s smile remained on his face, as he shook his head. “have you seen y/n’s, uh, cilantro? so fresh.”

  you turned to jimin, dumbfounded, but also irritated that you got roped into the conversation. meanwhile, jiwon batted her eyelashes, looking back and forth between you and her brother. her innocent demeanour was almost convincing, but you knew you were dealing with a jeon here. 

  “oh, hi. i didn’t see you there, y/n,” jungkook said. 

  bullshit. your tablecloth was bright yellow, compared to jimin and hoseok using the same white for their booths. you were wearing red lipstick and a sundress. he definitely noticed you. this made your jaw tense, annoyed that jungkook was acting different out of nowhere.

  “yup,” was all you could say, a dry tone settling in your voice.

  jungkook raised his eyebrows. “late night or something?” he asked, as if your voice indicated fatigue.

  “no.”

  “your eyebags say otherwise.” usually, jungkook teased you with a certain playfulness, but he instead matched your dry tone.

  hoseok immediately interjected, “oh, haha! ha - uh, haha!” he forced laughter out as if pushing with brute force, looking at you and jungkook strangely. the question in his eyes read what’s wrong with you two clear as day.

  you shrugged and luckily at that very moment, a small family began walking in your direction and approached your booth. on the other hand, jungkook suddenly became fascinated with the infused syrups at hoseok’s table and found the energy to talk his ear off about the ingredients. you missed the way jiwon shot a dirty look at jimin, as if this was his fault.

  “why are they acting weird?” jimin whispered to the smaller girl, as if buddies gossiping on the playground. 

  jiwon only rolled her eyes and huffed, walking away with peanut. she murmured things under her breath about adults being useless, wondering why she had to wake up early all to witness a dumpster fire between you and jungkook. she walked away, muttering to herself something about how she was determined to prove she was the only one with brains around here.

  𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx @shellyyy177

[ravenclawboyy]

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑊𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐶𝐼𝐺𝐴𝑅𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑆 🍓 ₊˚࿐

‎‏♡‧ ⁺彡𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 💋⋆◞

—

- ✧ The summer sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the little town. The days were long, and the heat was relentless, baking the earth and making the air feel thick and heavy. Johnny Davis found himself wandering through the streets, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, not lit this time. His thoughts kept drifting back to A/N — her laughter, the softness of her touch, and the taste of strawberries still lingering in his memory.

He hadn’t seen her in a few weeks, not since that night in her strawberry garden. Something about that meeting had stayed with him, pulling him back to the edge of town again and again, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her.

Today, he decided to head back to the garden. Maybe it was fate or just a stubborn yearning that had settled in his chest, but he felt like he needed to see her again.

As he approached the small, worn-down house, he saw her. A/N was outside, kneeling in the dirt, her hands carefully tending to the strawberry plants. She was wearing a light blue sundress, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and there was a faint blush of red on her cheeks from the sun. She looked up, sensing his presence, and smiled. That same warm, inviting smile that seemed to light up everything around her.

“Johnny,” she called out, standing up and brushing the dirt off her hands. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

He grinned, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I guess I couldn’t stay away,” he said with a playful shrug. “You got any more strawberries?”

She laughed, reaching down to pick a particularly ripe one from a nearby plant. “Always,” she replied, holding it out to him. “But this time, you have to earn it.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Oh? And how do I do that?”

A/N eyes sparkled with mischief. “Help me in the garden. These plants don’t take care of themselves, you know.”

He chuckled and nodded. “Alright, deal.”

For the next hour, they worked side by side, pulling weeds, watering the plants, and laughing at each other’s jokes. A/N showed him how to handle the fragile leaves and protect the delicate fruits from the sun’s harsh rays. Johnny pretended to be clueless, but he couldn’t help but admire the way she moved, the way her hands carefully cradled each berry like it was something precious.

As they worked, the sun climbed higher in the sky, and the air grew warmer. Johnny wiped the sweat from his forehead, stealing a glance at A/N, who seemed completely in her element, a soft smile playing on her lips.

After a while, A/N stood up, stretching her arms over her head. “I think that’s enough for today,” she said, a satisfied look on her face. “Come on, let’s take a break.”

They sat down under the shade of a large tree, the branches providing a cool respite from the heat. A/N reached into a small basket she had brought with her and pulled out a handful of fresh strawberries, still warm from the sun.

“Here,” she said, offering one to Johnny. “A reward for all your hard work.”

He took the strawberry from her hand, their fingers brushing for a moment, sending a small jolt through his skin. He bit into the fruit, the sweetness exploding on his tongue, and couldn’t help but smile.

