#time to start muting some words on tumblr......

[moxielynx]

my prediction for the ending of spiderman 2 is that peter will hold harry so gently like he did in ultimate spiderman and then they'll kiss and tell each other how much they love each other and-

Edit 1: I’m finally gonna be playing Spider-Man 2 this weekend and I would just like to say I get mental damage every time someone reblogs this with something along the lines of “how does it feel to get it so accurate” /hj

Edit 2: I AM A SAD, SAD BROKEN MAN. APOLLO HAS GIFTED ME THE POWER OF PROPHECY. DAMN YOU INSOMNIAC DAMN YOU.

[certifiedbueckethead]

paige x gamer girl 🎮 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

paige bueckers x gamer girl reader

warnings: jealousy, fingering, strap, bad language, explicit smut

word count: 2.6k

a/n: my first paige post on tumblr, unedited because I am tired lol, lmk if you have any suggestions dms are open <3

Readers pov 

It’s a typical Thursday night for you, you’re sitting in your small dorm that you luckily don’t have to share with anyone. It’s about 2 am and you’re sitting at your desk, which has several monitors along with a few consoles, a keyboard and various other items. Your desk setup was your pride, since you spend so many hours playing some of your favorite games such as stardew valley, valorant, overwatch and occasionally gta online if some of your friends were on. You look at the time, it was still early for you so you close stardew valley, frustrated that one of your neighbors didn’t accept your gift, I mean who could say they don’t like daffodils? You open valorant, and message a few of your friends to get on. Azzi, Ice and KK join your party and you instalock your favorite agent - Jett. You have your headset turned on, and as the game goes on, your team ends up coming back and just as the score reads out 8 - 10 you hear a knock on your door. You move one side of your headset, muting yourself and yell out “doors unlocked, come in”, expecting it to be Paige.

You and Paige have an interesting relationship, you became friends through valorant and you both realized you went to UConn together, so that's when she introduced you to her teammates who you were currently in the game with. Little do your mates know that Paige comes in almost every night, around the same time like clockwork to play with you. The groupchat often is pinging Paige to come online and play, but all she says is that she’s been too tired from practice to play. Surprisingly, they never really pressed on when she wouldn’t join in. 

“Hey mamas, keep yourself muted for a bit will you?”, Paige says, smirking while looking at your set up, you clearly in an intense match. You hum in agreement and in the corner of your eye you see Paige taking off her shirt and is sitting on your bed, in her light grey sweatpants and her light blue sports bra. She scrolls through her phone as you play. You hear her laugh as you curse under your breath, it’s a tough match but you guys are coming back pretty well. “Paige come on, if you’re not going to talk I am gonna unmute we have to win this fucking match, I am still ranked gold.”, you say, unmuting yourself, immersed in the game. Paige, getting jealous that all your attention is on your game when she was quite literally in your room with you unlike the other girls who were on the other side of the screen. You see her get up and walk towards you in the corner of your eye but you don’t give her your attention. “Fuck it, Azzi, Sage and Viper are heaven we gotta clutch this round or there is no coming back”, you yell into your mic. You get your shot and you move onto B site. Before you know it Paige is under your desk, rubbing your thighs. Subconsciously, you move your thighs farther apart, giving her more access and you lean back in the chair. Paige squeezes your thighs gently, but when you don’t look down at her she slaps them. You mumble a quick, “Not right now” to Paige, trying to be quiet so no one can hear you through your mic. You hear KK say, “Huh what was that?”, and you quickly say you were talking to yourself. Paige starts rubbing your thighs again, slowly going up to your core. You bite your lip while you’re in the buy phase, choosing your weapon and finding your mates on the map. Paige starts to rub your clit, from outside of your pants slowly, and you know exactly what she is going to do. It happens so often it’s part of your night routine at this point, if it’s not starting out like this you are probably at her place, in her bed. 

You start to roll your hips to feel her touch more, the pleasure putting you into a trance to the point where you end up getting a AFK penalty in the game. You snap out of it when your mates call on you, and you quickly mumble, “Went to the washroom”, and Ice cursed at you, stating that you should've told them before you started another match. Paige, noticing this, pretty pissed off that you would even join another match when she was clearly trying to fuck you, she shoves down your pants. Since it happens often enough, Paige isn’t surprised to see that you aren’t wearing any underwear. “So you’re not going to give me attention then ma?”, she whispers, quiet enough for you to hear and not your mates. You roll your eyes, you have been getting a lot of wins lately and you can’t wait to move up tier. Paige suddenly pulls you closer to the edge of your chair, gripping your thighs as she takes a warm, long lick between your folds. Her grip is tight enough so you are unable to move your thighs apart. She pushes you back, so that your back is against the chair and your legs are spread wide enough and dangle from her shoulders. She latches her tongue onto your clit, sucking on it roughly. She usually was quite gentle with you but today, she was pissed that you barely even greeted her, you didn’t even get up to kiss her when she walked in. So before you know it she’s thrusting in a finger into your dripping wet cunt, and you quickly mute your headset, afraid your mates will hear the lewd wet sounds. You look down at Paige, her icy blue eyes glaring at you as she shoves a second finger into you. She removes her mouth for a second to say, “So now you give me your fucking attention, fucking unmute yourself. You’re going to have to control yourself, or your little friends will know how much of a fucking slut you are for me.”, Paige says, curling her fingers inside of you and you squeeze your thighs together, around her head and she stops. “Listen to me or I won’t continue.”, is all she says and you move your thighs and unmute yourself. Azzi is asking you to go mid, and you can barely respond, trying to hold back any sort of noises, as if the slick noises from your dripping cunt wasn’t enough. “Uh huh…”, is all you can muster. At this point you only have your hand on the mouse and the other on Paiges head, forcing her against you. “More…”, is what you say to Paige. You need her tongue against your clit, sucking harder. Your thighs start to shake and your breathing gets more shallow, and you accidentally let out “fuck I’m close”, into your mic and your face turns red. “To the spike?”, Azzi asks, confused and KK responds with “Nah, I got it don’t worry y/n”. Relieved, you focus on Paige, and your stomach starts to tense and just as you feel yourself about to release all your juices onto Paige’s face and your chair, she gets up. “What the fuck?”, you yell, staring at Paige. She always makes sure you finish, knowing that in all your past relationships you’ve never been able to until she came into your life. It was part of her ego, knowing that she only had this effect on you and made sure to let you indulge in it. 

Paiges POV 

How the fuck are you still playing your game, she can hear all the shot’s you’re making, seeing the screen say “Thrifty” on the reflections on your big glasses, that cover a large portion of your face. Clearly you are still able to play well enough. You haven't used it before on her, but you brought it today because you felt like there may be a need to use it. You open your bag, taking out a harness with a pale blue, 7 in dildo attached to it. Your face turns a deep, cherry red, a bit embarrassed taking it out. But you snap out of it, you know you have to fuck her hard enough that she can’t even focus on the game, that she gives you all her focus, her attention, her fucking love. You step into the harness, putting it on and you stare down into her eyes. 

Readers pov 

You were watching Paiges every movement intently, your eyes flipping back to the screen every so often to make sure you don’t get another AFK notice. You mates are literally yelling at you, “Y/N, come on what the fuck you always carry, why are you bottom fragging?”, Azzi states while KK is cursing at her end because you always carry her especially. “Uhm… yeah, bad match I guess.”, is what you respond with, and your focus is back on the game. You get a few kills and you make your way back to carrying your team when you see Paige pull you up, shove you against your desk with your ass up. Without any warning, Paige is behind you, pushing the tip of her strap into your still very drenched, sticky cunt and she starts to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t even kiss me when I walk in? And you expect me to let you finish? You are such a greedy slut, only taking and you never fucking give. Give me your fucking attention or I will force it out of you.”, she whispers in your ear, and you start to worry. You still have your head set on and your teammates know Paige, so they can recognize her voice. You reach for your mouse, and Paige smacks it away, before thrusting her strap into you. You quickly move your hand to your face, to help quit your moan that was alfully too loud, knowing that your mates for sure heard that. “Yo, Y/N you good?, you hear Ice say. You hum in a response, as Paige is thrusting into you at already an inhuman pace. She her foot on your chair, so can thrust into you at an angle that is moving you closer to your edge. At this point, you are full on moaning into the mic, feeling a tear slip down your face while Paige continues to abuse that one spot only she hits with her fingers, but feels so much better with her strap. Your mates clear their throats, a bit confused and you quickly say you have to go and take off the headset. You reach for the power button on your monitor and the game shuts off. You know you are going to get a penalty for this, but it was clear what Paige wanted. 

She picks you up and places you on the bed. You feel yourself about to cry, you’ve been close twice already and she hasn’t let you release yet. Paige takes notice of this, but her eyes don’t soften. You feel her blue, icy glare almost pierce through your skin and you make it easier for her. You know what she wants so you reach up, and place your hand on her jaw, pulling her in for a kiss. This kiss is more heated then any of the ones before, she doesn’t hesitate to suck on your tongue and put her hand under your shirt, rubbing your already hard nipples. You knew you would get fucked tonight anyways, so you didn’t bother putting on a bra. She pulls away from you. “On your stomach, if you want to finish tonight.”, is all she says to make you obey her words finally. You bring your favorite plushie into your arms and bury your face into it as you get on your stomach, and Paige puts a pillow under your stomach, so you can feel the full depth of her strap. 

She slowly enters you again, as if she hasn’t already fucked you against the table. You are already overstimulated from not being able to finish, feel a few more tears drip down your face. Paige places a hand on your lower back as she shoves her strap into you, making sure you take all 7 inches of it. “Why don’t get you get your fucking mates to fuck you? You clearly were having more fun with them when I was right here, trying to please you, trying to worship every inch of your slutty body.”, Paige spits at you. Her words were making you need her more and more and you arch your back, fucking yourself against her strap not caring how needy you looked. 

Paige’s POV

“Oh so now you want to pay attention to me, look at you taking me so fucking well, I didn’t know you’d be such a fucking filthy slut for my strap y/n.”, you say, smirking to yourself. Finally she wants to listen, and oh my fucking god she looked hot listening to you. Her face was buried into her favorite plushing, you couldn’t see her face but you could hear all the lewd noises she was making. “Paige… Paige please, I’ll be your best girl, just let me fucking cum”, is what you hear her say. You know she’s close, you feel her body start to shake and she barely has that same energy she had fucking herself against your strap, so you give in and help her out. You thrust into her a few more times, before she finishes, spilling all her juices against your strap. 

You notice her breathing deeply, not saying anything once she finishes. Usually she clung to you afterwards, wanting to be in your arms. You take off the strap, and get up. You figure she’s just tired, so you go to her bathroom, dampen a washcloth and come back to clean her up when you notice her face covered in tears. Your eyes soften as you feel worry fill into your chest. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong.”, you say quietly, pulling her into your lap. “I am so sorry if I was too rough tonight with you, I just really wanted your attention and it was selfish of-”, you begin to rant mindlessly, trying to explain yourself when she interrupts you and kisses you. “Felt good Paigey, too fucking good.”, she mumbles. “You were crying though ma, I didn’t even notice you crying before and I don’t want to do that to you.”, you tell her, looking into her eyes, feeling yourself tear up. You were too hard on her tonight, and it wasn’t for a good reason, you were purely just jealous and wanted her to want you. “P, no really, I wanted that, you just edged me and I was sensitive and needed to finish, I trust you don’t worry.”, y/n tells you and you nod your head. “Promise me, you are okay.”, you say, looking at her, still seriously concerned. You hold out your pinky, and she wraps her pinky around yours, “I promise Paigey,”, she says while returning your promise. You kiss her forehead and tuck her hair behind her ears, before carefully cleaning her, freeing her from the sticky wetness that covered her cunt and her thighs. Noticing her almost falling asleep, you pull the covers over the both of you, and she snuggles into you. “Wait fuck Paige, I am not going to peak platnim anytime soon if you’re going to keep getting me penalties like this.”

“Come on, you deserve at least the platinum tier for taking it so well mamas. I can send in a letter about it to Riot Games if you want”, you joke, watching her fall asleep on your chest.

[carowleysposts]

Good Omens makes me feel scary things. Let’s talk about it.

So, before I start, I think it’s important to clarify that I am neurodivergent. I have autism and GO is one of my strongest hyper-fixations ever. I am so emotionally and mentally invested in it I could talk about it for days on end and every single detail of this show makes me love it more.

But there’s a really really dark flip side to this love, and I would love to see if there’s anyone else who struggles with it too:

I think I care a little too much.

Although I am aware that this is somewhat “common” for people in the spectrum and my doctors all have confirmed I am not a complete nut case for it, I almost never feel comfortable admitting to those in my life that a piece of fiction has such a strong hold on me and my mental health. And as much as I love everything we’ve seen so far, all the little things I hear and read about season three give me heart-stopping waves of anxiety that are definitely not normal.

Like, I am constantly scared of what will happen, as if it was happening to me. And I know it’s embarrassing, but my brain is simply wired differently, and it feels so awful not being able to talk about it with my friends in real life.

Sometimes I feel like my day is ruined because I read someone say that they think S3 won’t have a happy ending, or that they probably won’t kiss or end up together or something bad like that. And even though I know it’s just fiction, it gives me stomach knots, as it is such a powerful part of my life and I think about is so much.

I have even come as far as to take breaks from Tumblr and mute some words on some social media platforms so that I won’t read Neil’s responses to questions - because they ALSO make me fear terribly and give me crippling anxiety, like when he said it won’t be romantic, or when he says stuff that make me worry for the future - and won’t hear speculation or even be reminded of other stuff people say.

And before anyone asks: Yes! I am fully aware it sounds absurd. And yes, i absolutely do feel crazy and embarrassed about it, but unfortunately this is the reality of many people in the spectrum and many neurodivergent people in general.

I do work, I am a ballet teacher and an author, so of course I have many other things to worry about and do and of course I have a life full of responsibilities and relationships and different pursuits to keep me from actually thinking about it nonstop. But still, even though I am busy and distracted most of the time, every now and then these feelings and worries come and punch me in the gut, and it completely paralyzes me for long moments. I feel kinda sick? I don’t know.

So I guess what I am trying to ask is: do you guys know of anyone who feels the same? Like, is there anyone else who feels like their mind has been absolutely taken over by fiction-related anxiety? And also: what should I do about it? I feel like absolutely no other piece of fiction compares to this one, and my mind simply won’t stop.

Help pls.

[critterbitter]

HELLO HI ID LIKE TO ASK WHAT PROGRAM AND BRUSHES YOU USE CUZ IM LITTERALY EXPLODING EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR ART

actually actually... *pulls out whole stack of paper*...I have. a FEW,, a good few,, questions to ask. they are not many I swear 😇

OK SO FIRST OF ALL HOW DO YOU DRAW SO FAST???? everyday I log onto Tumblr I always see something new from you and I get very very happy. But then I start to question my own existence because not even I CAN SPEED RUN ART LIKE THAT. AND SO SPECTACULARLY TOO

Last question! how do you color and make it look so well?? just. How. I need to know. This is a CRY FOR HE-

anyway thank you for being one of my favorite artists that always feed my brain rot, pls keep making amazing art because like a little yamper I will follow behind and stay updated.

(Stands there)

Response and thoughts under cut!

First question! What art program I use!

Mostly procreate, along with a handful of brushes! (Specifically the Jing Set and some custom stuff, which is really just a circle brush with the shape changed to a square.)

Second question! How do i draw so much!

Okay so. I am. Ahhah. Unemployed,,,,? No, I do freelance illustration, but hmm. A studio job would be nice.

i graduated college last year and I’m very used to eight hour art shifts. The body sort of remembers to keep working, even though I no longer have storyboards or visdev homework to do.

Also. The hyperfixation is a deep vast tunnel I STILL have not seen the end of the light to, good golly. (I have dreams now about the kids committing shenanigan crimes. I wake up in cold sweat and write them down in a journal. It’s like being the mouthpiece to an angry god.)

So the overall gist is: I was trained to be a storyboard artist with a visdev background, and I’m using that higher education to draw funny muppets because my brain’s funny.

I also DO have a queue, and I’ve been treating this as a sort of inktober project. I am definitely going to slow down soon though! Maybe. Hopefully. Ah… (sheepishly drops my kofi here)

Third question! How do i color!

I. I, uh. I dont know man the coloring demons have a grip on my soul and i just go along for the ride. But also, if it helps, i prefer to limit my pallets to only a few colors at a time. Lighting is king, so if you can figure out if you want to focus on either on your lights or shadows, you’ll have a much easier time composing. That, and symbolic colors— idk, something hits different about art drenched in gold with a tiny hint of a man staring into the blinding horizon, or a green leafy environment with a single dot of artificial red. I also like using blue and purple for shadows, and I’m a big fan of muting colors with only one or two that pop— one of the reasons why I was so attracted to submas in the first place is because from a design aesthetic, they’re both super funny muppet men AND really cool train guys that have a limited pallet and thematic apparel.

Overall response! THANK YOU SO MUCH. This goes out to a BUNCH of people who sent me inbox queries— sorry for not responding, it’s a tad overwhelming because some of them are story questions even I don’t really know will go yet, and others are words of praise and I’m selfish and like scrolling through the inbox to look at them when I feel down. I am more of an artist who sits in the corner and sprouts like a potato rather then a branching vine who socializes, but I really do see people’s responses and they make me go :)))))

Okay ramble over. Thanks for coming to the soapbox, and good luck on creating!

[effortandmore]

you, after all | knj x reader (18+)

summary: your break up hadn't been angry or contentious. he wanted to go, you never asked him to stay. it was simple, really. but when namjoon shows back up after three years, things don't seem so simple anymore

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: exes to lovers, smut, fluff (because of who i am as a person)

warnings: smut, a little swearing, here are the specific smut tags: kissing, penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, maybe a whisper of a hand job, namjoon has a big dick (i had to)... it's really pretty soft—they're just in love without saying so

word count: 6.8k

a/n: i haven't been able to write the things i need to write (sorry jin and yoongi), so here i am with some namjoon fluff & smut. thank you, as always, to @ugh-yoongi who is helpful and kind with reading these things. apologies for the banner quality; idk how to make it look nice on tumblr. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.

There’s this thing about awkward silences—they’re not inherently awkward because of the absence of sound, they’re awkward precisely because you become acutely aware of every little sound around you that isn’t the one you were expecting or wanting to hear. 

The tap of his heel against the floor, muted by the thin cork flooring and then enhanced again by the way the fabric of his jeans whooshes when he jiggles his knee. The almost white-noise din of the other conversations around you, loud enough that you can pick out words but not meaning. The tinkling of silverware and chopsticks on ceramic and glass as people (including you) swallow things they think to say down with some glass noodles or spoonfuls of soup. 

No, you decide. Awkward silences are anything but quiet, they’re terrifyingly fucking loud. 

“So…” you finally start, “are you going to tell me what you’re actually doing here?” 

Namjoon looks up from his food at you as you speak, his eyes wide like they get when he’s been startled out of some (probably depressing) train of thought, eyebrows raised in crescents that sit like shadows above the rim of his glasses. Noodles trail out of his lips and hang there, resting on his chopsticks, waiting for him to act. 

It’s a perfect visual representation of the pause you feel in your whole body waiting for him to respond. Maybe somehow you are like a noodle, you think. 

You try not to laugh at the thought because you know it will send him back into some sort of overthinking spiral of dismal self-worth. You know he’ll think you’re laughing at him. Sometimes, back then, you were. But not usually.

(And he’s not the only one prone to existential crises. 

Perhaps that’s why you two had always gotten on so well. You’ve had plenty of time to think about how the two of you started and stopped, and being aligned in this sort of… well, thoughtfulness is maybe a generous way to put it… being alike in that way a little bit probably drew you together as much as it split you apart. One overthinker is enough for any relationship. Two is… two is probably one too many). 

With a slurp, he sits up and sets his chopsticks down. He’s still regarding you, his eyes haven’t left your face, you’re pretty sure. But now, it’s with the careful consideration he’s known amongst your friends for, not the surprise you clocked on him a moment prior. 

He’s still fidgeting. You can feel the vibrations of his legs when they brush the underside of the table because he’s too tall to keep his limbs to himself and too polite to stretch them out in a violation (would it really be? You’re not sure) of your space. For a moment, you think it’s out of character, and then you start to recall every difficult conversation you’ve ever had with this man in front of you. The way he would twist up his face into a scowl almost involuntarily, the pulling on his hair, the crumpling up of whatever paper was in reach, the peeling of countless labels off of beer bottles… No, you decide, the fidgeting is perfectly in sync with what you know of Kim Namjoon when he thinks he’s going to say something someone doesn’t want to hear (and also when someone’s telling him something he doesn’t). 

If you didn’t know him as well, you’d think he was stalling. Or unsure of himself. And he might be those things to some degree, but this version of him, you’re sure, is trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say in a way that you’ll accept. 

The problem is, you’ve been broken up for almost three years. You’re not sure what he could say that would even affect you like that any more. 

So, this is all a little frightening, this awkward loud silence between the two of you. 

You point the blunt end of a chopstick at him. “Joon, just spit it out. We haven’t seen each other in ages, I don’t want to waste this watching you think.” 

At that, he grins, and at least some of what you loved about him rears its head. He’s gorgeous when he’s happy—it’s contagious, too. His dimples appear, his cheeks push up into his eyes and his lips spread so wide they almost cover the span of his face. He’s really, truly beautiful like this, and when you see it now for a split second, you’re reminded of how much you used to love making him smile, how much pride you took in being the one who could almost always make him laugh. 

“Sorry,” he mutters as his grin turns from bright to sheepish. “You know how I can be.” 

That, you certainly do. 

“Well, you said you wanted to catch up, and we’ve done that, so now are you gonna tell me what you’re doing back here?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, eyes dropping down to his bowl.