A/N watched him, her expression thoughtful. “Do you know what I like about strawberries?” she asked, her voice soft.

Johnny shook his head. “What’s that?”

“They’re sweet,” she replied, “but also a little wild. Like they don’t belong in a garden, but out in the fields, growing wherever they want.”

Johnny chuckled. “Kind of like you?”

She laughed, a light, carefree sound. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe like you, Johnny Davis, with your cigarettes and leather jacket.”

He felt his heart skip a beat at the way she said his name, soft and lingering, like a secret shared between them.

A/N picked another strawberry, this time holding it up to his lips, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Close your eyes,” she whispered.

Johnny hesitated for a second, then did as she asked. He felt the cool, soft touch of the strawberry against his lips, followed by the warmth of her fingers. He opened his mouth, taking a bite, the juice running down his chin.

He opened his eyes to find her leaning closer, her face inches from his, her breath mingling with his, smelling faintly of strawberries and summer air. He felt a sudden rush of nerves, a feeling he hadn’t felt in years.

“A/N…” he began, but she pressed a finger to his lips, her eyes dancing with something new, something deeper.

“Shhh,” she murmured. “Just… stay here with me.”

She leaned in, and before he could say another word, she kissed him. Her lips were soft and tasted of strawberries, sweet and wild. Johnny felt his heart pounding in his chest, his hands instinctively reaching up to cradle her face, pulling her closer. The world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of bees in the garden.

A/N pulled back slightly, her face flushed, her eyes bright and searching his. “I’ve been wanting to do that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thudding of his heartbeat.

Johnny smiled, his fingers still gently tracing her cheek. “Me too,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

She grinned, and in that moment, they both knew that something had changed, something had deepened between them. She picked another strawberry and held it up to his lips again. “Want another?” she teased.

He nodded, leaning in to take a bite, his eyes never leaving hers. “I think I could get used to this,” he said softly.

They stayed there under the tree, sharing strawberries and kisses, the sun warming their skin, the air filled with the scent of fruit and the promise of something more. For now, it was just them, a man with a cigarette and a girl with a garden, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

End..

tags : @zablife / @xxanaduwrites / @tickettride / @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler / @pacifymebby / @iridescentprose / @mayfieldss / @garbinge / @drabbles-mc / @narcolini

[greetingfromthedead]

Ghost of You (SingleDad!Vash x Dead!F!Reader)

Plot: Your death haunts Vash for years, filling his dreams with nightmares, but for his twins, he will put on a brave face and do whatever it takes to make their childhood a happy one.

Series: Not a series per se, but a continuation of Stormy Night

Pairing: SingleDad!Vash x Dead!F!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: post-Trimax (minor spoilers), no use of y/n, death, angst, funeral, widow Vash, single father Vash, kids, childcare

Word count: 3.6k

Author's Note: Seems like my only goal in life is making @biancalattei cry. But you brought it on yourself. This is a touch more lighthearted than the previous one, but still, it's mostly pain and should be enjoyed with a healthy side of sad music. that's just my opinion.

"Hold on. Just hold on. You will meet the babies. You have to. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We will be a family. We will see them grow up. You and I will get through this together. Just hold on." Vash's voice has lowered to a whisper as he presses his face into your hair. "We will make it through this storm."

This can't be happening. He clutches you tightly, his arms wrapped around your unmoving body. The moment your grasp on his human hand loosened, he knew that something was terribly wrong, so he did all he knew and pulled you closer. It is just the two of you in the empty room. Vash's ears refuse to hear the voices of the nurse and midwife; the cries of the children are drowned out too. The howling of the wind is nothing more than a faint whisper. The only thing he can hear is the pounding of his heart.

"They will run around the house, and we will play hide and seek until the sun goes down," he continues to whisper to you, the words slurring together where sobs want to escape. "Our home will be filled with laughter and sunlight. And we will live happily ever after. We will see to it that they never have to feel the hardships we did. You are my beautiful wife. I love you more than words can express. You have to hold on."

Vash repeats the same things over and over again, begging you to stay with him, to hold on for a moment longer. He holds on to hope until the moment the midwife speaks the truth, which he couldn't accept. You are gone. You never got to meet your children, the twin babies you had looked forward to meeting all these months. Anything he might try to say get drowned out by his sobs. Tears stream down Vash's face as he presses his cheek against the top of your head. The only sound in the room is his heart-wrenching cries of grief. He rocks back and forth, still clutching your lifeless body and holding you in his embrace. This cannot be true. How could you be gone? This has to be a lie, an illusion, a nightmare.

Vash cried in disbelief and grief. He hoped that dawn would never come because he is incapable of facing the rest of his life without you, no matter how long or short that might be. If the day breaks, it would mean that tomorrow has arrived, and he would have to confront reality without you by his side. He knows that he can't bear that thought. The screaming sobs scratch his throat and echo throughout the clinic, a haunting reminder of the void you left behind.

Vash suddenly sits up in bed, covered in sweat, and he wipes the tears from his face. It's still dark outside, and in a way, he is glad for the hungry cries of the babies in the other room, for they woke him up from the nightmare that, sadly, is a replaying memory. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and pushes himself up with a grunt. He is alone in the house with the twins. Luida went back to Home to take advantage of the cold sleep, and Milly and Livio returned to their own house too. They still visit during the day to make sure everything is alright and to help out with the twins, but Vash has now completely stepped into the roles of both mother and father.

He is still half asleep as he drags himself to the kitchen to prepare the milk bottles for the twins. The cries make his gut twist painfully, but he unfortunately only has two arms and can't comfort both of the twins at the same time while preparing their meal. He tries to hurry and finally manages to settle into the recliner with both the children to feed them. He thinks back to before he lost his powers, before his hair turned raven. Back then, he was able to do everything effortlessly, and while he got tired, he didn't get as exhausted as he does now. The hunger didn't hurt him as much either, and he barely noticed the sticky heat. Being truly human is tiring, but he has no choice but to brave through it and keep pushing forward, both for the children and you.

Things have settled into a rhythm; the first few months were the hardest, but now the twins just need to be fed once during the night. Vash tries to remember what he and his brother were like at that age; they grew up rapidly, and while he admired Rem for raising two kids by herself, he realized just how different human babies are. He was already speaking at that age and walked around by himself, while there was a long way to go until his darlings will start to crawl.

The little girl settles nicely into the crib after the diaper change, but the boy remains fussy. Vash holds him gently, with the baby's head on his bare shoulder. He bounces the twin lightly and taps on his back, but the cries don't stop. Vash paces around the room, shushing the child to settle him down, but nothing seems to be working. Suddenly, he hears laughter from the crib under the window. Vash goes closer to look at the little girl, and as he turns to her, the boy quiets down. The baby on her back still giggles, looks past Vash to the wall behind him, and reaches out her hands. The baby in his arms starts giggling too, but as he turns to look behind him, there is nothing but a chest of drawers filled with baby stuff. There are no toys or funny shadows in sight. As he keeps looking, the boy gets fussy again, and Vash carefully turns him around. He calms down immediately.

"What is going on?" Vash mumbles to himself as he settles the baby into his crib. Both seem content and start to yawn soon after. Their eyes largely remain fixed on something on top of the piece of furniture.

Is that really you? Part of him denies the possibility loudly. You don't look like that. Your skin is vibrant, your eyes are bright, and your smile warms his heart. The woman in the coffin resembles you, but her eyes are closed, her expression is neutral, and her skin is dull. He was never supposed to see a sight like this. You were supposed to outlive him in every scenario. How can he bury his beloved wife? How can he accept that once the lid is placed over your resting body, you will be lowered into a deep and dark grave, and he will never lay eyes on you again?

He keeps his blurry gaze on you, as if waiting for a miracle. Vash isn't sure if he has stopped crying since the day at the clinic. He doesn't see the crowd of mourners around him. It is just him and the coffin you lay in. He dreads the moment he has to say goodbye. The pain of loss feels like a physical weight on his shoulders; it wants to press him down to the ground and keep him there forever. Would it be so wrong to lay down beside you and face the future together? He doesn't want to be left behind. He knows he can't do that. Not here, not now.

One by one, faceless people stop in front of him. They shake his hand, they pat his shoulder, and they hug him gently, but he doesn't feel any of it. He is just numb with sorrow; it doesn't feel real. Their condolences fall on deaf ears, and he can't even truly bring himself to turn away his gaze from your body, lying there so still. He is lost in a sea of grief and disbelief. He watches as the people move to you, each one offering you tender words and well wishes as they honor your life.

Vash would remain standing there for the rest of his life, unable to move a single inch, if a hand didn't push him forward. It was Brad, signaling to him that it was time. Vash takes careful steps forward to stand beside the simple metal coffin. You lay in it, surrounded by white fabric, peaceful and unmoving. Vash takes a deep breath to steady himself before reaching out to touch your cold hand. The feeling sends a shiver down his spine, a stark reminder of your absence. As he stands there, memories flood his mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love and laughter you shared.