“Uh-oh.” You mean it to tease, not to be cruel, but his face falls a little anyway. You suppose it’s two sides of the same coin—being able to make him laugh and having enough influence to disappoint him with your words… they’re essentially the same thing and you know it. “Sorry,” you add, tapping his foot under the table with yours. “I was just teasing… Trying to make this less weird, I guess.” 

“It was never weird with us, was it?” He’s asking you, for what you’re not sure. Reassurance? Absolution? 

“No,” you reply softly. “It was a lot of things with us, but it was never weird.” 

And it wasn’t. Not when you fought about stupid shit late-night in the kitchen of your crappy apartment. Not when he took off to the city to do “big things” after uni and you just sort of… let him go. Not when your friends “didn’t take sides” but took careful measures to not invite you to the same parties, and not when he called you earlier today, totally out of the blue, telling you he was around and he wanted to see you. 

In order, it was frustrating, disappointing, lonely, and surprising, but none of it was weird. Not weird standing in his empty living room, leaning against a stack of his moving boxes and watching him pack the last of his belongings into a duffel. Not weird to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you as he fucked you into the mattress that last night before he left, whispering that he loved you and needed you. Not weird after, when you spilled tears on his chest and told him you were scared for what life would be like without him while he ran fingertips up and down your spine and reassured you that no matter what, you were going to have an incredible life. 

It wasn’t weird when the next morning, he promised you’d always be friends. 

It wasn’t weird when you both eventually stopped texting. 

It wasn’t weird when he never came back. 

But now he’s here, sitting in front of you in the same grungy noodle shop you used to have your cheap college date nights at, and things are absolutely, inarguably weird. 

Namjoon’s staring at you, still hasn’t answered your question, when the server comes with your check. He snags it before you can argue and gives you a distracted sort-of-grin when he gets up to find the cashier. 

Everything about this is so familiar and different at the same time. In your past life with Namjoon, he’d never just leave the table to pay with noodles left in his bowl, he’d never forget his manners and ignore asking whether or not you were ready to go. But him getting distracted by his own thoughts is on brand… So is the way he knocks over the cashier’s pencil cup when he tries to return the pen he used to sign the receipt. The most familiar thing is the glance he throws your way when he does it, rolling his eyes affectionately when he sees you stifling a laugh. 

It makes your stomach tumble. 

There isn’t a discussion when you leave the noodle shop, thank god. No asking if it’s okay if he walks with you, no awkward first date bullshit. Which of course there isn’t, you remind your nervous system, because this isn’t a date and it’s not a first anything really. First time you’ve seen him in a while maybe, but even that feeling’s been fading since you saw him through the window of the restaurant, sitting alone (waiting for you with his knee bouncing) at your usual table a couple hours prior. 

“Why do you think we call it a pencil cup?” he asks quietly. You can barely hear him over the car that happens to pass as he speaks. 

“Huh?” 

“We always call it a pencil cup, but everyone keeps pens in them, you know?” 

You smile softly in spite of yourself. “I don’t know, Joon-ah.” It’s a nickname you haven’t used or thought of in a long time. It feels too affectionate for what you are to each other now (you feel a little too affectionate toward him for what you are now, so you suppose it fits), but he doesn’t seem to notice, leaving you thankful for the universe’s small favors. “Humans are quirky. Language is worse,” you finish. 

He hums in response. “You’re right. You’re always right,” he agrees. 

Suddenly he stills, footsteps halting as he grabs your hand. The surprise you feel absolutely accounts (you hope) for the stupid swoop of your stomach; not the first one you’ve felt since the sun went down. “Can we?” he says, tugging on your hand like a ridiculously strong kid. 

It takes a second for you to realize what he means, but when you do, you readily agree. “Of course we can.” You move first, pulling him behind you, and it’s not lost on you when you look over your shoulder that he looks happier than you think you’ve seen him maybe ever, and that you’re still holding hands. 

You hop up onto the metal platform, letting him go, and he grabs one of the bars and starts to pull it behind him as he jogs. Your world literally spins. Arms out, you tilt your head back and puff out a long breath. It’s cold enough that you can see the smoky trail of it float above you, tendrils of steam looking like they’re curling around the stars. 

With a thud, Namjoon lands across from you on the merry-go-round, sitting to face you, legs sprawled out in front of him. You sit, too, and the metal wheel spins a little more slowly with each revolution until it’s barely moving millimeters, all of the momentum from Namjoon’s effort petering out. 

It’s weird, you think, that staring at him across from you, it still feels like the ground is moving. 

“I left.” He breaks the silence with a simple statement and you’re not sure what he expects you to say in return, so you just nod. “But I don’t know why you let me.” 

He doesn’t look at you when he says the last part, his head tilts off to the side and he leans it against one of the cold, metal railings. If he was anyone else, you’d think he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you know him, and you know he rarely says things he doesn’t mean. 

The first response in your chest feels like anger. He left you after all. He walked away. Of course you let him, what the fuck else were you supposed to do? Beg him to stay? You were basically kids. You still are. He had opportunities, you had a sick mom… it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to stay. 

And then there was this: the insecure part of you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to tell you he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. That you weren’t worth it. 

Maybe you should have taken that chance. You’ve learned a lot since then. Grown up and gotten more confident, surely. Made new friends, had other partners. “Lovers,” as Taehyung likes to call them (just to see you roll your eyes at him in response). 

He keeps talking before you can let the angry thoughts have a voice. “I love being here,” he says softly, still not looking at you. “I love how you can see the stars, I love that the air smells better. I love the sea and the way it makes you feel small…” he sighs before he continues, “but I’ve been back for a week and I didn’t love any of it as much as I love this right now.” His voice gets quieter with each word. You barely hear him tack on, “with you.” You might even be imagining it, he’s that quiet. 

It almost makes you sick to not know what he’s getting at, to wish he would just be straight with you. All of this nostalgia… what amounts to a recreation of all your college dates… It’s just so much. 

“Are you pregnant?” 

“What?” Namjoon’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull. 

You let yourself laugh when you respond. “I don’t know! This just feels like the lead up to something big, you know? You’re pregnant, you have cancer, you’re moving to another country…” You trail off and then sit up straight, letting yourself get a little more serious. “What’s all this about? It feels like you have big news or… to be honest, it kind of feels like a date, Joon-ah.” 

“Feels like a date good or feels like a date bad?” he asks. 

“Feels like a date confusing,” you answer pointedly. “I don’t even know what you’re doing in town.” 

“Can I walk you home?” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

He stands then, and reaches a hand out to you to help you up. You let him even though you don’t need it, and he pulls you into a hug. Tight against his chest, things feel a little less confusing and this seaside town feels a little more like home than it has in a really long time. It’s distressing how right it feels to be close to him like this, how he smells just like he always has, how soft his stupid sweater is under your cheek. You do everything you can not to nuzzle against him in a complete violation of any boundaries that both of you might have. It’s all you want to do though, and that’s disconcerting in and of itself.

“Yeah,” you mumble into his collar. “You can walk me home.” 

You give him some grace as you walk, not repeating yourself for the millionth time with your request to know just exactly what he thinks he’s doing crashing back into your life with a half day’s notice. Then it occurs to you that he’s leading you home, which is fine except… you’re not sure how he seems to know where you live. 

“Joon? How do you know where we’re going?”

“Huh?” He gives you a distracted glance like he didn’t quite intake your question.

“My apartment, how do you know where it is?”

“Oh…” His cheeks flush the prettiest rose color. “Ah… you were at that art show in the city a few nights ago, right when I got to town, and Tae invited everyone over. We’d been drinking and the bar was closing and he said you wouldn’t be there…” He gives you a pained sort of smile. “He said you wouldn’t mind. Said you’d be staying with friends.” 

The idea that your ex was in your apartment without you knowing it is… well, it should be infuriating. But it’s not. It’s more like you want to know what he thought, if he liked it. If it felt like the you that he knew or a new version of you. If it felt familiar and different at the same time the way he does to you right now. 

“So… you’ve been in our apartment then…” It’s not a question, but Namjoon answers anyway, rushing the words out. 

“No! No.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. We got there and I… It felt like sneaking around and I couldn’t do that to you. I went back to Hoseok’s and crashed on his couch.” 

“Oh… okay.” You can’t figure out why you’re almost disappointed. “You can see it now. If you want. If that’s something you’d be interested in, you know…” The words spill out in a rambly jumble. 

Namjoon stops to consider you, head tilted like he’s trying to listen to words you’re not saying. He must find whatever he’s looking for, because he responds quickly. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” 

“Okay.” You nod but don’t move. 

“This is it, right?” 

And it is, indeed. You’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of your own building, too distracted by whatever this thing is with the two of you to notice where you are. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on up.” You punch the door code in and hold the door for him, bowing a little and giving an exaggerated gesture for him to enter to lighten the mood. 

Taehyung, the world's most interesting roommate, is working an overnight shift, so you know he’s not home, but you pray he hasn’t left anything strange out in the living room. You’ve walked into your apartment to find it perfectly spotless except for a trumpet and a dildo sitting side-by-side on the coffee table before, and though you’ve never really discussed it for obvious reasons, you’re fairly confident it won’t happen again. But not one hundred percent. 

“Tae’s working tonight,” you explain for some unknown reason as you unlock your door. It’s not like Namjoon is some third date here to fuck you for the first time, so it doesn’t matter if Tae’s there or not and he probably knows your roommate (his friend, too) is working, anyway. 

“I heard,” he mumbles behind you. 

To your extraordinary relief, nothing odd or personal is strewn around the living room or the kitchen, so you say a silent prayer of gratitude and slide your shoes off, motioning for Namjoon to do the same. 

“This is it,” you say, in your most uncreative moment of the night. “It’s nicer than the last place you saw me living,” you joke. It is, though. Much nicer. Having Tae to split the costs helps, and your art has actually been selling for the past couple of years, so that’s afforded you a little more than the old studio with a leaky shower and what was probably mold around the windows. 

“Mmm,” he murmurs as he looks around the open space. “It was nice ‘cos it was yours. It felt like you. But this does, too.”

“Water?” you offer. 

“Sure, thanks.” 

You fill up two glasses from the pitcher in the fridge and pad back into the living room where Namjoon is looking at the art on one of your walls. It’s a combination of your paintings and Tae’s photographs that the two of you thought complemented one another. 

“Your art.” 

“Yes…?”

“No…” Joon shakes his head and sets his water down on your coffee table. “Your art. It’s why I came back. That's why I’m here.” 

“Oh,” you squeak. It’s not what you expected—you didn’t expect an answer to your question, and even if you’d hypothetically received one, ‘your art’ wasn’t what you’d thought it would be. “I don’t think I understand. You want to buy one or something? You can just have a painting, Joon-ah... Friends and family discount. You didn’t have to come here for that.” 

He frowns and shakes his head again before he carefully takes your water glass and sets it on the table next to his. Then he reaches for your hand, and when you offer it to him, he guides you to your own sofa to sit. 

This time, sitting too close like you were in the noodle shop, you’re the one who’s nervous. Something’s up with him, and you’re not connecting the dots. 

“I saw your show. The solo one. Congratulations,” he says. His smile is warm like his hand that’s still wrapped around yours and it feels like you could maybe let your nerves settle a little bit. 

“Thanks. It was a lot of work, but worth it. I’m still a little surprised at how well it was received.” 

“I’m not.” He says it with conviction, and you love it. The hint of praise laced with his belief in you has always been a driver of your confidence; you don’t love that you need the external validation, but it’s nice, regardless.

“It reminded me of home,” he continues. “Made me sick for it. Like I couldn’t stand to be away from it for another minute. So, I told my work I needed some time off, and I came home.” 

“Oh… Okay. Well, I’m glad you felt something… I hope being home has been what you wanted.” 

“You don’t get it,” he says, frustrated. “I haven’t been home, not really. Not until tonight.” 

“Joon-ah…” 

“Please? Can I get this out?” 

And there are so many things to feel, you’re not even sure where to begin, so you just listen. It’s not easy to ignore the feeling of being on edge, the idea that you think you know where he’s headed with this. Since you’ve never even let yourself consider it (you’ve really not let yourself think about him much since he left. Certainly not recently), you have no idea what to think. So you focus on him instead; the tendons that run from his hands up his forearms that you used to love to trace with your fingertips, the way he’s filled out some since you last saw him—his chest and shoulders are broader, his jeans hug his thighs tighter than you remember… He looks good. Great, even. Everything you remember but a little bit more. Like he’s become the person he was always meant to be.

“I’ve dated a lot of people since I left,” he starts. And maybe this isn’t going where you thought it was. You scoff involuntarily, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Can you just listen to me?” he asks. 

You nod. “Sorry.” 

“Not at first. I missed you. I couldn’t figure out why you never… I don’t know… Tried to talk me out of it, never asked me to stay. I thought it meant that maybe you didn’t love me the way I loved you. After a while, a few months maybe, Yoongi told me I was depressing to be around, that I should try and make friends, meet people. He reminded me that I was the one who left, not you. And he was right.”

“I remember,” you say. It comes out a little harsher than you’d intended, but maybe not ever letting yourself think too much about him (especially about him leaving) has left you with some unresolved feelings you weren’t totally aware of. Namjoon’s jaw tightens, but other than that, he doesn’t react. Maybe he knows he deserves you being a little upset. Things ended oddly fine between the two of you, it was amicable, but if you’d let yourself feel everything back then, it might not have been that way. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softer now. “I needed to go, though. You know I did.” He looks at you, waiting for you to give him some reassurance you think, so you squeeze his hand. 

“Yeah, you did, Joon-ah. It’s okay.” 

His fingertips trace patterns across your wrist and you can almost feel his body get looser when you give the small peace offering. “So,” he says, “I tried. I met people, I dated people, I moved to new apartments with new roommates to new parts of the city. I tried to get that feeling back. Not to… I don’t know. Not to replace you, but to feel like I was home. But nothing worked. Nobody worked. And then I saw your show.” 

“Oh…” It’s not much, but it’s the only thing you can think to say as he pulls you closer to him on the couch and runs a thumb across your cheekbone. It’s so much, it’s such a private thing for him to touch you like you're something breakable. Like you’re his, still. It’s making you short-circuit. 

“Home,” he says in a whisper. “I needed to come home.” 

“Home.” You repeat it like he’s taken all the words you used to know and pulled them out of your head to scatter on the floor in a mess. 

His lips are on yours before you have time to process, and you hear a whimper that you quickly realize must have come from your own throat as he kisses you more tentatively than you ever remember him kissing you before. You know this is him testing the waters, giving you time to decide if you want this—sort of—and maybe this is a one-night nostalgia thing for him, or maybe this is what forgiveness tastes like, and maybe it’s a terrible idea, but Namjoon’s lips on yours feel like home to you, too, and you don’t want to talk yourself out of something that feels so fucking right. You didn’t even let yourself remember that you missed him until now, and your chest aches with something like longing even though he’s here, he’s real, he’s kissing you. 

Kiss back, you remember suddenly. So you do. A slightly shaking hand moves to his thigh as you let him slip his tongue between your lips and lick into your mouth slowly. He’s firmer than you remember when you squeeze over his jeans and tilt your head to give him a little bit better access. The kiss, which started out so sweet, soon turns into something else entirely, and before you know it, you’re out of breath and letting out another whine when his hand drops from your cheek to around your waist and he tugs you even closer to him. You can feel him smile against your mouth when you pause to breathe.  

“Is this okay?” he asks, cheeks flushed, dimples out, and hair mussed. He looks like a dream. 

He looks like he’s yours again, and you want to let yourself have this, even if it’s temporary. 

“Yeah.” You nod too furiously to even look remotely cool or in control of the situation, and he laughs. It’s not like he looks much better off with his swollen lips and the stars in his eyes. “Bedroom.” You’re up and pulling him up with you before he can argue, practically dragging him behind you past Tae’s room and the bathroom to yours at the end of the hall. 

You move into your room and barely get the door closed before you’re being pushed back up against it, Namjoon moving his mouth down your neck, over your pulse point– all his attention focused on seeing what might make you shiver and whine. So much hasn’t changed. 

It’s odd, you think, as he finds the perfect spot, to have to learn this all over with someone. Does he remember all your places and all the things you like? Will he still be patient like he used to be, content to watch you get worked up because of his touch before he lets you focus on him? Will he have new things that make him moan, are there new things he likes that he learned from someone else? All these questions float through your head as Namjoon slowly slips his hands under your shirt and pulls it over your head. 

With your back against the wall, Namjoon drops to his knees in front of you and carefully unbuttons your jeans, slipping them down your legs with your underwear, groaning and face flushing when he finally gets you undressed. 

“You… are… incredible,” he mutters against your skin in between leaving hot, wet kisses across your pelvic bone. “I’ve missed you so much,” he adds as he hooks one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder. His breath is hot on your skin and it’s like you can feel it everywhere—he’s barely even touching you and every nerve ending in your body is responding, wanting more. 

As he brings his tongue to your clit, you let your head fall back against the door with a soft thud. He was always so good at this, he still is. His stubble brushes against you and makes shivers run up your spine. He’d probably not shaved that morning—you wonder if he did on purpose, remembering how you used to brush your cheek along his chin and tell him you liked it, how it made you feel soft and delicate when he wasn’t. 

His tongue works you over in long strokes, dipping inside on occasion and you hear him practically whine when he really tastes you. There’s never been anything hotter, you decide, than his deep voice so fucked out and turned on because of you. If you could get off on sound alone for the rest of your life, that might be the one you’d pick.  

When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan—you’re so much louder than you’d meant to be, louder than you have been for anyone in so long, but he knows you. Knows your body, knows just how fast to move his tongue, how deeply you like to feel him inside you.

Namjoon’s lips form into a smile against you as he pauses, asking in a whisper, “Can I make you do that again?” before curling his finger inside you and taking your clit back between his lips. 

“Oh, fuck…” you whine. And yes, the answer is definitely yes. “Keep going,” you say as he fucks into you, giving you space to roll your hips away from the door and into his face. 

It doesn’t take much longer for you to come—Namjoon puts a large hand to your waist and helps support you as you tremble around him and your knee buckles. With a lot of effort, you ignore the quiet, private voice in the back of your mind that tells you that you don’t deserve this—that you shouldn’t be doing this, that you’ll get hurt again. Finally, your shaking subsides, and he moves your leg off of his shoulder and to the ground, keeping a grasp on you to help you stay upright. 

“You’re… still very good at that,” you say breathily. 

“Thank you. I’m pretty good at a lot of things, I think,” he says with a wink as he stands. 

You love when he’s cheeky like this, confident in a way that you remember being one of his best traits. Like he knows exactly what he’s capable of. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this tonight and it makes you ache for things you don’t think you can have, for the past. He’s suddenly close again, so fucking close, and you can smell yourself on his lips and you can feel that he’s hard in his jeans. He leans in, even closer, bringing his lips to yours but not doing anything with them, and running a single fingertip across your jaw to hold your face in place—no place to look except at him, square in the eyes.

“Are there things you’re still good at?” 

Oh, holy shit. 

And you’d remained upright this whole time, but fuck if your knees aren’t ready to give in now. You swallow audibly and struggle to form an answer in your post-orgasmic haze, turned on by the nostalgia and the way he’s half-whispering, half-rasping. The intimate way he speaks to you  makes you almost drip again with desire.

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me, I guess I’ll find out for myself,” he says. Namjoon grabs your hand and squeezes, then leads you to your own bed. “Do you want me to find out? Do you want… me?” 

It should be something you have to think about longer, should be more of a consideration. But it isn’t at all. Your head is bobbing a ‘yes’ of its own accord and you’re slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his sweater off before you really realize you’re doing it, before you can think about what it might mean in the morning. Before he slips out of his pants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet in the pocket and tosses it on the bed. 

The simple action has you a little nervous now, like suddenly this is real, and this is Namjoon, the actual love of your fucking life who left you, and he must see it on your face as you stand next to the bed, naked, facing one another, and unmoving. 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah… I’m nervous. It’s been so long and it’s… you.”

Namjoon cups your cheek and brings his lips softly to yours. His other arm snakes around your waist and pulls your body into his—skin to skin everywhere, and it feels so good. His body really is different than you remember: firmer, broader, bigger, and you like it. It’s different, but just as good, you decide. Familiar and different at the same time, just like everything else about him. When he breaks the kiss, he finally speaks.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

“I do,” you say resolutely, convincing him and yourself at the same time. You bend over to grab the condom and feel his hands on your ass, so you stay, dropping to your elbows on the mattress, remembering how he’s always appreciated the view from that angle. “Do you still like it this way, Joon-ah?” you ask as you push your hips back toward him a little, leaning into the familiar to calm any lingering nerves.

And instead of answering, Namjoon slides his hands up your back and down your arms, pulling you up at the elbows and pressing your back into his chest. “Yes,” he replies. “But not this time. I want to see you, I want to know I’m taking care of you. I want to remember.” 

He starts kissing you then, lips on your neck, across your shoulders, hands wrapped around you—one teasing at your nipples, one firm around your waist. You do feel taken care of, and it’s nice, you decide, to be with him again. This part hasn’t changed. You meant what you said—he’s really good at this.

Eventually, you move to the bed, and you become a little more brave, letting yourself explore his body. As you lay facing each other, you run your fingers along the ridges of the muscles in his abdomen, stroke his cheekbones, let one arm snake around his ribs and then fall to his ass. He really is firm all over, and you find yourself more attracted to that than you’d anticipated. You murmur appreciations into his skin, telling him he’s worked hard, that he looks incredible, that you want to take your time and appreciate everything he’s tried to build. 

Namjoon watches you as you test the waters, carefully mapping the ridges and planes until you take his length in your palm and start stroking him. The first time he breaks eye contact with you is when you bring your other hand down and palm his balls, softly squeezing as his eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a long, low moan. 

Maybe things aren’t so different than you remember, after all. 

You touch and kiss and whisper until you know he’s been hard long enough and you’ve been stalling long enough, and his hand makes lazy circles over your clit, no problem getting you wet again. Namjoon rolls the condom on and pulls your leg up over his hip. He’s careful in a manner that’s completely him (but you’re no longer used to from your recent hookups) as he slowly pushes into you. And you’ve been in a lot of… positions in the last few years, but nothing quite this intimate: chests pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, noses touching, and Namjoon so deep inside you, moving so, so slowly. You’re almost not moving at all, and you had no idea something like that could feel so fucking good. 

It’s slow and sweet, and he kisses and caresses you, and you realize that this is was what people are talking about when they talk about the difference between making love and fucking. 

Namjoon is quiet, quieter than you remember, but the look on his face is reverent, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, like he can’t believe you’re real. And you know how he feels, and you want to reassure him and whisper how much you care about him and how you think you could still love him, but it’s all too much for the moment. So, instead, you just let out soft moans of approval when he rolls his hips in just the right way and otherwise try to focus on him and the way he’s making you feel, cock buried in you, better than anything has been since the night before he left all those years ago.

Your second peak comes steadily and seems to last a while as Namjoon whispers how beautiful you look and how lucky he is. The praise has you clenching around him and pulling his climax out of him, too. 

You stay intertwined as your breathing slows, kissing and smiling with pink cheeks and tired limbs. When you’re sure you can move, you slowly push back from him and roll off the side of the bed, grabbing his undershirt. “You mind?” you ask, holding it up. “I thought I’d grab water and if there’s anything else you want…” 

“Sounds great,” Namjoon replies, a sleepy smile on his face, obvious in his preening over you wearing his clothes again. 

You try not to let yourself think too much about what just happened as you retrieve your water glasses and fill them up again. You find your phone on the counter, next to Namjoon’s, and you shoot a quick text to Tae telling him you brought someone home and you don’t know if they’ll still be there in the morning. You don’t want your roommate to be surprised by a visitor. But you know if Namjoon’s still there when he gets home, Tae will definitely be surprised. 

When you pad back to your bedroom and click the door shut behind you, you realize Namjoon’s already fallen asleep, snoring softly. He looks ridiculous on top of your sheet with the duvet kicked down to the end of the bed, his big cock soft against his big thigh and his hair sticking up in fifty different directions all over your pillow. His lips have fallen open to let his stupid snores out, and you have never been more endeared to anyone in your life. 

Like a thunderbolt, it comes suddenly, the realization that you think you probably never stopped loving this man. 

You set the water down on your nightstand and crawl into bed next to him, careful not to wake him up, even though unless something’s changed, you know he’s a fairly deep sleeper. You pull the duvet up over both of you and settle into your pillow, thoughts of unresolved and maybe unrequited feelings still clouding your mind. 

He wakes up enough to roll over and sling an arm around you, possessive in a way you like. You miss being his, you miss the quiet way he loved you before. All folded up love notes and kind gestures and small gifts for no reason. You almost let yourself tear up thinking about how big your love for him used to feel—maybe still does. 

You’re fully spiraling, deciding this was probably a massive mistake, when Namjoon strokes his thumb over your stomach and nuzzles into the back of your neck. 

“Baby? You awake?” he mumbles, half-asleep. 

And fuck, you’ve missed the casual endearment from him. “Yeah.” 

“Do you want me to go?” he asks. 

And you know three years ago, if you would have said it, it wouldn’t have mattered. That’s the real truth of it. Because if you’d asked him to stay then, he wouldn’t have, and he would have been making the right choice to leave, anyway. So letting him go without putting up a fight was easier on both of you. It was the right decision then to not ask him to stay. 

But now? Now, after tonight, you know things aren’t the same as back then. Some of them, yes. But not the ones that matter, not the ones you’re thinking about when you reply. 

“No, Joon-ah… I want you to stay this time.”

You feel him smile against your shoulder and pull you tighter into him. Neither of you says anything more, and it’s only a few minutes before he starts his snuffling snores into your hair again. It feels nice, you think as you finally start to drift off. It feels like home.  

[oneshotnewbie]

Hello! I hope you're well :)

Would you so kindly be able to do an Emily Prentiss x victim child!reader where reader is kind of young, maybe like between 6-10 and they've been held captive by the UnSub for weeks now and when the team finally finds the location, reader has gone mute and very cautious/scared of everyone and only allows (to an extent) Emily near them? Since she's the one who first finds them? Emily is very patient and comforts reader even if they don't speak and such. But reader eventually becomes comfortable enough to speak again, using short sentences and few words with Emily (maybe even some other team members, too).

Emily could possibly take them in but that part can be up to you!

I can't wait to see more of your work btw, you're so good!! Thx! Xoxo 💘

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topics of abuse, trauma, child neglecting, punishments and the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Authors note: I have tried my best to accommodate this request. I have to say that I changed the request a little because I didn't want to write a 6 year old child being kidnapped by a stranger, so I just had to do it with the father who has a criminal record. I also had to shorten it and basically skip a period of time in order to fulfill the second part of the request. I hope it is still okay. Also had to split it into two parts, Tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

Walls. Excessive tightness.

You did not know how long you had been in that closet, and you did not want to know either. Far too exhausted from all the panic attacks and the walls threatening to crush you. Your stomach was growling like it had been ever since your father decided to punish you for everything you did.

Your hands were shaking, your eyes were glassy, but you were long past crying. That only made things worse. Your father knew no mercy, and certainly not for his scared and crying little daughter.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if you actually suffocated in that closet. Better to suffocate from the reducing air than to be suffocated by your own father. You would not grow old, you would not reach the age of 10. You were sure of that. You were convinced that something would happen to you before your next birthday. But so far you had gotten older every year and every birthday you were sure that it would be your last.

Your father would not let you sleep in your bed anymore, but at least today it was in the closet and not in the gazebo that you had to sleep in. It was late autumn and in the arbor, the roof of which had tiny holes, there was a risk of hypothermia and finally freezing to death. Your hand, which was squeezed between the closet door and your thigh, had now fallen asleep and despite your constant shaking, you felt immensely hot. You noticed your face starting to glow again- you had a fever from the cold that blew through the room at night. You carefully pulled your hand out from under your leg, hitting your head on one of the wooden insert panels of the shelves, causing a dull thud as it came loose and fell onto your body.

Your heart skipped a beat before stopping briefly, you squinted for a moment, hoping that the noise had gone unnoticed and that your father had disappeared from his guarding position in front of the closet and was downstairs in front of the TV. But then you heard footsteps, quiet and muffled through the ajar door and the wood that surrounded you. It sounded nothing like your father and his firm, jagged steps and you begged that you had not misheard and were now in for a lot of trouble.

The door creaked and your breathing became increasingly quicker. You did not mishear. You closed your eyes tightly, trying to calm yourself and prepare yourself for what was to come. If your father saw you so upset, he might keep you here longer or deny you food for the next few days.

The key turned in the lock that locked the two doors together and you heard them slowly open, but did not dare to look outside. The fear of provoking your father when you greedily gasped for fresh air and light was too great. You felt a slight breeze on your bare shoulders and cheeks. Still, you kept your eyes closed, hoping to avoid your fate.

Instead of your father's disapproving shouts and rough hands that would normally drag you out of the closet, there was only a careful, barely noticeable touch on your shoulder. When you raised your eyes, you saw a strange woman with black hair. "Hey, sweetie. I am from the police, you are safe now," the older woman's eyes were glassy. She seemed unsettled, as if she was afraid of breaking you with one wrong move, as if you were made of delicate mass. "You can come out now, your father can not hurt you anymore."

You nodded and a few moments later she had pulled you out of the closet, carefully and slowly so as not to hurt you, and immediately drawn you into her arms. You just let it happen, completely unable to understand that this was a foreign woman you were clinging to.

Your father had forbidden you from speaking to strangers and your fear of upsetting your dad was huge. But something about her voice made you give in. "I am Emily. What is your name?" she asked and rubbed your back soothingly, your courage to speak failing you. When the rest of her team stormed into the room a moment later and looked down at you in front of the open door, you panicked and shook yourself away from her before returning to the closet where you felt safe.

A hand signal directed to Derek and Hotch, they disappeared silently from the bare room with the remaining SWAT workers and left her alone with you. It took some time for you to gain confidence and crawl out of the wooden wardrobe again. The young woman had talked her head off with various topics in order to give you a feeling of reassurance.

You followed Emily's hand movements carefully, and at the sight of the little package of gummy bears, your mouth watered and your stomach began to make itself known. "Someone is really hungry!" She whispered and smiled softly before opening the small package and holding it out to you.

You carefully sat up, occasionally glancing at the door so that you could move back into the closet as quickly as possible in case of an emergency. But nothing happened. The black-haired woman pointed uncertainly but grinning at the package. "The green ones are my favorite. And what are yours?" you rummaged through the tiny package with your fingers until you held a red gummy bear between your fingers and showed it to her. "The red ones? Uhh, they are yummy!"

You jumped away while the first bite, she had raised her hand too quickly. She shook her head, swallowing hard. Emily had not thought for a split second. “Can I feel your forehead?”she asked after a short hesitation and you nodded, afraid of upsetting her like your father, granting her permission.

She gently placed her hand on your sweat-covered forehead. You were feverish. She slowly lowered her hand carefully again and watched you as you hesitantly gnawed on a gummy bear. Your father did not like it when you just wolfed down your food and often had taken it away when fell into a deep hunger.

Emily continued to watch you, her eyes sad and exhausted. You cocked your head, wondering if you had done something wrong. When your eyes met for a moment, you hesitantly reached for her free hand and placed her favorite gummy bear in her palm.

You found a kind of care and hope in her presence. Hope that you can still lead a normal life and never be locked in the closet by your father again. Emily caught the very first smile you gave her before you stood up and carefully fell into her arms. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" she giggled softly, her heart swelling and beginning to pound wildly.

"No,"

Surprisingly, she widened her eyes while keeping her mouth wide open. After hours spent in this cold room with only forensics downstairs doing their work, she had finally managed to hear your gentle and childlike voice.

[cmkinkbingo2024]

It’s time to get kinky! Welcome to Criminal Minds Kink Bingo 2024.

The goal of a bingo challenge is to get a bingo on your card, either by crossing out one line, two lines, or a blackout (full card) by creating fanworks for the prompts randomly provided on the card.

This could be a written piece of a minimum 500 words, a piece of finished art, or another kind of fanwork of your choosing.

Please note that this challenge and blog is for people 18+ only.

Timelines/Deadlines

Until sign ups open, we are accepting kink nominations to be included as options via our ask box. We have a list already, but we will add to it if something is missing.

Sign ups start on May 1st 2024 and will be open until May 15th.

Individual cards will be issued by May 22nd, and the event officially starts on May 26th (you can start creating as soon as you receive your bingo card).

As soon as the event starts on May 26th, you can post fanworks whenever they’re created, in whatever place you prefer. You can tag your fills, bingo updates or WIPs with #cmkinkbingo2024 on tumblr. We also have a collection on AO3 for your works here.

You have until June 23rd 2024 to complete your bingos!

How Bingo Works

Lines can be made by crossing out squares in any direction - horizontal, vertical, or diagonal. To cross out a square, use the prompt on it to create and post a fanwork.

You will choose from a large list of potential prompts, marking the ones you would be happy to have generated on a 5x5 square bingo card. This will also allow you to exclude prompts you would not be happy to have to create for. 

While that does mean you could create the perfect bingo card, we encourage you to select upwards of 25 prompts, to allow for some randomness in the challenge.

Every card will have a free space in the middle, where you have the option to choose a prompt yourself. 

You can request additional bingo cards if you complete a line, 2 lines or a full house and want to try for a second win!

Rules/Guidelines

No plagiarism, art theft or AI generated content will be tolerated in works for this challenge. Participants/works will be excluded at our discretion in these circumstances.

You can post your fanworks wherever you prefer.

Just like kinks are not always sexual, works do not have to be explicit to be entered. As long as it relates to the prompt, SFW content is entirely allowed. 

Some of the kinks utilized in this challenge will fall under “real world” kinks, and others under things considered a kink in the context of fanwork creation.

You are responsible for how much you stick to the spirit of the challenge - ultimately this is meant to be fun, and to spur people to be creative, and create content for a fandom we love!

Safety/Your Kink Is Not My Kink

Some of the kinks listed may indicate extreme, upsetting, triggering content, or content you personally find immoral, or that “squicks” you. You are ultimately responsible for the content you consume - if something is not for you, scroll past and/or use the necessary blocking/muting features to exclude this content from your feed.

Please make sure to tag and rate all works appropriately for their content, such as using Archive of Our Own’s warning, rating and tag system, or tumblr’s ‘read more’ function.

You can add any fills posted on Archive of Our Own to the collection here.

Please check out the Frequently Asked Questions, or send us an ask if you have another question!

[rivkadreamer]

Push and Pull.

a/n: I actually have no idea what is this, I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a short drabble since I've been wanting to post something to Tumblr for quite some time and then...I got carried away, ahaha. Also I'm posting this through my phone, so if the formating is weird...ops.

Warnings: None, this is not proof read.

Genre: Hurt/comfort (?), light angst, fluffy at the end.

Summary: Scaramouche isn't the best with words, but for you, he's willing to tone down a little.

Alternatively: where his darling is fed up with his bad attitude and give him a scare to make him man up lmao.

Words count: 1.18k

Imagine Scaramouche with a significant other who does exactly just what he asks for.

He tells you to leave? Sure, right off the door.

He tells you to not talk to him anymore? Okay, you stay silent like a mute person until he cracks and asks you a question.

He tells your presence is annoying? Watch him crawl back after weeks you went aloof, ignoring his presence in your life. Begrudgingly, he will start to tell you that he had some matters to attend in the specific area he found you, acting like it was a big coincidence you two end up meeting.

It's not as if you don't know that most of the stuff he tells you, he doesn't mean it, not really. You do know it, but that's the thing.

You are a human being, someone who has it's own thoughts, opinions and feelings. And since the beginning of this relationship, Scaramouche made a point quite a few times to ignore it, not trying to apologize or understand that even if you know he doesn't mean it, his actions still might hurt.

How did you two even got in a relationship, in the first place? You, yourself don't know. Sometimes it feels like he sees you more as a subordinate than a lover.

That's when you started taking the approach to stop reading between the fine lines of his words, trying to save some face and dignity he stole from you by crossing and neglecting the boundaries of your good will again and again, discarding your words when you tried to talk to him about it.

Honestly, he's similar to kid throwing a tantrum sometimes. Except he just narrow his eyes at you or gives you a hard glare when you fail to meet his needs. Scoffing when you not bother to try to understand the hidden meaning behind his harsh words, everytime he throws them rudely at your face.

The day he finally got your message through that stubborn head of his, was the day he blew up at your face and took his rage out on you after a particular stress inducing week.

Screaming at you how useless you are, how he didn't need you by his side and how you were a nuisance for foolish thinking he needed some kind of comfort. He told you such humans silly rituals and interactions where bellow him, to just stop nagging him and finding something better to do if this was what you interrupted his work for.

You tried to reason with him, saying that being here for him was just what you were for, what lovers do, they support each other. You just wanted to help him.

Then, he told you that you could help him by getting out of his life, since all you did was get in his way, distracting him from his goals by forcing your unwanted affection down his throat. His words cut deep and managed to finally shut you up, much for his relief.

You noticed that and frowned. You knew he didn't mean it, you knew that. But there's a limit to everything and you have reached yours. Getting the memo that he wants to be alone, you quietly left his office and made your way to his Fatui headquarters, determined to once more do just what he asked of you.

Scaramouche's blood run cold when he saw the empty room, devoid of any of your belongings or clothes. Many scenarios took a turn to settle upon his head, making his thoughts scatter all over the place as the initial shock wear down. The likely scenarios of you being kidnapped or leaving and abandoning him as many others did in the past, always betraying on the bitter end of everything, left him reeling and fuming on the very same spot he lost you.

He frantically searched for you all over the place, sending his Fatui underlings to look through every leaf and hole around the area, not leaving a single rock unturned.

When he finally found you, he was seething with fury, eyes practically bulging out of his face as he angrily demanded to know with a dark voice just what were you thinking and how dare you abandon him just like her did.

Scaramouche righteous anger quickly died down, however, when you threw at his face the same words he spoke earlier on his spur of the moment outburst, reciting letter for letter the painful words he spat like venom at you, wounding your heart in the process. That's when he noticed the hurt flashing through your eyes, a hurt dangerously alike to his.

His face fell.

He was quiet for a moment. Digesting your words wasn't easy. Scaramouche was never good with feelings and he always runs away from whatever situations that require him to face with the complex bundle of emotions that swirls just inside him. They're the moments he's forced to face the fact that he feels just as much as any human he so readily declares bellow him, feels.

And he hates himself for it. It reminds him too much of the time he was but a wandering vagrant of Tatarasuna, eyes sparkling full of wonder and curiosity. In all his glorified naivety, hopeful and yearning for the love of a family he could never attain.

But he hates your absence even more. It exudes such a gruesome, hollow emotion, it brings a hateful sting behind his eyes. Bringing himself to sit down by your side, and for the first time in all of the duration of your relationship, admitting that he was the one in the wrong. He apologizes and begs for you not to go, to not leave him alone.

He truly doesn't know if he can outgrow the pain of being without you, and surprises himself with how earnest he is being, realizing in the process he's much more attached to you than he initially thought.

His own metaphorical heart quivers with the notion, drumming forcefully and shaking the electric cords of his handmade body to it's core. It scares him, the vulnerability of it all, right now feels the same as being completely naked before your eyes. But the fact that you were about to slip away from his reach was terrifying, so he presses on...

After this incident, his behavior do not do an whole 180° turn, but he mellows out quite a bit.

He listens now. He stops with the unnecessary rude comments and have actual talks between the two of you, paying attention to your body reactions to assure himself he hasn't spout anything harmful.

The most noticable change is how he looks more for you and, how he doesn't push you away anymore, when you come to see him. He doesn't outrightly say he enjoys your presence, but he doesn't put a tough facade just to drive you away and prove his point about being "superior", either. He's still serious, but gentler. A soft expression on his face that is reserved for you and these quiet moments with you, and you only.

Talking and communication are still a sore spot for him, being truthful and honest about his emotions not coming as naturally to him as it comes to you.

But he's trying, and for the time being, that's enough for you.

"Where are you going? No, you can stay. You aren't distracting me, how arrogant of you to think so. Contrary to the bumbling fools I hesitate to call co-workers, your presence is much more calming. I feel reassured when you are by my side, so stay."

There's a quiet murmur at the end.

"Please, darling." ~♡

End note: My first fic ever posted on Tumblr 🎉 (PS: I have no idea how Tumblr works LMAO)

[@rivkadreamer on Tumblr, please do not steal my works.]

[starliights-shining]

This is not transformers, but I thought i'd put it on tumblr as well! This was written for @montyuh as a thank you for that wounderful Maverick phone sex post! this is also cross posted on ao3 (Relieving Some Stress) ENJOY : )

Pairing: Gustave "Doc" Kateb x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Afab Reader, uhhh

Words: 7.2k

You spent your entire day running around in meetings, meeting after meeting and you couldn’t get a break. You let out a deep sigh, eyes looking down at the reminder that lit your phone up. Your eyes reading “Last meeting”, you could feel your bones starting to ache, the pressure on your shoulder returning to your shoulders and feet as you stood from your office chair. Your hands are grabbing at your notebook and cup of water, and taking the last little sip of water out of the styrofoam cup and rolling your shoulders back before you take your leave. Slowly pulling the heavy metal door open, your eyes scanned the hall. There were a lot of people still here for it to be 5 pm on a Friday night. 

Of course there were the people you normally see, operators, custodian workers, and the few office employees who worked overtime, But for some reason there were still multiple people walking around. The usually empty hallway had the whispery and soft chatter of a few people and the sound of boots, dress shoes and heels clicking across the fancy tiled floors. It was different, something that will make you almost late for the very important meeting. Your feet carrying you across the entire sixth floor to the elevator. Your finger pressing the button, the up arrow lighting up. The elevator area was almost empty, aside from the two or three people who walked past to get to the stairs or the other hallway. Your frame stood still between the two large metal doors. Waiting patiently for one to open, but it seemed as though the elevators did not wish to take you up. Your foot tapping on the tiles as you thought, you’re going to be late. Late to your last meeting of the day. The simple thought had you sighing, rolling your shoulders back one more time as you leaned your head back and closed your eyes. 

It wasn't until you heard the ding of the elevator opening that you finally moved. Your head shooting up and looking over at the stainless steel door opening. Feet caring you in the direction without thought. Your eyes unfocused as you walked through the entrance. The blur of colors not fully registering in your brain. The normal wood colored walls of the elevator were visible, but in the middle of it was the blur of a figure. A mute blue top and khaki bottoms, moving closer to you until you two collided. Your arms pulling your notebook to your chest and your eyes closing tightly. Hands grabbing at your upper arms and a voice. You were shocked, upset with yourself for not seeing the fucking wall that your ran into, but then it hit you. Walls don’t talk, they don't have hands to grab at you, and the for sure dont stand in the middle of a fucking elevator. 

“Are you alright?” 

It was a simple question, one that normally someone would ask immediately. You thought you didn’t. Instead you looked up at the person. Your eyes locking with theirs. It’s just Gustave, His smile soft as he held onto you. You blinked at him, you felt like a deer in headlights. Watching as the operator looked over your face, his hands slowly left you as you got your footing back. You finally got the ability to answer his question. You nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. You were now standing on your own, staring up at the French operator in silence. The silence was loud, louder than you liked it to be. His hands moved from hovering over your arms to not resting on his hips. His chocolate eyes staring down at you, his stare was intense. It felt like he was seeing how long it'd take for you to feel the pressure. A close lipped smile on his face, you shifted, fingers tightening around your notebook. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?” 