"If only I could have you back. I wish I could have you until I can put into words how much you mean to me. How much I love you. You would live forever because there are no such words. You were sunshine, and now there is only darkness. I couldn't save you. You were my everything." Vash can't hold back the tears anymore, and a sob escapes him. He wipes his face into the black fabric of his sleeve. The twin suns set on the scene, painting the sky with hues of red and orange. As dusk creeps near, candles light among the mourners, casting a warm glow over the desert sand.

"I never thought this day would come," Vash continues quietly as he clutches your hand, "where I have to lay you to rest. I thought you would be here forever, like the moons and the stars, a guiding light even in the darkest of nights. You will never be forgotten, and you will take my heart with you on this long journey. It is so very hard to say it, but I must." He sobs again, frantically wiping away the tears and snot. "This is our final goodbye. And for one last time, I get to tell you: I love you."

Vash bows down and presses his lips against your forehead, where he has left a million kisses before. As he stands up, he takes a deep breath and turns away, his heart heavy with the weight of his words. With one last look over his shoulder, he walks away, leaving behind memories that will forever linger in his soul. As he stands among the others, his hands shake too much to hold on to a candle; instead, he uses them to bury his face, muffling the sobs that press out of his spasming lungs. Someone holds him, their arm around his back, but he does not know who. He barely sees the lid being placed on your coffin, sealing you away forever. The world has gone dark, and he is lost in his grief as you are lowered into the ground, never to return. Vash remains there even as the sand is piled on top of your grave and the people surround your mound with candles before leaving. The flames flicker in the darkness, casting long shadows on the desert landscape as Vash kneels before your grave and sobs, much like the day you died.

His hand is lifted, and something nuzzles into the crook of his elbow. He has to blink a few times to clear his eyes and see his daughter settle in against his side. She looks up as he shifts slightly, and pain flares in his heart as the face looking at him is so much like yours. He recognized you in your daughter the first time he looked at her, and the resemblance has only grown stronger over the last two years.

"Don't cry, daddy!" she says, pulling out a teddy she had brought with her. She throws it on Vash's chest before nuzzling more against his arm. Vash pulls her closer to his side.

"Daddy wasn't crying. He was just sweating." He lies, not wanting his kids to see him like this. . His heart aches at the thought of them worrying about him. He wipes his eyes quickly into his other hand, only to hear pattering feet approach the bed in the dark room. Without saying anything, the older twin climbs into bed and crawls closer to Vash. He settles in against his dad's other side, pulling a cat stuffy closer against his cheek.

"I seep wit daddy too!" he says, throwing an envious look at his sister over Vash's chest.

Another painful reminder of a person he wasn't able to save. As he looks at his young son, he can't help but see the face of his brother. He knows that in reality it is his face looking back at him, but still, the reminder is there, making his gut feel heavy.

"You should both be in bed, asleep." Vash says softly as he holds them both close.

"I wan seep here!" The little boy exclaims and nuzzles more into the warmth of his father's chest.

"Me too!" answers the other kid with a stare so resolute that there was no arguing. She looked so much like you, it was uncanny.

"Alright, just for tonight. You do have your own beds, and this is daddy's bed." He looks tenderly at his two kids, happy to be here in this moment with them. "But no tomfoolery! I mean it, you two. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

He tucks the twins in and leaves his protective arms around them, gently stroking their backs until they fall asleep. He remains awake for a little bit longer, thinking back to the bittersweet memories he has of you. It is hard to believe that this grief will ever truly go away. Every day, he thinks about you, missing you with every breath. He can only hope he does justice to you in his own life. He tries his best to raise the kids you brought into this world, hoping that they will grow up to be just as kind and loving as you were. He still feels guilt for how their lives began and how he nearly abandoned them completely in hopes of keeping them safe. He carries the weight of his mistakes, but he finds solace in the fact that your love continues to guide him, even in your absence. Despite the pain of losing you, he is determined to honor your memory by being the best parent he can be for your children.

He slipped into a dreamless slumber and woke a few hours later, when morning had arrived and filled the room with golden light. He looks over to the empty side of the bed where you used to lay, feeling a pang of sorrow in his heart, but the dark hair of the kid to his left caught his attention. The little boy turns in his sleep, and that's what woke him up in the first place. His peaceful expression brought a smile to his face. On the other side, his daughter uses his forearm as a pillow; her black locks look like a mess, and Vash already knows it will be a struggle to get that sorted out. She has the habit of hiding all the combs in hopes she won't have to brush her hair. One of the little ponytails is sticking up at a strange angle, and the other is barely holding on on the other side.