He was right, a panic began to set in. You’re late. You looked up at him before narrowing your eyes. 

“You’re supposed to be in that meeting.”

Is all you said back, He’s supposed to be in that meeting, so he’s late too. He lets out a low chuckle as he takes two steps backwards. You follow him into the elevator and watch as he presses the correct floor number. It's quite, leaving you with the thoughts and the question as to why he’s on your floor when he’s supposed to be in this meeting. You look over at him, his eyes seemed locked onto the digital number reader at the top of the doors. He looked tired, eyes sunken in. You could see a tad bit of the wrinkles he had developed from age, but what really caught your attention was the patch of gray hair next to his ear. It was interesting to you, he was only 39 but he already had two large patches of gray hair. It made him look older, wiser, but strangely it made him look better. Hotter if you would. 

You could remember the first time you saw him without his head gear. Those same dark chocolate eyes peering back at you in your very first meeting. He walked into the room and placed that large and obviously heavy helmet on the table and smiled. Looking around the room and introducing himself. You two made eye contact a few times, which you chalked up to him just being a good public speaker. Ever since then you two have seemed to work together great in any and every topic. 

He seemed to be a rock in your work life, a constant in your life and you enjoyed it, him. You two seemed to flock to one another every time you were free. He’d find his way into your office or you’d find your way to where he was. If an outsider was looking in, they’d think you two were a couple. A happy and fulfilled couple. 

The doors to the elevator pinged your arrival on the floor. Sliding open in a matter of seconds . Gustave turned his head and caught you staring. That same warm smile on his face like always as he holds his head out in front of him. 

“After you.” 

You smiled, feet carrying you to the meeting room. Gustave following behind you quietly. You’ll both turn the corner and see Lion and Montange standing outside. Both whispered to each other as they looked around. Lion seemed to be distraught, but it wouldn’t matter to you. It’s when Lion finally sees you and Gustave that he finally stops his whaling of arms and loud talk in french. This will cause Montange to look. You can see both their faces clearly, no ski mask or helmet to block the view. 

“You’re late, Ms. (L/N).” 

Montange says, large bulky arms crossed over his black hoodie. You just shook your head. Walking up to the two men, but Lion stopped you. Yellow clothed arm stopping you from entering the room. You followed it, eyes meeting with Lions green ones. You sent him a mean glare, you just wanted this to be over with. You’re just hoping that's why he was stopping you, for wasting more of his, so called precious, time. You put on a fake smile, finger gripping your notebook tighter. 

“Yes Olivier, Is there anything I can help you with?”

He was taken aback, your false smile seeming more sinister than he was expecting it to be. He backed down, swallowing as he fixed his mouth to say something. 

“How long is this going to take?” 

You smiled wider, teeth gritting as you configured what to say to the man. 

“I don’t know.” 

Your answer was on the edge of being an angry insult, and he knew it. He took this one, since there was no need to fight or talk back in front of both Montange and Doc. His arm lowered, taking your answer as final and waited to go first. You sighed, unable to believe that man has the nerve to ask you how long YOU’RE meeting was going to take. Considering you only had a handful of the Operators of Wolfguard present it shouldn’t take long, unless everyone has ten thousand questions to ask. 

You were first to enter the room, walking in front of the projector and to the podium they insisted you used. Higher ups were so picky on how they wanted these meetings and debriefs to go. You placed your notebook on the podium and cleared your throat. Watching as the last two operators took their seats. You took one more look around, calculating who was here and who wasn’t. Your eyes landing on the three you already had interactions with and then seeing Twitch and Frost. The six were wearing a mix of field uniform and casual clothing. It was refreshing to see them wearing different clothing. You took this time to explain that you wouldn’t hold them for long, considering it was a Friday and everyone still had things to do before returning to their barracks or even going out with others or whatever they did in their free time. 

The meeting was not short, not as short as you wanted it to be. You leaned on the podium, your head in your hands that were being propped up by your elbow. You could feel the weight of the day weighing on your eyelids. Watching as the two operators talk through the discussion. You had no knowledge in whatever they were talking about, but you could see the gears turning behind their eyes and it was fascinating. A simple sentence from you had them discuss their future moves and other military things. It wasn't until your phone rang that they stopped talking. All eyes landed on you as you looked down at your phone. You moved to answer it. Walking towards the door and standing outside. It wasn’t a saved number so you worried it might be some form of business. The voice you were met with was a robot, confirming a medication for your pet. You sighed, immediately hanging up the phone and walking back in. The door closed behind you, trying your hardest to ignore the multiple pairs of eyes watching you. 

“Mrs. (L/N), You know your phone is supposed to be off.” 

You looked up to the voice, meeting gustaves cocoa eye. That same smile he seems to flaunt around is present on his face. That same smile you would kill for. You rolled your eyes at him. Putting your phone in your butt pocket and smiling at the other operators. 

“I think this is a good stopping point. We’ll have another meeting soon. Hopefully everyone will be here.”  

Your voice carried in the empty room. It was louder than you expected it to be, you could hear the sleepiness in it. Your eyes felt even heavier as you closed out the meeting. They left, leaving you to stand in the room of silence. Your hands found your temps and started to rub them. Eyes closed as you attempted to think, trying to think about anything other than the sleepiness and the small and low pound of your head. Every time you tried to open your eyes it increased the small pounding in your head. You just needed to get back to your office, grab your things and go home. You sighed, deciding that now was your chance to go. You took off, finding your way back to your regular floor and your office. It was dark, the light turned off as you entered and it was so enjoyable. No bright white fluorescent light burning your eyes. The weight on your shoulders lifts as you feel the comfort of your office. You stood there for a while. Taking in the now quiet floor, no loud shoes or chatter or talking, just pure silence and the occasional buzz from those god forsaken lights. You crossed it out of your mind, attempting to find comfort in the slight buzz that normally would irritate you. Your hand finding the light switch and flipping it. That same buzz became louder. 

Your feet carrying you behind your desk, bending down to get your bag from its hiding spot. You moved far too quickly. Standing up straight, your head started to spin. A simple sign that your body was once again telling you the limits. Limits that you can easily cure with some tylenol. Your hand reached into your bag, searching for the small little bottle you keep for instances like this one. Your fingers grazing it until finally pulling it out. You shook it, and it had no rattle, not a single sign that there were pills in there. Your 15th sigh was let out, your brain trying to figure out a new game plan. The thought of just stopping at a store on your way home was a good one. Why do that when you just stop by Doc’s office, or whatever he calls it, and then go home with no headache and maybe a bottle of cold water. 

You decided that's what you’ll do, just go check if he was there, get your medicine and then take you leave until Monday. You once again found your way in the hallway. Closing your door behind you and locking it. You walked to that same elevator, pressed the button and then waited. The door opened with no problem this time, the familiar wood colored wall meeting your eyes, no figure of a man or a man shaped wall. You smiled to yourself, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to the Medical floor. The doors opened and you were met with almost darkness. Most of the overhead lights were turned off, every three or four had one singular bar on them. Giving the hallway and side rooms a creepy glow to them. You turned the last corner to get to the door labeled “Dr. Kateb”. The door was left open, the lights off leaving only the light from his desk lamp to illuminate the floor and desk. You peaked your head in, he sat in his chair. A pen in hand, and a confused but pleased look on his face. 

“I thought I heard someone.” 

His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. He looks down at the paper he’s writing on. Finishing his sentence before putting the pen down. He returned his gaze to you. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you.” 

“You’re not, Can I help you with something?” 

He smiles up at you. You almost melted, a simple smile is causing you to feel butterflies and almost make you feel like your back in high school. You let out a small ‘oh’ before speaking again. 

“I came to get some medicine. Like Tylenol, I was going to take some before leaving but I don’t have anymore.” 

You kinda just stood there, awkwardly. Your headache is proving to be more of a problem than you thought. You felt awkward standing in front of the operator. Your eyes almost squinting as you tried to not let the light from his desk lamp fuck with you. He stood, humming as he walked to a medicine cabinet on the wall. His back was facing you, hands up as he picked up different orange and white colored bottles. He seemed to be taking a bit longer than you thought hd’s normally take. Maybe he couldn’t see. You looked for the overhead light switch. If he had light, he’d be able to find the correct medicine to help your headache. The switch was on the wall closest to his desk, a bit farther into the room. Your hand reached for it and the overhead light shined brightly. 

“Oh, Merci.” 

You hummed. Now stood between his desk and a wall. His chair is a little less than a foot away from you. Your bag found it a nice place on his desk as you waited patiently for him to turn around. 

“Mon plaisir quotidien, what kind of headache are you feeling?” 

You sighed, placing your hands on your hips as you thought. 

“I think it’s just a basic headache, but I wanted to stop it before it got out of hand.” 

He hummed, picking through a few bottles before deciding on a simple one. He finally turns around with two different paper cups, a small and a large one. He hands them to you. Taking them you thanked him. Watching as he stood in the space between you and his desk. Casually leaning back into it with his arms crossed over his chest. He watched you throw your head back and take the pills. You turned back to him, the powder from the pills tainted the water. Causing you to make a face as you handed him the two paper cups. 

“Stay here for a while. In case you have some sort of reaction to the medicine and just to make sure your headache dies down. Also, I just want to make sure you don't fall asleep while driving.”

He kept that same soft voice. Tilting his head every now and then to get his point across. He was silly. His actions cause you to smile, even let out a soft chuckle. He’s sweet, well he has to be sweet. Most doctors have to be sweet, but he’s more than just a doctor. He carries a gun and wears a bulletproof vest, so of course he’s more than just a doctor. He’s a soldier, a soldier that looks a little too good to constantly be hidden by masks and heavy gear. Gear that probably weighs a quarter of his body weight. He’s a different kind of doctor and a different kind of soldier. 

He catches you staring, he doesn’t seem bothered though. He’s caught you staring at him a few times today. It’s interesting watching you get distracted by just simply looking at him, watching as your pupils dilate and even watching as you take a deep breath in with unfocused eyes. He hasn’t done anything about it, no thought, just let you stare until you finally get a grip on yourself. He could do anything, walk away, grab your arm or hand, he could pull your face to finally meet him but he doesn’t. He just stares back at you, chocolate eyes observing every detail, from the way your hair falls to the way you hold your hands when thinking about something deep. He just can’t help himself when it comes to staring at certain things, your lips are a constant feature he loves. Wishing he could just place his own lips on your with no consequences to his actions. Wishing he could just run his thumb over your bottom lip. It was a wish and wishes don’t come true. At least he thinks so. 

You are too lost in thought to recognize his movement. Hands moving to grab at your arms. Pulling you closer to him, where you now stand between his legs as he is leaned and almost sitting on his desk. One of his hands comes up to grab your chin, pulling your head up to meet his gaze. 

“What’s on that mind of yours, Mon plaisir quotidien.” 

You blinked, your mind finally coming to you. Your eyes focused on his face. The way he smirks at you and has a look of want in his eyes. Those same cocoa orbs that you constantly find watching you, thick eyebrows knitting together as he’d listen to you talk about god fucking knows what. It doesn’t matter, he’d listen to you talk about anything if it meant he’d have free rain to just stare at you. 

You have no idea who to respond to him. Attentive eyes watching you for any signs that you didn’t want this. It was intimidating, but not unwanted. A constant thought in the back of your head that you’d let this man do anything to you. A thought that you should not have for a coworker, let alone someone in this field of work, but things happen. Humans are humans and feelings are bound to happen when you two work so close. So close that outsiders think you two are already fucking on the downlow and just won’t say anything. But people know you two hold far too high standards for yourselves, so nothing will come from your lingering touches and longing stares. At least that's what they think. 

This line of work is hard, so higher ups constantly recommend that field operators, and those on the field, regularly see someone for their thoughts. In other words, this field is bound to have emotional constipated workers and operators.  After long and hard days like these, constant in and out of meetings, briefings and even the field. So this could just be seen as relieving some stress, yeah.

You seem to have found your confidence, your brain running all the possible way this could go. Treating it like a diplomatic problem that can ruin careers, friendships, trust and even field operations. Of course you wanted to think about it before acting on such actions that would potentially tear you two apart. You’re no longer a teenager, who can make a mistake sleeping with someone and then run away and act like it didn’t happen. You are an adult, a full grown adult, someone who would like to think about her options and actions before acting. You’re treating this moment with the utmost care. You like this coworker, have seen dreams of living a fulfilling life with, but is it worth it? 

You pause, blinking your eyes into focus at the doctor. You own voice ringing in your brain ‘Oh fuck it’. Your arms snaking around his neck as you smile at him. 

“You’re on my mind, Dr. Kateb.” 

The name has a nice ring to it coming from your mouth. It’s almost like he’s never heard it. You’ve called all types of names, playful ones, joking ones, professional ones, but this one. It just sounds so heavenly coming from you. He needs to hear it again. His hands find their place on your hips, it’s almost like they were made to be here. 

“Is that so?” 

You hum, nodding. His hands start to run up your sides. The actions tickling, a soft giggle is followed after. Your fingers finding their way into the hairs on the nape of his neck. Slowly sliding up into them a little farther. Your index fingers playing with the short and long hairs there. He raised his head a bit. That same melting smile came across his face as he let out his own little chuckle. 

“Took you long enough. Thought you were to just stare the entire time.” 

His jokes caused you to smile, which soon became a giggle. Your body leaned into him a bit more as you tilted your head at him. 

“Maybe I should, that seems to be the only thing you do.” 

“That’s different, you my corporate ambassador.” 

You fake gasps at him. 

“How dare you, I am more than just your corporate ambassador.” 

He let out that rumbly low chuckle again. The one you can feel travel from his arms and down to your torso. Send vibrations all over your body in a fuzzy feeling, it was too nice. 

“Oh my apologies. My corporate plaything. Is that better?” 

You threw your head back, sighing before you laughed again. 

“Of course, I’m a plaything yet we havn;t even kissed yet. Quite Interesting Dr. Kateb.” 

There it was, the use of his doctorate degree. One of the only few prominent people in his life that uses it. Patients do it all the time, but you’re just doing it for fun. Fun that might get his gears turning, that’s if they haven't been turning already. 

“Oh no! I do have the greatest remedy for this.” 

He says, faux urgency in his voice. He puts on his best dreamy smile as he moves one hand from your hip and back to your chin. He takes this opportunity to run his thumb over your bottom lip. Your jaw goes slack for a second there. Watching as you attempted to hold yourself back from licking his thumb. It's a sight, a sight that he’s constantly thought about, a sight that is finally becoming a reality. He pulls his thumb down, draggin your lip with it. He held it for a second, before lifting a bit to let go. He was now back to holding your chin. His eyes flickering between your lips and dilated pupils. He didn’t hold back, lips clashing onto your own in a matter of seconds. Your lips slotted together like a perfect puzzle piece, a puzzle piece that turned into one kiss and then another. Which led his lips to trial down, moving from the side of your lips, to your cheek, which soon ran to your jaw and finally finding the soft and plush skin on your neck. Your fingers find their way further into his hair. Your own head leaning back to give the doctor more room to work with. His own hands finding their way down, holding your hips and pulling you further into him. He has to have you as close as possible and the next step was to have you in his lap, but he wasn’t there yet. 

His hands no longer found your hips to be entertaining enough, they traveled up, pulling your shirt out of your pants in the process. Finally finding a resting spot a little bit under your chest. His kisses moved to your collarbone, planting one kiss before his hands started to move again. He pulled back, placing a kiss on your lips to distract you. Fingers finding the small white buttons of your button up shirt, starting from the bottom and moving up. He occasionally looked down to make sure he didn't skip any buttons. Leaning back to get a better look at you, your chest on full display for him. His eyes staring holes into you, he just wants to remember this moment. 

“My my, you’ve been hiding yourself from me for far too long.” 

You smiled, a giggly feeling bubbling in you at his words. Your hands fell from his shoulders, moving to take the flimsy white fabric off. Your hands bawling the fabric up before throwing it on the desk. In your free moment, your hands found their way to his thighs, leaning onto your arms softly as you leaned into him. 

“Enough about me,” 

You’re out of words, out of thoughts that aren’t about him bending you over a desk and fucking you senseless. All you could think about was him. Your hands ran up his thighs, fingers grabbing at the leather belt. Slowly your hands make their way to the buckle, slowly undoing it. Its rattling echoing off the pale walls, it's loud in your ears. Sounding along with your own heartbeat, a constant reminder that what you were doing was not work appropriate, so inappropriate. Inappropriate enough to give you the idea of getting on your knees. Your fingers move to undo the pants button, stopping before actually doing it. The very visible, and growing, outline of his cock showing. You ran a finger over it, earning a slight hitch in his breathing. His hands resting on the edge of the desk. His hands work their way through his clothing. He’d occasionally look up at you, almost like he was giving you a ‘are you sure’ look, but you didn’t and weren’t going to stop. You are 100% sure about this and nothing was going to change that. 

You dropped to your knees, the cold from the tiles seeping through your pants fabric. It sent chills up your spine. Your fingers quickly undo his pants, dipping into them and pulling a bit. A desire to just have him in your mouth came over you. Your fingers moved faster than you were expecting. Dipping into his boxers and pulling his dick out. Your hand still wrapped around it. You leaned in, giving the tip a small kiss. He took a deep breath in, hands balled into fist on the desktop. 

You did the same action again, but not leaving, giving small kitten licks. You repeated this action a few more times. Your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. His eyes were half lidded, lips parted a bit, and those same chocolate eyes watching your every move. You went further, lips wrapping around the head and giving a slight suck. Slowly, you inch the entire thing into your mouth and down your throat. The male in front of you now lets out low moans in between huffs and gasps. His hands jumble up in your hair, running your ‘work’ hair, pushing and pulling your head up and down in order to have some control over the pace. A pace that seemed to be wreaking the normal well-configured doctor. Your hands were placed on his knees, an attempt to steady yourself on the cold and slippery flooring. Your eyes found their way up, looking at the man enjoying himself above you. His head thrown back, his fingers giving your hair a slight tug. A hand moved from his knee, wrapping around the base of his cock. Your hand moving with your head, twisting and squeezing when he least was expecting it. You had the man moaning, almost losing himself in that very moment. His grip in your hair tightening as he pulls up and off him. A little chuckle coming from him. 

“Oh no, not yet belle.” 

Voice breathy as he tries to get you up on your feet again. You weren’t listening to him, hand still wrapped around his cock, generously pumping it. A devious look in your eyes as you smiled up at him. 

“Why not, one won’t hurt.” 

You knew he was close. You could feel his thigh muscles tensing under your fingertips. He knew he wouldn’t last long if you continued, he wished for you to stop and let him last a little longer for the session. You two would have many more sessions after this, hopefully, so there was plenty of time for you to get him off with your mouth. Your hand was at a slow pace, batting your eyelashes up at him. 

“It’s just to relieve some stress, yeah? It won't hurt your baby.” 

The pet name had him twitching in your hand. Your smile grows wider, you pace picking up slightly as you speak again.

“See, your friend thinks so too.” 

Your mouth is going to meet the tip of his cock. Giving it a nice long strip down and then back up again before continuing to suck and jerk him off. A string of french curse words left his mouth. His falling back on the desk again, his head tilted up a bit as he lets out a heavenly mix of groans and moans. Your hand gives him a few more twists before tightening and bobbing with your head. His breathing became uneven as he head fell back. His orgasmhitting him in a big wave. The feeling of him coming down your throat causing you to hum. The vibrations traveling down to him, a breathy and unsteady moan leaving him. You finally let go of him, sitting up and whipping your mouth with the back of your hand. His head fell forward, eyes still closed. A sigh leaving him after a curse. 

“See my love, that didn’t hurt now it did.”

Your voice soft in the beginning before turning into a mock. Hands finding their way to cup his cheeks, angling his head up to look at you.

“No” 

 Half lidded chocolate eyes looking even more tired than before. You wondered if this was the end of the inappropriate exchange, a payment for giving you medicine and fixing that ache you had in your head. He looked tired, too tired to even return the favor right now. You smiled at him, thumbs rubbing the skin under his eyes. He grabbed at your wrist with one hand, pulling you into a kiss. You went to pull back, almost stepping away fully when he grabbed at you again. 

“I’m not done. It’s your turn.” 

Hands pulling you back towards you. His fingers played with the fabric of your pants.

“Take these off.” 

It was a command, his voice almost sounding harsh. A sharp contrast to how he had spoken earlier. You obeyed, fingers unbinding you from the dress pants you wore. You quickly pulled them off from around your ankles. He exhaled, eyes taking in your body with nothing but your undergarments on. He fully stood up, hands grabbing at your jaw and pulling you up for an intoxicating kiss. Lips moving in a synchronized motion as he moves you grab at your thighs, pulling you up to his waist as he walks backwards. He sat down in his office chair. Your knees on either side of his hips. You try to pull back for air, only getting a few seconds before you push your back towards him. He quickly gave your multiple kisses. You're grabbing at the collar of his shirt. All of a sudden you were reminded that he still had all his clothes on, while you sat almost naked in his lap. Your hands trailing down to undo his shirt. The movement wasn’t unnoticed. His hands leave you to grab at the bottom of the fabric and pull up, your lips detaching for only a second before he returns his back to yours. 

A hand found its way down, cupping your clothed cunt. His middle finger rubbing the growing damp spot on your pantie. A whimper leaving you as he pulled the finger up to your clit. Moving in circles, you started grinding your hip on his hand. You were in desperate need of friction, you need more than just friction you need him. Fingers getting tired of rubbing over the same spots on your, now soaked, panties. He pulled them aside, dipping his fingertips into your wet slit and dragging them back and forth. Giving circles to your clit and your entrance. You let go of the kiss for a second, taking the time to get air and let out small whimpers. Soft pants and huffs leaving you, He was simply just rubbing, moving his finger back and forth. He soon gave into temptation and pushed a finger into your pussy. Earning him a louder whimper. God he couldn’t get enough of you, slowly pumping his one finger in and out. You were wet and sensitive, unable to help the noises coming from you as he fingered you. It was only one and you already sounded heavenly, which only leads to the thought of how good you sound with more than one finger, and then how would you sound with his cock in you. 

He pushes another finger in, slowing in pace to let you get adjusted to the stretch. Your teeth are gritted and your eyes closed, you were trying to not be loud. Afraid of getting caught by someone cleaning the floors, or an overtime worker. Your hands were resting on his shoulders. You're grinding your hips down, trying to meet with his fingers in a desperate attempt to reach a high. He picks up his pace, fingers curving at a certain point that sends shivers down your spine. Your mouth is left agape, allowing for low moans and whimpers to come from you. 

“There you go. That’s my girl, enjoy yourself.” 

You cunt tightened around his fingers, his words have far more of an affect then he thought they would. Your grinding picked up pace, your moans picking up in pitch as you got closer. Orgasm right around the corner, you could feel it. That familiar knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter. He moved his hand, positioning it just right so he can give you clit light circles, an action that you would soon find out to be your downfall. It didn’t take long for you to collapse, eyes squeezing shut and legs trying their hardest to close around his hand. Your orgasm hitting you harder than you were expecting it. An extreme consequence for not tending to your sexual needs. Your shoulders slump, muscles relaxing as you swallow. You lean in, resting your head on his shoulder. He lets you rest for a second, unaware of the next turn of events. 

“You took ‘enjoy yourself’ seriously, belle.” 

You let out almost a chuckle. 

“I just obey my commands.” 

He laughs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. You sat up when you caught your breath. Hands finding their way to the side of his head, giving him a long and deserving kiss after fingering you that good. You feel like a kiss isn’t enough, an unbalanced payment system. You lean in to kiss him, hand reaching between you two for his cock. Lifting your hips to align you above him. You’ll slowly sink down onto him, A moan leaving you as your cunt is still sensitive, while a low rumbly groan leaves Gustave. You feel so full, your cunt stretched as far as it could go. You’ll stay still after he bottom outs in you. His eyes squeezed shut, your cunt tighter than he could have ever imagined. He lets out a quite fuck, hands pulling and pushing on your hips to get you to move. He was dying over there, cock being squeezed like he’s never felt before.

You’ll slowly start to move, picking up your hips and lowering them. His hands provide assistance in holding you up. Allowing you to not use all your stamina in the beginning, but with how it's looking you two won’t be lasting long like this. You’re starting to get a pace, hands sliding from his shoulders and into his hair. Locking tightly onto his hair and giving it slight tugs, He seemed to be enjoying having his hair pulled. His groans turn into a moan every time you pull. The image was giving you a power high, the feeling of his cock hitting the right stops and just having so much power over his pleasure was getting to your head. The Dr. Kateb enjoys being a freak in his free time, who truly would have thought. You open your mouth to speak, but only letting out a string of moans in place of words. You just whimpered, smiling down at the man as you bounced on his cock. 

“Enjoying,” 

You pause, letting out a few moans as you gather the rest of the words. 

“Yourself Dr. Kateb.” 

His cock twitching inside of you as he whimpered. A sound you haven't heard. You smiled wider, a boost of confidence coming over you. 

“Using your ambassador for stress relief, baby.” 

He tried nodding his head, a failed attempt causing him to let out more moans and groans. His hands started pulling you down to meet his bucking hips. Fucking the words out of you in a second. You cursed, unprepared to be met with such pleasure. Maybe it was a bad idea to tease a military man. His sheer size and mass was enough to man handle you, and that's what he’ll do. He’ll sit there and manhandle your orgasm out of you. Hands now just holding you up, thrusting up into you. The burn in your muscle turned into more pleasure as you no longer had to do most of the work. His pace is hard enough to send vibrations to your clit, furthering your own pleasure in the process. You let out a long moan. The familiar knott from before returning with a vengeance. The same vengeance that is seeming to be your downfall. You curse, pornographic moans coming from your mouth. 

“Close,” 

Is all you’re able to stutter out, hands letting go of his hair. You angled his head up at you for a kiss, a desperate kiss. He returned it, feeling the desperation in it. He won’t let up his pace, hips smacking up into you. Your pull away from the kiss, unable to keep it going, unable to use it to muffle your loud moans. You rest your forehead against his, eyes squeezed shut. Your jaw loose as you let out high pitched noises in places of moans. The knot in your stomach snapping. A high pitched moan leaves you as you orgasm shakes through your body. He harshly brings your hips back down on him one last time, before letting out a loud groan as he finishes inside you. He continues to hip your hips for you, allowing you to ride out that shaking orgasm. Slowing down until you were just slightly grinding on him. Nothing but the sound of you two breathing could be heard. You slumped into his shoulder, hands leaving the sides of his head. You can almost hear his heartbeat. The fast paced rhythm matching your own, causing you to smile to yourself. 

You two stay that way for a while, unable to move from the fatigue of your activities and the week finally hitting. Seeping into your bones like a cold wind. It’s comforting being in his arms. Large arms linked around you to secure you to him, almost like if he lets go you’ll disappear. 

“That’s one way to let out frustrations and stress.” 

He hums, a large hand finding its way to rub you back.

“We should do it again sometime. Mon plaisir quotidien.” 

You laugh, humming in agreement. You should get dressed, clean up the office and then head home, but you know the moment you move you’ll regret it. Miss the feeling of his arms around you. 

“Let's get you cleaned up.” He sits up with you, an arm reaching for your dress shirt on the desk. You sit up and allow him to put it on you, your own fingers moving to do the buttons. He follows suit, fixing his own shirt. You’re soon faced with the problem of having to get your pants on, which means leaving his warm and cock behind until next time. He can see you thinking about it, deciding if getting dressed was really worth it. 

“I’ll always be here, Belle.” 

You sighed, eyes meeting him. He’s not lying, this was an enjoyable experience for him too. You nodded, he was right, an ‘until next time moment’. You moved, both groaning at the loss of warmth. You fix your panties and then grab at your pants. Sliding them on. You move to grab your things, fix your hair and put on your coat. You wait at the door. Watching as he fixes himself and then starts to move. Putting things back into order. He soon joins you, turning off the light and smiling down at you. 

“Maybe dinner before? Next time, of course. A proper date.”

He’s not asking, he’s telling you. Which makes you smile, agreeing with the idea. 

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Somewhere Between Hello and Goodbye | Ch. 3: The Lucky Day

Warning: This chapter contains mentions of an eating disorder and depression, please read with caution as topics may be triggering.

a/n: Alexa, play Daddy's Home <3 Anywho, OC's spiralling summer was inspired by Bella's montage of passing seasons in Twilight ... I'm sorry, but I need to preface that OC will be going through it this whole season, I have already cried thrice. Also, a side question, can you guys actually play the songs I post for these chapters? Meaning, does Tumblr let yall do that or am I trippin? Because I truly think they add a lot to the overall experience. If not, please let me know, then maybe I'll just turn them into a Spotify playlist.

Sleep has become my escape. A temporary withdrawal from reality in which I live to remember everything Jungkook has forgotten. Sleeping through each passing day, I know that at least in my dreams we are still together. In my dreams, I will always find my way back to you, Koo. Even if you don’t remember it, the moon knows that we were once in love. It hears my helpless cries at night and feels every atom of my being that misses you, fearing the idea of us becoming strangers once again. 

It’s as if my happiness was erased with his departure. Holding my hand through each step of the way, he showed me the beauty in life and ended up being the one to take it all away when my fearing heart failed to reciprocate the painfully obvious love tethered between us. Now, my life is dull and pointless. How can I love someone else when every night I dream of you, Koo?

Swallowing pills to mute the sound of my heart beating for his barest touch, I’ve become lost in my own mind, haunted by everlasting thoughts. Although I thought I would be able to at least pretend to be happy for the sake of my family, it’s all become too much. Thus, it was only a matter of days, before my deteriorating behaviour sparked concern in my parents, fueling tension in the air we shared. It all started with fatigue, which then transformed into chronic sleep and in the end began to affect my eating habits. Feeling nauseous from the mere thought of food, I’ve grown to dissociate myself from it. I was hungry, but I couldn’t eat. And, as my hope slowly diminished, so did the number on the scale. 

“Mira, you have to eat,” my mom’s voice echoes in my ear as my eyes fixate on the plate of steamed broccoli in front of me. 

“I’m not hungry, I told you,” I sigh, swallowing down the lie with some water. 

“Mira, honey, please talk to us. What’s wrong?” my dad asks softly, placing his hand on top of mine. Hearing the trembles in his words, my eyes swell with tears before I shake myself out of it.

“I’m fine … just feeling a bit under the weather,”

“The sun has been at its highest peak this whole time, what’s seasonal about this?” my mom tries to remain composed as she shifts her chair closer to mine. 

“Talk to me, honey. What’s gotten into you? You were so excited to come back,” her hands caress my tangled hair as I nibble on the dead skin on my lip. 

“Mira, you’ve been silent since you came, and now you won’t even eat. Your mom and I can’t bear to see you like this,” 

“Come back home, Miraya. We can find another university here,”

“No. It’s not that. I’m fine, I swear. I just … I just need this break to end already, so I can focus on my studies again. That’ll keep my mind occupied,” I whisper softly, attempting to fake a smile as my empty gaze searches their scattering eyes. Recently, that's how most of our conversations ended. With helpless promises feeding my delusions. However, with each passing day, I come to realise that promises are nothing more than sweet lies. If it weren’t true, I wouldn’t have to find excuses for the aching feeling in my heart, but rather, melt in the overflowing passion of Jungkook’s burning love. 

Excusing myself, I throw away the cold plate of food and head back to my room, one which was once filled with laughter and a carefree sense of ambition. The same walls that watched me cry out of happiness upon receiving my acceptance letter just a few months ago are the ones that now echo my pathetic cries for help. Every inch of this room has become cold and numb, and I’m afraid that there is no more warmth in me that could fix this. 

Crouched in a fetal position as my body shivers under the floral duvet my mom gifted me as a welcome present, I dial Jimin’s phone number. It has been weeks since he moved back to Busan, but I have yet to receive any updates from him about Jungkook. In hindsight, maybe, it’s for the best, but if silence is the thing that'll save me then why do I still hold onto the smallest glimpse of hope for us? Even if it means walking across a minefield of rejected possibilities that would ultimately send me into a never-ending spiral, why do I still care?

“How is he?” I ask with hesitation. 

“Different. He’s different.” Jimin replies softly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, he seems distant. Which is fair, I guess. But, he doesn’t quite seem to remember me,” 

“At all?” my voice shakes as I choke up. 

“Well no, he is still able to recover our memories from when we were kids, but recent events are very blurry,” Jimin goes on. 

I, was recent to Jungkook. We, were recent to him. Four months, that's how long I've known Koo, but I’ve been missing him for the last seven. Each day I daydream, reminiscing our memories, feeling the void in my heart knowing that I’ve been without him longer than I’ve been with him. Maybe, Mrs. Jeon was right. I would be lying if I said that a little part of me didn’t think that the reason for her ultimatum was purely based on a simple dislike of me. You know? Like, she didn’t see me as a good match for her son? Because, even then, her disapproval of my character would have been an easier pill to swallow than knowing that now, in Koo’s empty eyes, I’m no longer his Peaches, but a stranger. God, it hurts to even say it out loud let alone accept it. I can’t accept it, but I have to now, don’t I?

“Please take care of him for me Jiminah,” I manage to let out, wiping the tears rolling down my face. 

“I will Mira, don’t worry. I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

“See you,” I end the call, throwing my phone across the bed, my puffy eyes irritated by the brightness. 

That night was especially hard. Although my body was desperately wanting to succumb to the exhaustion, my mind wouldn't shut up. It kept replaying our memories, reminding me of the things I should have said. The words Koo never heard, but deserved to.

--

Hugging my mom, her trembling hands tighten their hold on my sweater as I take in the smell of her perfume for the last time. I missed her a lot, and the guilt of putting my parents through that torture has been eating me alive this whole summer. All they wanted was to see their daughter smile and I failed to fulfill even the simplest of their wishes. If only they knew how much I wanted to smile again. 

“Mira, I’m telling you again, we can find another university here,” my mom says with teary eyes. 

“Just say yes, and we’ll deal with all the transfer stuff, honey,” my dad joins, caressing my palms, as I let out a soft chuckle before shaking my head no. 

“That’s not fair. You guys didn’t raise a quitter,” I manage to let out, feeling my throat tighten from the build-up of emotions. 

“You’re right, we didn’t. But, even the strongest soldier needs a shoulder to cry on. Remember that we are and always will be by your side, Miraya,”

“Call us as soon as you land, love,” 

Passing through the airport security, I wave to my family my last goodbyes before heading to my gate. Am I excited to come back to Seoul? I don’t really have a choice, do I? That God-awful Nursing degree won’t finish itself, so yeah, I kind of have to go back. But, I know that school isn’t the only thing pulling me back. I know I can’t, but I still wish to see Jungkook, even from afar, it doesn’t matter. All I want now is to know that he is doing well.  

I’m not sure how, but as soon as my head rested against the seat my body shut down, falling into a much-needed sleep. I probably would have slept through the whole 12-hour flight if it weren’t for the bright beams of sunlight penetrating through my heavy eyelids. Taking a glimpse out the airplane window, I no longer saw snowy mountains but rather blossoming fields of greenery scattered within the busy cities of Korea. And, as the captain went through his ending speech, a flood of international students lined up near the exit, eager to get back into their previously established routine. It’s funny because I was sitting next to one of my cohort members from last semester, but we were both too tired to even realise. 

Nonetheless, putting my passport and ticket back into my carry on, I rolled my luggage down the escalator before a familiar voice called out my name. Searching the crowd of strangers filled with overwhelmed emotions, my eyes stop at a particular boxy smile. 

“Long time no see, Flip-flops!” Tae shouted across the hall, before waving me down to where he was standing with Jiah and Jimin who were just as excited about my arrival. Feeling my eyes swell with tears, I couldn’t help but laugh at his cute, little dance as he pulled me into a warm hug. 

“Tae, I’m certain you just don’t know my actual name,” I say with a grin, looking up at his sparkling eyes. 

“Of course, I do MJ,” he grins, rubbing the top of my head. Ha ha ha, isn’t he just a comedian? For context, my government name is Mira Jean … hence, the birth of MJ. 

“That’s enough, let us hug her too,” Jiah chuckles, opening her arms as my body virtually melts into her embrace. With tears rolling down our faces, her grip tightens around my form as she lets out a sudden gasp. 

“Mira! My goodness, why are you so small?” she asks with a concerned tone, her wide eyes scanning my body. Although, I always managed to maintain my normal weight, I guess, not eating properly for 3 months left its mark on the way I looked. As the numbers on the scale decreased, I became more and more fixated on the protrusion of my bones. I hated the feeling, but, I also couldn’t stop. Because I couldn’t get myself to eat, I relied on baggy clothes to create an illusion that would satisfy people’s perception of me. Unfortunately, I failed to fool Jiah as she saw right through the act. 

“I just stopped eating so much junk food, I’m fine. Trust me, this is a good thing Jiah, now I can finally fit into my favourite pair of jeans,” I try to laugh the pain away, caressing her hands as her furrowed eyebrows slowly release their tension. She isn’t convinced but also, doesn’t want to create a scene in public. I know that follow-up questions will be brought up along the way, but for now, my attention is focused on looking for someone who I know isn’t there. It’s silly, but before spotting Tae, a little part of me hoped to see Jungkook. To witness his sparkling doe eyes and bunny teeth, once again, like the good old times.  

“Okay, it’s settled, we are all going to my favourite Korean BBQ place,” Jimin exclaims, giving me a quick wink before grabbing both of the luggage out of my hands, and handing one to Tae. And, as Jiah intertwines her hands with mine, we exchange soft smiles exiting the airport as my skin finally feels the fresh, humid air of Seoul. Stopping mid-walk, I let out a deep sigh of relief. I hated every second of my summer, it was nothing short of pure torture but, at least, it too passed. 

“You’re good?” Tae whispers, softened gaze focused on my flushed cheeks. 

“Yeah,” I say softly, taking another deep breath as his arm caresses my shoulder. 

“He’s fine, Mira,” his words pierce through my ears as I unconsciously shoot him an alarming look. 

“You’ve heard from him?” I rush my words, anticipating his answer as my chest heaves up. 

“No, but I can feel your pain,” his tone is quieter now, eyes still searching mine. 

“I’m fine, Tae,” I mumble under my breath, lowering my head in fear of breaking down in front of them. 

“Just know that I’m always here for you, okay?” he says, pressing a soft kiss on my head before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. If only he could hear the way I’m screaming inside. The way I’m calling out for help. For someone to find hope in my hopeless state of mind. If only he knew how much I miss Jungkook. 

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Following the tradition, I will be hosting my annual house party before school beats all of our asses,” Jimin chuckles, caressing Jiah’s hand as their eyes focus on each other. Forcing down some dumpling soup into my system, I feel nauseous, but can’t risk growing Jiah's suspicion more, so I attempt to eat as little as possible without her noticing. 

“So, Mira, please come. Jungkook will be there as well,” Jimin continues with a soft smile which slowly fades upon noticing my gaze drop. Letting go of my spoon, my fingernails dig into my cold palms, as I’m back at square one. How am I supposed to face him when I can’t even handle the mere mention of his name? It’s not fair. None of them know about Mrs. Jeon’s ultimatum, and I fear that I can’t just simply tell them. So, I gulp down the pain and manage to put on another act, one that I seem to have mastered over the summer. 

“Mira, you’re okay?” Jiah asks, gently rubbing my forearm. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit jet-lagged. Sure, of course, I’ll come,” I reply with a reassuring smile, before looking at Tae. I recognize the sadness in his eyes because I see it in my own every passing minute. But, I can’t let him in. I can’t betray Mrs. Jeon’s trust, again. Even if it means that I have to betray my own heart.

--

We’ve been walking around the mall for probably 3 hours now and Jiah has yet to find something with that wow factor, meanwhile, I have already found 4 of the nearest exits. The party is set for tonight, and although I have already agreed to come, I can’t get myself to actually face the consequences. I can’t go, what was I thinking. What? Did I think everything was going to be fine once Jungkook saw me? Mira, he doesn’t remember you. 

“Jiah, you know, I really don’t think I should go tonight?” I say, slowly walking in circles as she eyes another mini dress. 

“What? Why?” she stutters, going through racks of possible options. 

“I’m just not feeling well,” I lie, fiddling with my fingers to calm down the nerves. 

“Mira, is something wrong?” Jiah stops what she’s doing before walking closer to my anxious self. 

“I’m fine, really,” I lie again. 

“You don’t look fine. You barely eat, barely sleep, barely talk to me,” she exclaims with a  tone firmer than before. 

“Then stop looking. Please, can everyone just leave me alone? I’m just tired, okay?” I burst, feeling everyone’s eyes on my distressed self. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. What do you need?” she says gently, reaching out her hands.  

“I just need space,” I whisper, crossing my arms in front of my burning chest. 

“Fine, I’ll give you some space. Please call me when you’re ready,” Jiah’s words cut deep as she walked out of the store, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The ones I’ve been trying to run away from this whole time. I can’t even get mad at her. She is only trying to help, but how can she when I keep shutting everyone out? It’s all my fault, I know. I just hope that this isn’t how it ends. I hope I don’t push everyone away, and someone sees right through the mask I put on. Because I’m so lost. I don’t know what to do or who to talk to.

Locking the door behind me I plop onto my bed before finally resting my heavy eyes. And, within minutes, I’m passed out again. I think, I've grown to become eternally tired, no matter how much I sleep, there is just no end to this fatigue. Moving restlessly, I pull the white cover over my shivering body before hearing my phone ring. 

“Ugh, what is it now?” I grunt, squinting from the screen brightness as a small gasp escapes my parted lips. It was 8 pm already. How is that possible? I swear, I just laid my head. But, no, apparently I’ve been asleep for the last 5 hours. 

“Hello?” I manage to let out. 

“Flip-flops? Where are you?” Tae screams through the loud music in the background. 

“Tae, I’m home. What happened?” 

“Mira hurry, Jiah is drunk. You need to come pick her up,” he exclaims with panic in his voice. 

“What? Where’s Jimin? Can he not drive her?” I stutter, lifting myself off of the bed before putting my hoodie back on. 

“You want him to drive under the influence? Of course, he is drunk too,” 

“Well, why can’t you drive them?” I whine, almost pleading. 

“Who said I wasn’t drunk either?” he chuckles, sending me a flying kiss through the phone. 

“Fine, I’ll be there in a bit. Keep an eye on Jiah,” I sigh before grabbing my keys and ID. 

Thankfully, Jimin’s place wasn’t that far from our dormitory so, the ride there was only 10-ish minutes. Nonetheless, I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. And, as the driver finally pulled up to the apartment complex I practically ran inside. Following the sound of loud music, I made my way through the crowd of people who clearly had a little too much fun, as the alcohol in their system could be detected from the next block. 

“Flip-flops!” Tae exclaimed with a big grin. Stopping in my tracks, my eyes diverted to Jiah, who was standing beside him with absolutely no sign of a hangover. In fact, she looked better than ever in her new mini-dress. 

“What? You lied?” I snap, eyebrows furrowing more and more with each step I take towards them. 

“How else was I supposed to get you to come?” Tae chuckles, trying to rub my head before I push his hand away. 