He has his little family, and while you aren't with them, you are still in his heart. He wonders if he should visit you today, take the kids with him, and say hello. He continues to contemplate the decision, knowing it could bring both happiness and heartache. The main question is if he can keep from sobbing right then and there; he wouldn't want to cry in front of the kids. His thoughts stray to breakfast just as his son lifts his head from his arm and rubs his eyes with his little fist. "Good morning," Vash says quietly as he smiles at his son, hoping to hide the pain inside.

On the other side, his little girl makes fussy sounds as she turns, still half asleep. Vash leans down to gently kiss the top of her head, knowing that he has to be strong for his children despite the turmoil in his heart.

It turns out to be a slow morning. It takes time for the kids to completely wake up, and even more time for Vash to negotiate with them to get the morning routine going. The prospect of pancakes is what gets them all out of bed. Vash gets the twins ready for the day to the best of his abilities, but the nightmares are taking a toll on him. He could lay back down and sleep for the whole day, but he knows his family needs him to keep going. After a quick nappy change and dressing the children, he leaves them to play in the living room, in his line of sight, where he stands in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

As usual, the play that begins rather gently quickly turns into roughhousing and loud laughter as the twins chase each other around for one reason or another. As the chaos escalates, he can't help but smile at their antics. This is how he imagined things to be—a house full of giggles and love. It is just missing you. He longs for the day when you'll join in on the fun and complete their little family, but he is well aware it will never come. There is a tiny part that still feels as if you could walk through the door at any second and make everything right again.

"Hey! No running in the kitchen!" Vash calls out a little sternly as the twins start to chase each other around the dining table. Vash is worried he might have overdone it with that tone of voice and will now have two screaming toddles on his hands, but to his surprise, the two babies come to him, trying to peer up onto the stove with wide, curious eyes. As they are too short to see anything interesting, they resort to playing peek-a-boo with each other, hiding behind Vash's legs. They both hold on to his pants tightly, and soon enough, hang off them. Vash is glad he wears his belt tight nowadays, or they would have fallen down long ago.

"Hey now, kids! Daddy is making pancakes on the hot stove! You shouldn't be playing here!" But the kids continue to dangle from his pants, giggling and swinging back and forth as they peek at each other. "You must be hungry. I will give you your plates if you let go."

Vash's negotiations fall through, and instead the twins cling on to his leg, using his feet as seats. Vash lets out a deep sigh and surrenders to his fate. He resigns himself to the fact that his children are as stubborn as you and him put together. They will never let go. So he twists around to the best of his abilities, reaching out the plate filled with pancakes to place on the table and pushing anything potentially dangerous farther away from the edge of the counter. He lifts his legs, one at a time, with the children still clinging on, and makes his way to the cabinet with the plates. As he sets their plates down, he can't help but smile at the sight of his children's determined faces. Despite the chaos, he wouldn't have it any other way.

With some bribing in the form of syrup and whipped cream, he settles the kids into their high chairs, where they start to fool around with the plates they were given before they see the stack of pancakes waiting for them on the table. Their little grabby hands immediately stretch out towards the treasure that lay just out of reach. Vash smiles as he gives the twins a knowing look, already anticipating the mayhem that would ensue once the pancakes were within their grasp. Predictably, breakfast is just as turbulent as it is most of the time, but this time it is more sticky on account of the syrup. The twins giggle with delight, thoroughly enjoying the mess they had created, but are not that thrilled by the prospect of a bath.

Vash's life is not easy. Despite the sweet moments, there are all the sleepless nights, the nightmares and worries, and two sugar-high toddlers running around the house. His home is filled with noise and life, despite the shadow of death looming in the dark corners. Not a day goes by where he doesn't wish he could share it all with you—the joys and heartaches. He longs for your presence to fill the void in his heart; he misses you with every breath he takes. Yet in some way, it feels like you never left, like you are still watching over them all, guiding them through life's challenges, and celebrating their victories. It would explain why the twins first words were "mama", despite them not meaning him. He takes comfort in knowing that your presence is still felt, even in your physical absence. So he continues to do what he can—his best.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

And if you feel like reading more of my dad!Vash, but want to recover from this trainwreck, then I have the perfect thing for you: Little Feet.