“Get off me,” my tone is harsh as I lower my piercing gaze, shaking my head in disbelief. 

“Oh! Mira, there you are,” I could hear Jimin’s voice getting closer before turning my flushed face. And with that, it felt like time stopped altogether. There was nothing and no one in the room except for him and I. Koo and I. Feeling my gaze soften, I choke up from the rush of emotions in my throat. 

“Hi, I’m Jungkook. It’s nice to meet you,” he says with a warm smile, reaching out his hand as if meeting me for the first time. Before replying, I take a moment to analyze his face. The one I dreamed about every night and the one that caused me so much pain. He looks the same, except, his eyes no longer sparkle like they used to. I guess, we got that in common. 

“Hi …I’m Mira,” I let out a soft smile, before reaching out my own hand. 

“Yah, Kook, you already know her, you guys were best friends,” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, please forgive me. I'm still trying to piece everything back together,” Koo says, covering his mouth before shutting his eyes from embarrassment. 

Feeling my throat tighten, I quickly excuse myself, before rushing out of the packed room towards the nearest fire escape. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but why does it feel like I’m going to pass out? It’s as if all the air was knocked out of my lungs. Feeling lightheaded I hold onto the railing and close my eyes for a moment. I can’t believe it. Koo, I saw you but you didn’t see me. You saw a stranger. And, suddenly, there I was, alone again, realizing that everything I feared had come true.

Regaining my composure, I decide to walk back to the party before my eyes are met with his. 

“Not a party animal, huh?” Jungkook grins, stopping in his tracks as his arm leans against the wall. 

“It’s my day off,” I let out a small chuckle, unable to keep his eye contact. 

“So … we were best friends?” he asks softly, hands fidgeting with the chains on his belt. 

“Yeah …” I nod slightly, nibbling on my lips. 

“It’s funny because I don’t remember anything from last year. I could barely recognize my own dad for a while. Jimin helped me a lot, he basically recalled sparknotes of my past for me,” he laughs. Oh, how I missed his laugh.  

“You really don’t remember anything?” I finally look up, searching his scattering eyes. 

“No, not one bit,” his muffled words are interrupted by the growling sound coming from my stomach, as I let out an awkward smile. 

“Oh, are you hungry?” he grins, bunny teeth on full display, as my gaze softens again. 

“No, no, no, I’m fine. I think I’m gonna head home now,” I shake my hands, zipping my hoodie before attempting to walk past him. 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll drive. I’m starving as well,” Jungkook assures, gently pulling onto the fabric as my heart sinks to my feet.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I agreed. I couldn’t say no to Koo. Not, after all the sleepless nights I’ve spent missing his mere presence. And, as we entered the nearest restaurant, everything felt real. He felt real. Even if he couldn’t feel it, my heart was beating for the both of us. For our first hellos, last goodbyes and everything in between. Just for tonight, I wanted to pretend like nothing happened. 

“Oh, look, Mira, they have a special deal on shrimp dumplings, do you like them?” his voice, brings me back to reality as I mute the thoughts running through my head. 

“Yeah, my mom made them for me all the time when I was little,” I smile. 

“Then, I guess it’s your lucky day,” he chuckles with a satisfied grin, before calling one of the waiters. 

“I guess, it is,” I say softly, feeling my throat tighten as I struggle to swallow the lie. Searching his naive eyes my own swell with tears while my body shifts restlessly in the seat. Desperately wanting to cave into the emotions, my mind is haunted by the thoughts of Mrs. Jeon’s letter. And, as I close my eyes for a moment, all I can see are the painful reminders of our enforced distance. Don’t call … Don’t write … Don’t interact. Yet, here we are, here you are, Koo. Live in the flesh, separated by a table and the forgotten story of our past. So close, yet so far that it physically hurts. To him, I’m just another piece of the puzzle that would fill the void in his memories. But, to me, he is the only piece that could make me whole again. 

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[chaotic-on-main]

Epilogue

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, romance, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, references to child abuse, smoking and alcohol abuse mentions, domestic violence, light assault, eventual smut

☾ Author's note ➼ Heeeeyy I'm back. If you haven't had an eye on my masterlist for Unspoken Words, you might have missed that I've been working on an epilogue. SURPRISE. If you have, then here it is lol. I am OFFICIALLY done with UW and I'm so sad about it. ALSO for some reason my tumblr app hates me and any time I italicize a line, it italicizes the entire paragraph and I have no idea why. As always, the sign language lines are marked with ' and speaking lines marked with ".

Thank you to anyone who has taken time out of their lives to read my "little" story. I enjoyed writing about this little world and I could not be happier to know that most of you liked reading it. I appreciate you more than you know. Can you believe this is around 100k words? Crazy. Anyways, I'm gonna go write some more, I'll see ya around! <3

☾ Word Count ➼ ~4k

Reddish-orange leaves dance in a unique ballet number past the window you were currently staring out of. You can't keep your fingers from picking at the sleeves of your wool sweater as you wait for your speech therapist to come and get you from the semi-quiet lobby. The only noises you hear comes from the reception desk and the TV mounted opposite of the couch you were waiting on. The weather channel calls for a beautiful weekend with warmer than usual temperatures – which is good considering Halloween is tomorrow.

A side door leading to the back offices opens up, and your name is called from a stout brunette woman with large rimmed glasses and a kind smile. She holds it open as she beckons you forward, and you don't hesitate to smile back as you pick up your bag and make your way through the door and down the familiar hall on her heels.

You’ve been seeing Dr. Boreal for about almost two years now. You started speech therapy shortly after starting trauma therapy – something they had recommended. You weren't quick to decline the suggestion, but you'd be lying if you said you had ever thought about taking back your speech. Some time in your youth, you just assumed it was gone forever. That it was something that couldn't be fixed.

According to Dr. Foust, your trauma therapist, the speech block was mental. Therefore, it was something that could be explored and possibly broken through.

When he had said that, you had newfound hope and suddenly a silent goal to work towards.

It's like clockwork the way you stepped into Dr. Boreal's navy blue office, stepping over to the right and onto the plush cream colored couch meant just for patients. On the walls of her office sits multiple picture frames and motivational posters, all with smiles and bright colors. Her dark curtains sit parted, letting in the afternoon autumn sun that hits the wall next to you. You watch as she grabs the folder with your name on it before sitting in her large red chair and smiling over to you.

“So, how have you been? How was your trip with Levi?”

‘I’m doing well. And It was lovely! You were right, too. The road to Trost is gorgeous this time of year and the trees! So pretty.’ You think back at the little vacation Levi took you on just a week ago. He had taken the scenic route to the little town that you and he had rented a cabin in.

The leaves were at the end of their life and littered the ground wherever you went, crunching underneath your boots. Between the intimate moments and crisp atmosphere, it really was a magical time. Levi practically had to drag you back home.

On the way out, Levi found this adorable tea shop. It's not easy finding a place that made tea as well as he did, and of course he didn't say anything, but you could tell how much he enjoyed it. You won't soon forget the content on his normally stoic face. That reminds you of the little package snuggled in your purse so you reach down into it to pull out a small, rectangular tin.

‘I got this for you.’ You beam at her as you hand it over gently.

“Cranberry autumn tea?” She inspects the wording on the metal, hazel eyes glittering gold in the sunlight that reflects off the container. Her eyes shift to you as a grateful smile lights up her weathered face. “Oh you sweet thing, thank you so much. But you shouldn't have.”

‘As thanks for dealing with me.’ You laugh softly, leaning back into the plush couch.

“You know it's no problem. Even if I wasn't paid, I'd still enjoy your company.” She waves dismissively after setting her gift down on the table in front of her. “So, let's see where we left off last time.”

You pick at the edges of your sleeves once again as you watch her find the right place in her notes. Dr. Boreal is one of the kindest people you've had the pleasure of being around. Though she was being paid to help you, she always did so much more. She was patient with you when you struggled to get past certain goals, and when your voice hurt after a grueling session she would bring you herbal tea with honey to smooth the pain. Levi joked that you liked her tea more than his to which you always rolled your eyes at.

“Well you have made outstanding progress. Of course, there is still plenty we still need to work on. But you're doing well.” She looks down at her papers as she talks, the scratch of her pen fills the silence after she finishes. She looks back up to you. “Have you shown anyone your progress yet?”

Those around you are aware of your long journey through therapy. They even celebrated with you after one year - Hange's idea of course. Your sister couldn't hold it in when you had told them of the progress you've made and the goals you were looking forward to completing in the oncoming sessions.  

What they didn't know was that you were even in speech therapy, and how far in your speech recovery you were. Keeping it secret from Levi was getting harder with every passing week.

‘No, but I plan to soon, I promise.’ You pinch your lips together in a grimace. This has been a threat for the last 6 months but truthfully, you've been too scared to tell anyone. No, not scared. Nervous.

“Well, you know my stance on that. I’m sure they're going to be ecstatic, when you're ready to do so.” Dr. Boreal sets out a recorder to let you hear your voice the way she does, a tool you both found the most helpful when it came to fixing the areas that needed the most work. “Enough of that though, are you ready to start?”

With a confident smile, you open your mouth to speak.

.

A few hours later, you find yourself home and in the kitchen with your mind in another dimension. You’re currently plating up a vegetable tray on a tupperware platter as autumnal lofi weaves through the room from the speakers behind you. You’re so focused on arranging your sliced up miscellaneous veggies that you don't hear the metal key in the front door and the light footsteps of your boyfriend coming home for the evening.

“Hey.” Levi mutters from behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder to look at what you're doing – not without difficulty, of course. You jump at his sudden proximity causing you to drop the chosen dipping sauces in the middle of the platter, disturbing the once perfect arrangement.

There's a soft sigh from you, but you feel the giddiness at the expected company fluttering in your stomach. Even after a few years, he still gives you that effect. You twist in his arms to face him, and his gray eyes are downturned in concern.  

“Are you okay? Was therapy too much today?” He lessens his grip on you so you can pull your hands up to sign.

Levi Ackerman’s raven hair is slicked back from him running his fingers through it, and the way that it stayed put and the sheen on the strands, you can tell it must be raining. You've been so fixated on making sure it looked good that you hadn't even noticed. His gaze stares into yours as he searches for what might be bothering you, so you give him a reassuring smile.

‘No, it was actually really good. She said I've made a lot of progress.’

“That's good. Did you come home late, or have you been working on this tray the whole time?” He glances over your shoulder at the vegetables now thrown about on the counter.

‘Yes and no. I decided to run by the farmers market for more options. But they didn't have anything we didn't already have.’ You explain, shrugging your shoulders.

The afternoon sun was so nice on your face that you would have been a fool to not take advantage of it - and it's a good thing you did. Your eyes slide to the water droplets that drip down on the outside of the living room windows.

“Hm. Well we need to leave for Hange's party soon and you're not dressed. Let me finish this for you and you go get ready.” He leans in to kiss your forehead before unraveling his arms and pushing you in the direction of the bedroom. You only roll your eyes but make your way to the back as he asked.

Hange's Halloween Bash is something they have been planning for about a year. The moment the decorations went on sale last winter, she snatched up what she could. She said something about starting a new tradition for her friends turned family. Levi wasn't as excited about the prospect of such a social gathering but you were, and that was enough to get him to go.

Not only were you able to get him to go, you were also able to talk him into dressing up with you.  

In front of the mirror, you finish tying up a black corset that wraps around your waist. It helps form-fit the blue long sleeve dress that drops down to your bare ankles with your pair of flats completing the look. You were almost ready – all that was left was the big blue bow that you pinned to the back of your head as best you could. You suppose for a makeshift Ariel, this would do just fine. You almost chuckle at the irony of the characters you suggested to Levi a month ago.

A girl who can't talk and a prince that loved her despite it.

You do a small twirl in the mirror to make sure everything looks right. You almost jump out of your skin at the sudden sight of the person standing in the doorway. Levi leans against the door frame, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. His hands are in the pockets of his work clothes as he watches you intently, taking in the sight of you. With a hand over your heart, you give him a small frown.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” He doesn't sound sorry at all.

‘You are too quiet for your own good. One day you're going to scare me so bad that I'm going to punch you.’ You shake your head but smile anyways. You make your way to the closet to pull out Levi's costume for the night, making sure to grab the red waist sash that threatens to fall to the floor.

“You keep saying that.” He takes the hanger from you but not before leaning in to give you a chaste kiss. With a small laugh, you head out of the bedroom and down the hall back to the kitchen.

On your way there, you take a moment to glance at the framed photographs on the walls. Levi made sure to hang up the pictures he took from his apartment that he shared with Erwin as soon as you both moved in.

There was the one of him, Furlan, and Isabel as well as the one of him and Erwin on graduation day though Levi had persisted with Erwin to keep the latter. His blonde and blue eyed friend told him to take it as he had plenty more photos of the two he could hang up. That didn’t make Levi feel any better and it makes you wonder what photos Levi might be hiding from you.

Dispersed in between those are ones of you and Hange, and some with your shared circle of friends. The last one frames three photo strips next to each other. The first one is from your first Sakura Festival a few years ago where you sat on Levi's lap – both red faced and unaware of the extent of your affections for each other.

The other two are from the same photo booth, taken from the previous and current year. With each year, the smiles and looks of adoration grew. Both, luckily, were without the presence of your sister and Erwin. Surprisingly, it wasn't your idea to go back. As much as Levi did his best to hide his sentimental side, it was always present.  

When you get to the kitchen counter, you see the platter rearranged and closed up with the matching plastic lid. It looks perfect, even better than when you took a crack at it. You also see two cups of tea on the counter, both with steam rising up and dancing in the kitchen lights before dissipating into the air.

With a grin, you reach over to grab what you can only assume is yours based on the light color of your tea then walk around the island to sit on the bar stool, leaning on the counter with the mug in both hands. After your first sip, you sigh happily. It was one of the new teas Levi had brought back from the trip because he couldn't get enough of it. Earthy with hints of floral notes, topped with a citrusy zing.

When you start to wonder if Levi was okay, your eyes catch movement in the hallway. You watch Levi struggle with his sash, the soft grumbling of his irritation coming from under his breath as he tugs on it. Sometimes you never realize how hard it is to do something with less than the normal amount of fingers until it's forced upon you. Of course, Levi was never one to ask for help even after all these years.

Without a second thought, you stand up and make your way over to him. He doesn't fight as you take the fabric from his fingers and tighten it from the back. Tucked into the sash is a white blouse, loose enough to billow in the evening breeze. Black pants and matching boots fit snug against his lower half. When you're done, you turn him to face you to inspect the whole ensemble. With his hair properly slicked back, he was the perfect Prince Eric.

‘You look rather dashing, you know that?’

“Tch.” He rolls his eyes at you, but there's not a trace of annoyance radiating off of him. As much as he hates it, he loves you and would do anything you asked – within reason.

‘Are you almost ready to go?’

“In a few, I didn't just brew this for nothing.” He makes his way to the counter to grab his mug and instead of sitting, he stands propped up against the counter like you were but with his phone in hand.

“Your sister wants to know if you want apple juice or apple cider.” He mutters, his gray eyes flicking up over to you as you make your way over to the seat you were just at to finish your own cup. “Both, right?”

‘How did you know?’ You laugh, but nod in agreement. You watch as his fingers type away, the clicking of the keys filling back empty space. There's barely any sunlight coming through the closed blinds signifying that nightfall was almost here. You just now noticed Levi had gone ahead and turned off everything for you while you were getting ready.

The gut feeling you felt last week is back. There was a moment when Levi drove through the rolling hills, the golden rays of sunset lighting up his face. A moment of peace that washed over you as his soft gaze flitted over to you in the passenger seat for only a second, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh.

With a nervous sigh, you reach over and pull down his phone with one finger to get his attention. Instantly he looks at you with worry, his mouth downturned.

“Are you okay?”

‘I bet you love me.’

His eyebrows raise, a little surprised at your random question – at something so obvious that he worries even more that something is wrong.

“What’s this about?”

‘Humor me. I bet you love me.’

“You bet right.” He draws out, confusion lacing his tone. 

‘You have to answer a question now. Since I was right.’

“What do you want to know that you don’t already?” His eyes roll at you again, but he sets his phone and mug down and leans over on his elbows to watch you intently.

‘It’s a simple but very important question, I promise.’

“Tch, okay. Hit me.”

Your eyes are suddenly fixated on the fridge to the right of you, the heat of his stare making you shy. For a split second, you almost chicken out. With your heart in your throat, you feel as if you're going to choke as your pulse quickens. Can you do this? Were you ready for this? You were quite tired after today, maybe it's best saved for another day. These thoughts race loudly in your head, but the moment you look back up to meet Levi's gaze, they cease to a quiet murmur.

No, you're ready. And you can do this.

With your fingers laced together, you rest your chin on them and continue to look up at Levi's perplexed expression. Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you're finally able to find your voice.

“Will… you marry… me, Levi?” Your voice is scratchy despite the honey tea you drank after your session. It's rough, and to you it's far from pretty. But the change in expression on Levi's face is almost worth it as he stares at you dazed. It's almost funny to see the physical reaction of his brain comprehending what just happened, like a computer crashing and rebooting.

He's reaching over the counter suddenly and cupping your face in his calloused hands. He holds you there as his wide eyes bounce back and forth between yours. You fight back a laugh, your lips pinched together and quivering.

“Do that again. Say my name again.” The urgency in his voice is palpable.

“L…” You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to find your voice yet again. It's hard, but you try again anyway. “Levi.” It comes out brittle this time, leaving an uncomfortable pain in its wake.

“How did this happen?” His own voice sounds a little higher than before, and you have to bite back another laugh.

‘I've been working on it alongside my sessions with Foust.’ You've met your vocal quota for the day. Levi's hands stay cupped around your cheeks and he pulls you in until his soft lips touch yours again. Your eyes flutter closed as you kiss him back, feeling the weight of your anxiety lift off your shoulders in an instant.

When he pulls away, his stare is conflicted and before you know it, he's released you and whips around the corner down the hallway. Dread inches its way into your chest where the anxiety was before as you realize he never answered your question. Did he need a moment? Did he even hear what you asked? The shock may have been too much. Your teeth bite into the inside of your cheek as you watch the dark hallway nervously.

A few seconds later, he emerges from the shadows with red creeping from his neck up into his face. He's flustered and holding something small in his hand. It takes you a moment to register what it was, and when you do, you jump to your feet to meet him halfway.

He doesn’t hesitate to open it to you though his fingers tremble ever so slightly. Inside are two golden rings, interlocked together. A small oval ruby sits surrounded by metal vines beset by smaller white diamonds in the shape of leaves. It's simple yet elegant. Your eyes snap up to his, no doubt as big as saucers.

Not only is this ring breathtaking, it's also groundbreaking to you. You've seen this ring box around since before you both had moved in together. It's been in the closet collecting dust, so of course you didn't think anything of it. He's had this ring for a long time, sitting right under your nose.

‘How long were you planning to propose?’

“For a while now. I just didn't know when would be a good time.” He carefully takes out the one with the red ruby and holds it up to you. The kitchen lights glimmer off the smooth surface reflecting red against his fingers. “I can't believe you beat me to it, though.” So he did hear you.

‘I wasn't planning to do it tonight, but I just had a feeling.’

“You never cease to amaze me, you know that?” He leans over to place the ring box onto the side table behind him, then turns to you. Then he does something you've only ever seen in movies – Levi gets down on one knee and the ring out to you.

“Um. I'm not good with things like this. But I just want you to know that I love you. And I've never been more prepared to spend my life with someone, if you'll have me. Will you marry me?” His eyes look away for a second before focusing back on you. Even though you had pretty much said yes when you asked first, he still seemed so nervous.  

To see Levi in such a mess like this in front of you makes that laugh you held back burst forth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Speechless again, you reach your hand out to him and just like that, he slides the ring on your finger with ease.

“I- uh, borrowed one of your rings to get it resized.” He mutters as you stare at it curiously. “So, that's a yes right?” Even though you took the ring, you can still hear the anxiety in his voice.

‘Of course, dummy.’ You laugh again before pulling him up on his feet by his collar and into you for another kiss, this time deeper and full of the love that you have for this man. When you pull away, you can't help but stare at the metal hugging your ring finger.

“It was my mom’s, she insisted on me having it. I think she knew.” He grabs your hand and pulls you into him, one hand on your waist and the other cupping your face. “I suppose we should call her tomorrow, yeah?”

You nod sharply, your smile hurting your cheeks, but you don't care. All you feel right now is the same peace you felt last week and excitement for the future ahead. You didn't want anyone else. 

“Say it again?”

“Levi.” He leans in again, hand still on your face as he presses his lips against your once more. There have been many shared kisses since you both became official but this one felt different. You didn't have the words for it, but it was miles away from being bad.

Levi's phone vibrating loudly on the counter disturbs the comfortable silence and you can only sigh. You almost forgot that you had somewhere to be and are reminded by the caller ID flashing your sister's name. In Levi fashion, he ignores it but he does pull away to look at you with a grimace.

“So who’s telling them?” 

☆ Taglist ➼ @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @spaghettiyarns @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @romantichomicide95 @janey-stempy @sckerman @secretmoneybearvoid @sujiroses @jadam724 @e-riellaaa @kamyru @highgoon69 @kingkonoha @nube55 @missyasma @svftackerman @velouria17 @sixpennydame

If you'd like to be a part of my taglist to be notified for my other writings, please go here!

☾ Previous Chapter: June - Part 5

[spicerackofblorbos]

Epilogue

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, romance, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, references to child abuse, smoking and alcohol abuse mentions, domestic violence, light assault, eventual smut

☾ Author's note ➼ Heeeeyy I'm back. If you haven't had an eye on my masterlist for Unspoken Words, you might have missed that I've been working on an epilogue. SURPRISE. If you have, then here it is lol. I am OFFICIALLY done with UW and I'm so sad about it. ALSO for some reason my tumblr app hates me and any time I italicize a line, it italicizes the entire paragraph and I have no idea why. As always, the sign language lines are marked with ' and speaking lines marked with ".

Thank you to anyone who has taken time out of their lives to read my "little" story. I enjoyed writing about this little world and I could not be happier to know that most of you liked reading it. I appreciate you more than you know. Can you believe this is around 100k words? Crazy. Anyways, I'm gonna go write some more, I'll see ya around! &lt;3

☾ Word Count ➼ ~4k

Reddish-orange leaves dance in a unique ballet number past the window you were currently staring out of. You can't keep your fingers from picking at the sleeves of your wool sweater as you wait for your speech therapist to come and get you from the semi-quiet lobby. The only noises you hear comes from the reception desk and the TV mounted opposite of the couch you were waiting on. The weather channel calls for a beautiful weekend with warmer than usual temperatures – which is good considering Halloween is tomorrow.

A side door leading to the back offices opens up, and your name is called from a stout brunette woman with large rimmed glasses and a kind smile. She holds it open as she beckons you forward, and you don't hesitate to smile back as you pick up your bag and make your way through the door and down the familiar hall on her heels.

You’ve been seeing Dr. Boreal for about almost two years now. You started speech therapy shortly after starting trauma therapy – something they had recommended. You weren't quick to decline the suggestion, but you'd be lying if you said you had ever thought about taking back your speech. Some time in your youth, you just assumed it was gone forever. That it was something that couldn't be fixed.

According to Dr. Foust, your trauma therapist, the speech block was mental. Therefore, it was something that could be explored and possibly broken through.

When he had said that, you had newfound hope and suddenly a silent goal to work towards.

It's like clockwork the way you stepped into Dr. Boreal's navy blue office, stepping over to the right and onto the plush cream colored couch meant just for patients. On the walls of her office sits multiple picture frames and motivational posters, all with smiles and bright colors. Her dark curtains sit parted, letting in the afternoon autumn sun that hits the wall next to you. You watch as she grabs the folder with your name on it before sitting in her large red chair and smiling over to you.

“So, how have you been? How was your trip with Levi?”

‘I’m doing well. And It was lovely! You were right, too. The road to Trost is gorgeous this time of year and the trees! So pretty.’ You think back at the little vacation Levi took you on just a week ago. He had taken the scenic route to the little town that you and he had rented a cabin in.

The leaves were at the end of their life and littered the ground wherever you went, crunching underneath your boots. Between the intimate moments and crisp atmosphere, it really was a magical time. Levi practically had to drag you back home.

On the way out, Levi found this adorable tea shop. It's not easy finding a place that made tea as well as he did, and of course he didn't say anything, but you could tell how much he enjoyed it. You won't soon forget the content on his normally stoic face. That reminds you of the little package snuggled in your purse so you reach down into it to pull out a small, rectangular tin.

‘I got this for you.’ You beam at her as you hand it over gently.

“Cranberry autumn tea?” She inspects the wording on the metal, hazel eyes glittering gold in the sunlight that reflects off the container. Her eyes shift to you as a grateful smile lights up her weathered face. “Oh you sweet thing, thank you so much. But you shouldn't have.”

‘As thanks for dealing with me.’ You laugh softly, leaning back into the plush couch.

“You know it's no problem. Even if I wasn't paid, I'd still enjoy your company.” She waves dismissively after setting her gift down on the table in front of her. “So, let's see where we left off last time.”

You pick at the edges of your sleeves once again as you watch her find the right place in her notes. Dr. Boreal is one of the kindest people you've had the pleasure of being around. Though she was being paid to help you, she always did so much more. She was patient with you when you struggled to get past certain goals, and when your voice hurt after a grueling session she would bring you herbal tea with honey to smooth the pain. Levi joked that you liked her tea more than his to which you always rolled your eyes at.

“Well you have made outstanding progress. Of course, there is still plenty we still need to work on. But you're doing well.” She looks down at her papers as she talks, the scratch of her pen fills the silence after she finishes. She looks back up to you. “Have you shown anyone your progress yet?”

Those around you are aware of your long journey through therapy. They even celebrated with you after one year - Hange's idea of course. Your sister couldn't hold it in when you had told them of the progress you've made and the goals you were looking forward to completing in the oncoming sessions.  

What they didn't know was that you were even in speech therapy, and how far in your speech recovery you were. Keeping it secret from Levi was getting harder with every passing week.

‘No, but I plan to soon, I promise.’ You pinch your lips together in a grimace. This has been a threat for the last 6 months but truthfully, you've been too scared to tell anyone. No, not scared. Nervous.

“Well, you know my stance on that. I’m sure they're going to be ecstatic, when you're ready to do so.” Dr. Boreal sets out a recorder to let you hear your voice the way she does, a tool you both found the most helpful when it came to fixing the areas that needed the most work. “Enough of that though, are you ready to start?”

With a confident smile, you open your mouth to speak.

.

A few hours later, you find yourself home and in the kitchen with your mind in another dimension. You’re currently plating up a vegetable tray on a tupperware platter as autumnal lofi weaves through the room from the speakers behind you. You’re so focused on arranging your sliced up miscellaneous veggies that you don't hear the metal key in the front door and the light footsteps of your boyfriend coming home for the evening.

“Hey.” Levi mutters from behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder to look at what you're doing – not without difficulty, of course. You jump at his sudden proximity causing you to drop the chosen dipping sauces in the middle of the platter, disturbing the once perfect arrangement.

There's a soft sigh from you, but you feel the giddiness at the expected company fluttering in your stomach. Even after a few years, he still gives you that effect. You twist in his arms to face him, and his gray eyes are downturned in concern.  

“Are you okay? Was therapy too much today?” He lessens his grip on you so you can pull your hands up to sign.

Levi Ackerman’s raven hair is slicked back from him running his fingers through it, and the way that it stayed put and the sheen on the strands, you can tell it must be raining. You've been so fixated on making sure it looked good that you hadn't even noticed. His gaze stares into yours as he searches for what might be bothering you, so you give him a reassuring smile.

‘No, it was actually really good. She said I've made a lot of progress.’

“That's good. Did you come home late, or have you been working on this tray the whole time?” He glances over your shoulder at the vegetables now thrown about on the counter.

‘Yes and no. I decided to run by the farmers market for more options. But they didn't have anything we didn't already have.’ You explain, shrugging your shoulders.

The afternoon sun was so nice on your face that you would have been a fool to not take advantage of it - and it's a good thing you did. Your eyes slide to the water droplets that drip down on the outside of the living room windows.

“Hm. Well we need to leave for Hange's party soon and you're not dressed. Let me finish this for you and you go get ready.” He leans in to kiss your forehead before unraveling his arms and pushing you in the direction of the bedroom. You only roll your eyes but make your way to the back as he asked.

Hange's Halloween Bash is something they have been planning for about a year. The moment the decorations went on sale last winter, she snatched up what she could. She said something about starting a new tradition for her friends turned family. Levi wasn't as excited about the prospect of such a social gathering but you were, and that was enough to get him to go.

Not only were you able to get him to go, you were also able to talk him into dressing up with you.  

In front of the mirror, you finish tying up a black corset that wraps around your waist. It helps form-fit the blue long sleeve dress that drops down to your bare ankles with your pair of flats completing the look. You were almost ready – all that was left was the big blue bow that you pinned to the back of your head as best you could. You suppose for a makeshift Ariel, this would do just fine. You almost chuckle at the irony of the characters you suggested to Levi a month ago.

A girl who can't talk and a prince that loved her despite it.

You do a small twirl in the mirror to make sure everything looks right. You almost jump out of your skin at the sudden sight of the person standing in the doorway. Levi leans against the door frame, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. His hands are in the pockets of his work clothes as he watches you intently, taking in the sight of you. With a hand over your heart, you give him a small frown.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” He doesn't sound sorry at all.

‘You are too quiet for your own good. One day you're going to scare me so bad that I'm going to punch you.’ You shake your head but smile anyways. You make your way to the closet to pull out Levi's costume for the night, making sure to grab the red waist sash that threatens to fall to the floor.

“You keep saying that.” He takes the hanger from you but not before leaning in to give you a chaste kiss. With a small laugh, you head out of the bedroom and down the hall back to the kitchen.

On your way there, you take a moment to glance at the framed photographs on the walls. Levi made sure to hang up the pictures he took from his apartment that he shared with Erwin as soon as you both moved in.

There was the one of him, Furlan, and Isabel as well as the one of him and Erwin on graduation day though Levi had persisted with Erwin to keep the latter. His blonde and blue eyed friend told him to take it as he had plenty more photos of the two he could hang up. That didn’t make Levi feel any better and it makes you wonder what photos Levi might be hiding from you.

Dispersed in between those are ones of you and Hange, and some with your shared circle of friends. The last one frames three photo strips next to each other. The first one is from your first Sakura Festival a few years ago where you sat on Levi's lap – both red faced and unaware of the extent of your affections for each other.

The other two are from the same photo booth, taken from the previous and current year. With each year, the smiles and looks of adoration grew. Both, luckily, were without the presence of your sister and Erwin. Surprisingly, it wasn't your idea to go back. As much as Levi did his best to hide his sentimental side, it was always present.  

When you get to the kitchen counter, you see the platter rearranged and closed up with the matching plastic lid. It looks perfect, even better than when you took a crack at it. You also see two cups of tea on the counter, both with steam rising up and dancing in the kitchen lights before dissipating into the air.

With a grin, you reach over to grab what you can only assume is yours based on the light color of your tea then walk around the island to sit on the bar stool, leaning on the counter with the mug in both hands. After your first sip, you sigh happily. It was one of the new teas Levi had brought back from the trip because he couldn't get enough of it. Earthy with hints of floral notes, topped with a citrusy zing.

When you start to wonder if Levi was okay, your eyes catch movement in the hallway. You watch Levi struggle with his sash, the soft grumbling of his irritation coming from under his breath as he tugs on it. Sometimes you never realize how hard it is to do something with less than the normal amount of fingers until it's forced upon you. Of course, Levi was never one to ask for help even after all these years.

Without a second thought, you stand up and make your way over to him. He doesn't fight as you take the fabric from his fingers and tighten it from the back. Tucked into the sash is a white blouse, loose enough to billow in the evening breeze. Black pants and matching boots fit snug against his lower half. When you're done, you turn him to face you to inspect the whole ensemble. With his hair properly slicked back, he was the perfect Prince Eric.

‘You look rather dashing, you know that?’

“Tch.” He rolls his eyes at you, but there's not a trace of annoyance radiating off of him. As much as he hates it, he loves you and would do anything you asked – within reason.

‘Are you almost ready to go?’

“In a few, I didn't just brew this for nothing.” He makes his way to the counter to grab his mug and instead of sitting, he stands propped up against the counter like you were but with his phone in hand.

“Your sister wants to know if you want apple juice or apple cider.” He mutters, his gray eyes flicking up over to you as you make your way over to the seat you were just at to finish your own cup. “Both, right?”

‘How did you know?’ You laugh, but nod in agreement. You watch as his fingers type away, the clicking of the keys filling back empty space. There's barely any sunlight coming through the closed blinds signifying that nightfall was almost here. You just now noticed Levi had gone ahead and turned off everything for you while you were getting ready.

The gut feeling you felt last week is back. There was a moment when Levi drove through the rolling hills, the golden rays of sunset lighting up his face. A moment of peace that washed over you as his soft gaze flitted over to you in the passenger seat for only a second, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh.

With a nervous sigh, you reach over and pull down his phone with one finger to get his attention. Instantly he looks at you with worry, his mouth downturned.

“Are you okay?”

‘I bet you love me.’

His eyebrows raise, a little surprised at your random question – at something so obvious that he worries even more that something is wrong.

“What’s this about?”

‘Humor me. I bet you love me.’

“You bet right.” He draws out, confusion lacing his tone. 

‘You have to answer a question now. Since I was right.’

“What do you want to know that you don’t already?” His eyes roll at you again, but he sets his phone and mug down and leans over on his elbows to watch you intently.

‘It’s a simple but very important question, I promise.’

“Tch, okay. Hit me.”

Your eyes are suddenly fixated on the fridge to the right of you, the heat of his stare making you shy. For a split second, you almost chicken out. With your heart in your throat, you feel as if you're going to choke as your pulse quickens. Can you do this? Were you ready for this? You were quite tired after today, maybe it's best saved for another day. These thoughts race loudly in your head, but the moment you look back up to meet Levi's gaze, they cease to a quiet murmur.

No, you're ready. And you can do this.

With your fingers laced together, you rest your chin on them and continue to look up at Levi's perplexed expression. Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you're finally able to find your voice.

“Will… you marry… me, Levi?” Your voice is scratchy despite the honey tea you drank after your session. It's rough, and to you it's far from pretty. But the change in expression on Levi's face is almost worth it as he stares at you dazed. It's almost funny to see the physical reaction of his brain comprehending what just happened, like a computer crashing and rebooting.

He's reaching over the counter suddenly and cupping your face in his calloused hands. He holds you there as his wide eyes bounce back and forth between yours. You fight back a laugh, your lips pinched together and quivering.

“Do that again. Say my name again.” The urgency in his voice is palpable.

“L…” You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to find your voice yet again. It's hard, but you try again anyway. “Levi.” It comes out brittle this time, leaving an uncomfortable pain in its wake.

“How did this happen?” His own voice sounds a little higher than before, and you have to bite back another laugh.

‘I've been working on it alongside my sessions with Foust.’ You've met your vocal quota for the day. Levi's hands stay cupped around your cheeks and he pulls you in until his soft lips touch yours again. Your eyes flutter closed as you kiss him back, feeling the weight of your anxiety lift off your shoulders in an instant.

When he pulls away, his stare is conflicted and before you know it, he's released you and whips around the corner down the hallway. Dread inches its way into your chest where the anxiety was before as you realize he never answered your question. Did he need a moment? Did he even hear what you asked? The shock may have been too much. Your teeth bite into the inside of your cheek as you watch the dark hallway nervously.

A few seconds later, he emerges from the shadows with red creeping from his neck up into his face. He's flustered and holding something small in his hand. It takes you a moment to register what it was, and when you do, you jump to your feet to meet him halfway.

He doesn’t hesitate to open it to you though his fingers tremble ever so slightly. Inside are two golden rings, interlocked together. A small oval ruby sits surrounded by metal vines beset by smaller white diamonds in the shape of leaves. It's simple yet elegant. Your eyes snap up to his, no doubt as big as saucers.

Not only is this ring breathtaking, it's also groundbreaking to you. You've seen this ring box around since before you both had moved in together. It's been in the closet collecting dust, so of course you didn't think anything of it. He's had this ring for a long time, sitting right under your nose.

‘How long were you planning to propose?’

“For a while now. I just didn't know when would be a good time.” He carefully takes out the one with the red ruby and holds it up to you. The kitchen lights glimmer off the smooth surface reflecting red against his fingers. “I can't believe you beat me to it, though.” So he did hear you.

‘I wasn't planning to do it tonight, but I just had a feeling.’

“You never cease to amaze me, you know that?” He leans over to place the ring box onto the side table behind him, then turns to you. Then he does something you've only ever seen in movies – Levi gets down on one knee and the ring out to you.

“Um. I'm not good with things like this. But I just want you to know that I love you. And I've never been more prepared to spend my life with someone, if you'll have me. Will you marry me?” His eyes look away for a second before focusing back on you. Even though you had pretty much said yes when you asked first, he still seemed so nervous.  

To see Levi in such a mess like this in front of you makes that laugh you held back burst forth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Speechless again, you reach your hand out to him and just like that, he slides the ring on your finger with ease.

“I- uh, borrowed one of your rings to get it resized.” He mutters as you stare at it curiously. “So, that's a yes right?” Even though you took the ring, you can still hear the anxiety in his voice.

‘Of course, dummy.’ You laugh again before pulling him up on his feet by his collar and into you for another kiss, this time deeper and full of the love that you have for this man. When you pull away, you can't help but stare at the metal hugging your ring finger.

“It was my mom’s, she insisted on me having it. I think she knew.” He grabs your hand and pulls you into him, one hand on your waist and the other cupping your face. “I suppose we should call her tomorrow, yeah?”

You nod sharply, your smile hurting your cheeks, but you don't care. All you feel right now is the same peace you felt last week and excitement for the future ahead. You didn't want anyone else. 

“Say it again?”

“Levi.” He leans in again, hand still on your face as he presses his lips against your once more. There have been many shared kisses since you both became official but this one felt different. You didn't have the words for it, but it was miles away from being bad.

Levi's phone vibrating loudly on the counter disturbs the comfortable silence and you can only sigh. You almost forgot that you had somewhere to be and are reminded by the caller ID flashing your sister's name. In Levi fashion, he ignores it but he does pull away to look at you with a grimace.

“So who’s telling them?” 

☾ Previous Chapter: June - Part 5

[miragetheshadow]

Hello nonverbal side of Tumblr,.,,

I've got the ADHD sillies and I just want to know a little about selective mutism, I suppose. Just any odd information so I can know some more.

Recently and a couple times before I've had moments, particularly when upset, where I could only speak under my breath? If I tried to properly talk out loud I could only do a tiny squeak, but I could still whisper under my breath, but not even a proper whisper, and I started wondering if that was a mini form of going selectively mute for a little bit.

Not sure, figured I'd get first hand accounts.

EDIT: fixed some wordings

[breannasfluff]

Quick question, how do you write so much? I fight the words for an hour and have maybe 2 paragraphs of garbage but you pump out really nice work almost every day??? I have so many ideas but I can’t write them for love nor money

I write almost every day, or I take a break and switch it out for drawing. I generally can write a chapter in one go, so usually stock up some backlog to cover days I’m busy. Having multiple stories now means I don’t have that backlog of some, so updates are a bit slower.

As for writing tips:

1. Remove distractions. Shut discord, exit out of tumblr, mute your phone. When you are stuck, don’t go scroll social media. When writing, the only thing I touch the internet for is if I need to check a story item, like a character name, item history, etc. I cannot overstate how important this is. If you are talking to your friends, you won’t have a writing flow.

2. Do not edit as you write. Writing and editing are two different tasks. You switch between creative and critical thinking and it breaks flow. This is a scientific process and you can read more about it here.

Research electroencephalogram (EEG) suggests both heightened electrical brain wave activity and elevated dopamine levels during flow. In other words, your brain experiences both electrical and chemical changes when you’re “in the zone.”

But once you switch to self-editing mode, you move to the critical thinking side of your brain. You halt all of freewriting’s creative electrical impulses and pleasure-sensing dopamine levels. Your mind flips off one switch and turns on another.

3. Set a time, then be done. Give yourself 20 minutes and write as much as you can. Doesn’t matter if it’s garbage. You can edit garbage into something useful or you can chuck it in a bin. Just try to write, then take a break. Staring at a blank document for two hours isn’t going to make words appear and it just stressed out your brain.

4. Have an outline. Sometimes a magical idea just flows when you sit down to write, but generally not. Have an outline of what you want to have happen in your story or chapter. It doesn’t need to be in depth; for most of my oneshots I literally have a sentence or two at the top of the page. The story needs to have a goal. For example: Wild tries to teach Hyrule cooking. It doesn’t go well. Bouncing ideas off friends can be a big help! It’s why you’ve probably seen me post about prompts and suggestions, and sometimes stories are gifted to people. Talking through plot ideas can help you get a better outline or idea of action.

Misc notes:

Hate to say, but some of it is just practice. I’ve been actively writing for a little over a year with some breaks on and off. Making it a habit is a big thing for making it easy. It’s harder to restart after a break.

When I first started writing I tried to pick one aspect to improve for each story. Filter words, pacing, varying sentence starters, story arcs, etc. Fixing multiple things at once was too much work, but one item at a time was doable.

Filter words make such a huge difference in writing; I encourage you to look them up. It’s a PAIN to remove them in post, but it also taught me to cut them out. Now it’s unconscious and while some still show up, I tend to write them out automatically.

You can learn to write quickly, but if you don’t also work on quality you’ll just…write a lot. That said, it’s fanfic. Sometimes it’s just for fun and quality doesn’t matter. I’ve got plenty of stories that will never be posted because they are just for fun.

Some of it could be writing speed, too? I use a bot a lot of times for timing and tracking and generally average 30-35 words/min. Harder story topics are slower to write, like angst and emotional scenes.

I’m actually writing less this year than last, but I don’t put as much time into it. It also keeps it sustainable as a hobby, although I definitely hit periods of frustration. It can get overwhelming.

If you search my blog for the tag #writing advice or #writing tips, you should fine some other things as well.

This was rather frank, but hopefully helpful! Feel free to drop further questions and I’ll do my best to answer 💜

[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's Stranger Things Masterlist

Please note - I am just posting this masterlist to get it out of my drafts - I worked on it when I was working on the fic listed below, and then I completely randomly lost interest in it, and this has been sitting in my drafts for months ever since. And I love the formatting and style of this masterlist and I don't want to accidentally lose it by accidentally deleting the draft - and I am gonna need this masterlist at some point. So I'm posting it.

Coming "Soon":

Nasty - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. You hesitate to tell Eddie your true sexual desires, fearing that he'll be turned off. But when he finds out - he is more turned on than ever. (3,000 words.)

Note: The rest of these link off to AO3 (which is the bulk of them unfortunately) - but at some point, I hope to have them edited and posted to Tumblr.

Sugar, We're Goin' Down - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader x Eddie Munson. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Eddie hasn't gotten laid in months, so when he walks in on you and Steve (and neither of you seem to notice), he has just enough sexual frustration built up that he can’t bring himself to look away. He discovers quite a few things about Steve, and you. And himself. (12,700 words.)

Eat Me Up Alive - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Eddie is a very annoying person. And when he goes too far, you push back. Turns out - he likes it. Loves it, actually. (11,200 words.)

I'm Still Standing - Nancy Wheeler x Fem Disabled/Chronically Ill Reader. Friends to Lovers. Angst, Smut, (very slight Fluff). Hurt and Comfort. You start having horrible waking nightmares, but you don't want to worry your best friend Nancy by telling her. She's already occupied trying to chase down a trans-dimensional killer wizard, and you are convinced that the two aren't possibly related. (37,800 words.)

Bless This Mess - ADHD!Eddie Munson x Fem!Thick!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut and Fluff. Eddie accidentally forgets the two of you have a date planned. Rather than getting mad at him, you let him make it up to you. (5,700 words.)

Always Yours - Steve Harrington x Fem!Pregnant!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Fluff and Smut. Steve tells you about his 'six lil nuggets' dream, and you let him know that he's actually a lot closer to it than he thought. (2,500 words.)

Obey Your Master - Eddie Munson x Fem!Autistic!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut (and some Fluff). You are taking care of Eddie while his wounds from the Upside Down are healing. And when you offer to help 'take care' of him in other ways, he's convinced that he survived to live just for this exact moment. (11,200 words.)

Fix You - Eddie Munson x Fem!Mute!Powered!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Fix-It Fic. Hurt and Comfort. Most of your life, all you knew was darkness. Eddie was the one light in all of it. And you refused to lose him. (5,300 words.)

Drowning In You - Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Smut (slight Emotional Angst). Working with Billy at Hawkins Pool forced you to be around him. But forgetting part of your mandatory uniform at home and being harassed by random men because of it forced you to truly confront your feelings for him. (22,100 words.)

You Shook Me All Night Long - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Smut and Fluff. Steve never really saw you. Until one day, when you stood out as the hottest babe he had ever seen. And on that day, he just happened to be wearing the dorkiest outfit ever and stuttering over himself to impress you. Somehow, it worked. (45,000 words.)

Daisy Fields (Companion to You Shook Me All Night Long) - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader. Established Relationship, Family Fluff. Some Smut, Fluff. You and Steve happily pursue your life together, more than thankful for the silly little ice cream shop that brought the two of you together. (20,600 words.)

(This last one, I don't really like. I wrote it a long time ago, and it doesn't really go with my current style. But perhaps somebody seeing this masterlist can get some reading enjoyment out of it. It's just very unlikely to be re-posted on Tumblr.)

Monstrous - Steve Harrington x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Angst and Fluff. Steve finds out your big secret, and you are surprised when he doesn't hate you for it. (5,200 words.)

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Ineffable Bloom

Pairings: Azul/Siren MC

Summary: Despite your status as siren, there are not many words that reach those around you anymore, voice now muted and marred from the surgeries you have endured to remove the carnations that once suffocated your throat. But you don't mind it, serving quietly as the gardener of Night Raven College, making do with a notepad and pen when necessary. You are pleased to find your childhood friend, Azul, now attends the school, who spontaneously hires you for the flower arrangements he decides to decorate in his lounge with. There's little hope you bear with the silent poetry you weave with each meticulously placed flower, only an ache which tumbles over you like the ceaseless seas. However, Azul is not deaf to this song you have sealed in your bouquets, having cherished the morsels of sweetness in your childhoods where you shared the silent language of each flower.

Notes: Sorry this took ages lmao. Been in a “creating anything is obsolete” phase my/spring allergies are starting so I am. Dying. Part of the twst myth series, here is the post with some basics. I just reached 1000 likes on tumblr which might not be much to some but wowwww thank you guys for your support!!

GN terms for MC

CW: Emotional abuse and toxic parenting when we get into MC’s backstory

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

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“Would you like to add a ribbon to this? I’ll add it for free since I have some extra?” You placed the last slender stalk of green hydrangea into the bouquet and move your hands in practiced shapes and swerves, forming each phrase with careful deliberation.

Jack struggles a bit in forming as keen language with his hands, but you appreciate that he has taken the time to respond in your vernacular. Writing does get a little tiring after a bit. “If you wouldn’t mind. I think Trey would appreciate that.” He pauses, looking to Ruggie, who sways around the room with his hands behind his head in boredom, dipping his gaze to the lilies standing tall in a bucket on the ground. “Right, Ruggie?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever is fine.”

The wolf huffs a bit before crossing his arms. “You know, you should be grateful (Name) is doing this so last minute since you forgot to place the order a week ago like we all agreed on.”

“Ugh get of my back‒ Leona had me running around more than usual last week…” His eyebrows raise a bit when he brings his attention to the dandelions drying above him, a slight movement you take notice to when wrapping the bouquet in its final layer. “Besides, who cares about all the details of each flower, it’s not like whoever is receiving them is looking into all the deep meanings of each blade of grass.”

You finish tightening the bow around the bouquet, assuring with your trained hands that it is secured tightly onto the broom, before handing it off to Jack. “Just like you mentioned in the interview‒ green color scheme, with symbols of loyalty, prosperity, and patience. Here is a card that has all of the flower languages on them.” You sign, which the man responds with a smile, and a clumsy thank you with his hands.

Ruggie has drifted over to the dandelion heads soaking in a bowl of water, being prepared for the dandelion honey you sell at Sam’s shop while his junior admires the bouquet in reverence. “You like dandelions?” You write on a notepad, poking Ruggie with it. He looks over lazily, shrugs.

“I guess.”

“They symbolize ‘an oracle of love’, resilience, and even sorrowful goodbyes. The name Dandelion comes from the word dent-de-lion, meaning the ‘jaws of a lion’- fierce, is it not?” Ruggie hums in curiosity in response, glancing at the flowers again to imagine it with a growing smile on his face. “Flowers and plants all have their silent poetry. It’s good to tip your ears to them once in a while, they may have something to say to you.”

“You hear that Jack‒ ‘jaws of a lion’..." The hyena says with his hand on his hips, a bashful finger grazing his nose.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get going, we have a lot of prep to do for Trey's celebration." Jack turns to you before he leaves "Oh, you should stop by if you have time‒ everyone was curious during my birthday who had arranged my broomquet. I'm sure the other students would be thrilled to see the face of our new‒ well, I guess not so new anymore‒ gardener."

You furiously shook your head, scurrying your hands across the air in a flurry. "I wouldn't want to intrude…my work is nothing worth fussing over…"

"Anyone with a pair of working eyes can see otherwise‒ your talent is unmatched, you nearly performed a miracle reviving my half dead cacti." Jack smiles, remembering fondly of the times he had come in, asking you for advice on his growing horticulture collection. "Besides, it's nice for the students and staff to get familiarized."

"And free cake." Ruggie adds.

You raised your eyebrows at that, quelling the swirling anxiety in your stomach. "…okay, I'll try to make it. Just have to finish a few things here and I should be good to head out."

"We'll see you then, (Name)."

——————————————————

You brush your apron, relieving the weariness of a day's work in the breath that swelled from the bottom of your stomach and escaped as an audible huff that loosened the tension of your shoulders. However when you glance at your phone, anxiety shot through you as you realize time had passed a lot quicker, and it was about half an hour past the time Jack had told you to come. In racing footsteps, you gathered your items, throwing your apron on the hook near the front door before slamming it.

By the time you arrive, everyone is singing happy birthday, gathering in a circle around who you assumed was Trey, who bore a bashful smile on his face with the broomquet in his hands. You catch the eye of Jack across the room, who lights up when you wave nervously at him. The room erupts in applause and bright laughter as Trey blows out the candles of his cake‒ a volume you take a mental note of to judge just how many people were at this celebration. Quite a lot, especially now as the students disperse, preparing plates and cutlery to cut the delicious looking strawberry shortcake.

"Hey~ what are you doing here?"

There’s a surge of anxiety when those words are pointed at you, which you respond with a pressed smile as you swerve your head to the voice. To your surprise, you recognize the face which greets you, though it is a bit unnatural seeing them without a bluish tint to their skin, or scales. You suppose it’s a surprise for them as well, seeing you out of the water for the first time in about eight years.

“I thought I recognized that face. Hello, (Name), it has been a while.”

You hands move automatically to the pen and paper stuffed inside your pocket. “Jade? Floyd? It’s been a while. What are you doing here?”

“Eh? What's with the notepad little siren?”

The anxiety returned with Floyd's words. Even with the Leech family’s connections and the chattiness of your hometown, it was hard for rumors to form with the eight years you had spent apart from your home‒ your friends. You were thankful a bit for the amnesty it brought you on rare occasions like this, but explaining the whole situation was difficult for you‒ making up a believable excuse even more so considering the one memorable thing your species was known for. Sirens‒ their voice famed to plunge sea farers into maddening passion, the talents of which even the great Sea Witch openly admired in historical record. Perhaps you had been an example of this once, training your throat to squeeze and burn itself to strike impossible notes, whirling an unmatched vibrancy when you perfected each lyric, each score, each tendon to stand straight, expand your lungs, smile, and sing. Even if you had such talents in the past, it was negated with every pinch and pull of your mother’s craft‒ that memory now clandestine, numbed from the surgery.

Or that’s what you told yourself, as your calloused fingers graze the satin ribbon around your neck, the scars marring it aching slightly as you adjusted the fabric in a slight nervous tick. They’re been healed from quite some time‒ or you believe they are from the years you had observed every winding crack slowly dull against time‒ but the mountainous fossils carved onto your flesh would grow tender like this, pushed then retraced piercingly like the jagged shores far from your homelands, leaving snowy, bursting seafoam prickling against your skin. You suppose all you could do is tighten a smile against your mute lips, maneuvering past it as best you could.

“I’ll explain later. What are you guys doing at NRC?”

“We’re students, see~?” Floyd flashes a crooked smile, turning to the side to show off his dorm uniform. “Jade here is even the vice dorm leader. Boring if you ask me.”

“What are you doing here, (Name)? I don’t think I’ve seen you in my classes.”

“My aunt just retired as the gardener here, she's back at her shop in the Shaftlands. So I've come to officially take her place."

"We'll have our quartet back in no time now‒ you should visit the Monstero Lounge sometime so we can catch up~" Floyd wraps an arm around your shoulder, hanging lazily off it while his twin smiles.

"I agree with Floyd. Azul would be more than happy to see you too." At Jade's words, you brighten, and quickly scribble onto your notepad.

"Azul here too? Is he here today?"

Jade nods. "He's our dorm leader, actually. And yes, I think he just went outside to get some fresh air" his smile widens "you know how he is."

You do. Surely he was tired of the noise and pleasantries of birthday celebration. "Azul the dorm leader huh."

"You won't believe how much he’s changed unless you see for yourself." Floyd switches his weight to his other foot, landing on his brother's shoulder while gesturing to the veranda doors. You swerve your head towards it, trying to make out a figure against the bright blue skies and roses reaching towards the mild sun. There's a slight silhouette, but you can barely make out its features with the glare of the glass.

"You should go to him. He talks about you sometimes, you know." Before you could turn around and question the twins, their backs are turned from you, melting back into the bustling crowd. Despite your initial excitement, your feet move in idle footsteps, weighed by the heaviness which emerges from your wrapped throat, plummeting to the soles of your feet sticking densely onto the ground. The notepad in your hand is gripped through your sweaty palm‒ there was only so much space in each sliver of parchment you could fill with your words, the rest of your language lost to the silence which cages your throat. Even if you could rasp through your disfigurement with a language people would lend an ear to, you were sure that your thoughts, refined through your mother's distant voice, would drive you back into forlorn silence‒ your hands clawing and reopening your wounds wide and fresh enough to assure not even a breath could be heard from it. Flowers always came to you with such ease in comparison, eyes turned away from your secret adoration for something far more beautiful in perfectly placed petals, inventing no hope that you could cling to that would turn your throat raw with desire.

Even if these givings were seen, spoken of , or heard‒ you armor yourself by repenting‒ these gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Forgive me, for there is fear that one day that life will ripen within it‒ something as grotesque as myself, a venerable mirror to my slumbering desires to be swaddled and held. You arrive at the handle of the door too fast for your liking, hovering your hand over it with a heavy heart and tongue before grasping it quietly, hoping a little that your soundless footsteps would turn you into a phantom.

But when you are faced with a familiar image‒ his weaving dusty mauve hair, and the arctic clarity of his blue eyes, you can't help but to pause your prayers for a moment, met with the blinding joy his face brings you. Dear, dear friend.

You're so used to his name springing from your throat that you nearly tear the fragile nerves of your lesions with a rasp threatening to boil over by the warmth in your stomach. But you clench that tension in your hand as you scribble his name in hurried, crude strokes across the entire page.

"Azul?" You turned the paper pad over with clumsy, shaking hands. He looks just as surprised as you, but he nods slowly.

"(Name)?"

You nod your head vigorously to your name, decorated sweetly with his voice. His entire body is facing you now, taking you in with the gulp of his gaze. You do the same, noticing that, actually, not quite a lot has changed. Sure, the soft little octopus had grown tall and slender during the eight years you didn’t see him‒ but still, there is that mole dotted prettily on his face you remember quite well, and the softness of his eyes when they meet yours is one of your fondest, most tender memories, unraveled whenever you saw the sea blue glow of freshly fallen snow, or the velvety reflection of the skies in gentle spring creeks. But now they were here, gazing back at you, there were no words that appeared in your mind, or which you could communicate with the likeness of flowers. It's so sweet again when you hear his voice.

"What's happening? Why are you writ‒ never mind that." He shakes the thought away. "How…How have you been? Last I heard from mother you had moved with your aunt somewhere on land."

Azul does not question how, or why you stood in front of him after eight years, but rather simply‒ how are you? The smile that blooms at that realization hurts your cheeks. Azul mirrors your sentiments silently, relieved that there were no comments on his appearance of how he's "changed so much". Dear, dear friend. He missed this. Missed you too.

"I'm well. Been working as a gardener here, I enjoy it. How have you been? I’m guessing busy, I heard you're a dorm leader from the twins."

"Ah, you've already met them I see. I just hope they haven’t said anything…unnecessary." His smile widens, you trace the movement of his mole which stretches against the curve of his lips. "I've been…alright. Land life has been a lot to adjust to, but I think I have the hang of it now."

"Haha. It was a lot for me when I first came on shore too. Pillows are so weird, aren't they?"

The dormhead chuckles as you approach him near the railing, situating yourself beside him to face the white roses dotting the garden. One meant mercy, purity, the breath of love; two‒ "I deserve you"; three‒ adoration; 99 white roses, and this would be an Eden of eternal love. But you're too enraptured by his laughter to count, caught in the waves of his lightness.

"They are. But I think it's nice now, might even be a hit at the reef if we sell them during spring break. You mentioned you're a gardener?"

"Yes. I just maintain the horticulture on campus, and I do bouquets from time to time like Trey's broomquet today." You write fast, wanting to answer Azul quickly, fill the time with as much of him as you could. He leans over, watching you as you scribble, relishing silently in the smell of fresh cut lilies and seaside rosemary tangled in a salty sweet ocean breeze.

"An impressive feat, considering the size of our campus. If you're willing‒ I may actually need your help with the twin's birthdays coming soon."

“I'd be happy to help! We would need to set an interview up like I do with most of my clients‒ just so I know their preferences more. But it'll be easier since I already know Jade and Floyd." Truthfully, you were already putting together the perfect bouquet for the twins, violet roses here, silver ragwort there, and a sprinkle of beauty berry should bring the composition together in a delicate balance. The meeting was just an excuse to assure another conversation with Azul again, a thought which churned a feeling of shame within you, rolling you smooth with its ragged tongue that sanded down the rough joy jutting out from you like an unfinished pearl. When Azul nods on confirmation, this sensation becomes slightly eased, but your muscles churn inside you like the dark, deep seas.

"I agree. Nonetheless, us four should meet at the mostero lounge soon to catch up. I could use a talent like yours to freshen up the look of the lounge a bit‒ perhaps we could work a contract of some sort out."

"I'm not that good, I'm not so sure I can hold up to your expectations, dormleader."

"Please‒ Jade's tastes aren't so bad but Floyd's sense of interior design is abysmal. His idea of interior design is a bunch of half finished snacks decorating the shelf beside his bed. Any help would be wonderful."

A silent laugh shakes your shoulders. "I'll think about it."

The patio door opens again‒ revealing Jack, who waves a hand towards you, and speaks with clumsy hands. "They're cutting the cake (Name)- Azul, you too‒ it's gonna be gone if you stay out here for too long."

"Be right there." You sign, lifting your body from the deck railing.

"Is that sign language? I've never seen it in person." Azul holds the door open for you, allowing you to scurry in with a bow of your head.

You nod. "Writing gets tiring at times. But I'm happy either way people speak to me." There’s a twitch in Azul’s eyes that you catch at your statement, regret tingling at your fingertips making your skin feel raw against your flesh. You squeeze the meat of your palm to ignore it.

"We saved you two some cake~" Floyd summons the two of you with a wave, gesturing to two neighboring seats across from them.

Jade smiles, scooping a part of his cake with a fork. "It's nice that we're back together like this. It seems forever ago that you left the reef (Name)."

"But eight years fly by, don't they? You're going to have to catch me up on all the embarrassing stories of each other."

"Only if you let us in on some blackmail about you (Name)." Floyd reveals his sharp teeth with a wide grin, licking the icing off his fork.

"I will." You write, hoping you can fill their heads enough with the happier moments at your aunt's flower shop and time so far as the NRC gardener, rather than deliberate the disease which flowered in your lungs, the sickness that came with it‒ the surgery, the scarring, the healing‒ your departure from your mother, from your home, from them. The ribbon feels tight on your throat, your smile grows tense on your lips. You try your best to quell the swelling waves of anxiety, eased a bit with the laughter of your friends that rang in your presence once more.

——————————————————

You meet them again at the VIP section of their lounge just a few days later, having planned a date to meet before you went home after the birthday celebration. Though conversation was a bit stiff at first, energy begins to swell in the room as you reminisce the events of your childhood, and the years of adolescence you missed in the 8 years of absence from your hometown. The conversation slowly progresses towards how the three would be able to see you more, shifting back to Azul's proposal to have you come to set up flower arrangements in the lounge.

"How about roses?" Floyd suggests. "Classic. Everyone likes them."

A shrug. "Hm. They're a nice touch‒ but a bit basic. I can add them in, but I wouldn't make them the focal point since there's just better flowers out there."

"What do you suggest?" Azul asks.

You think, flipping through the catalog of flowers in your mind. "Especially for the color scheme of your dorm, I think hydrangeas would be nice. Blue poppies, perhaps some rosemary in there as well. Maybe purple carnation‒” you scribble that last thought away as quickly and vigorously as it came, your throat tightening in remembrance at that thought.

“Those sound great‒ but I want something more elegant looking, the carnations you mentioned would be fitting‒ ah‒ remember those flowers from that story you always talked about? The one about the poetry being written on the petals?”

You were glad he moved from carnations. Besides, purple carnations signified grief and death in some cultures, far removed from the emblem of prayer they were in your culture. “Hyacinths?”

“Precisely. What do the white ones mean?” What about this one? What does this say? How about this, this, and this? You remember the way he pointed to each flower in your encyclopedia lent by your aunt, his small fingers fluttering across the page like a busy little cuttlefish at your riveting explanations. This is this, this and this. There was always a hurry to your words when you spoke to others‒ particularly your mother‒ rushing to seize the brief opportunity allowed for you to speak, but no matter how much you had stumbled over your words in clumsy delight, Azul listened with a smile on his face, making notes on paper for his experiments, words rushing to his hands like a school of fish.

“White ones mean a ‘quiet love’, or ‘love that is quelled’. If you want something with a happier meaning though, I would go with white wisteria, it means sweet nostalgic memories or drunken love; cornflowers‒ delicacy and elegance; or salvia‒ veneration and wisdom. Purple chrysanthemum would be splendid too‒ meaning your wish will come true."

You remember when your mother was kinder, tucking your small, innocent body into her soft arms‒ hushing your cries with a tender whisper. It was without that rattle in your throat she pointed towards you like a knife when you grew from that chaste form, sullied and filled with her disappointment. Your body was tall and flushed with it, but not quite tall enough, not quite curved and plump the way she liked‒ needed you to be to carve her desired image into you. A mirror within a mirror within a mirror‒ mother and child, mother and child. Her words lashing as the waves cracking against the jagged rocks, shaping you into a memorial of her pains, her aching hunger.

But you returned to that far-flung memory of her maternal care, remembering the legend she told you about purple chrysanthemums‒ placing one dearly to your hair, chirping her bright song with a story that was passed from the throat of her mother, to the her ears as a child, blood through blood. This was one of the only memories you remember of her singing not to an audience or a stage‒ but to you, flesh of her womb, skin and bones lovingly mirrored in babbling purity. You trace her unusually soft words with your hand, gliding across the page with the exact pitch of her voice swimming in your mind.

"There's a legend among our kind, of the purple chrysanthemum. We decorate our most treasured people with it, and wear it as a sign of someone watching over you to make a dream come true‒ whether it is a benevolent god, or another person." You pause your writing, the three looking over you to watch you write. "It symbolizes the victory of love‒ its power which pulls the best from you to achieve something as distant as a dream."

Your pen stills. "But‒ I should retract my suggestion. People of other cultures use it to commemorate death, I wouldn't want to offend someone."

Azul is brightened by the way you talk about flowers again, the fragrant morsels on his mind blooming, coloring him vividly in your dazzling artistry. This is this, this, and this. The way you forge lustrous, silent poetry with each careful placement of a blossom amazes him each time, finding your words lingering and echoing in the cove of his mind. "No." His mouth races somewhat brash, he tries again, clearing his throat. "No‒ I trust your initial judgment." He smiles. You trace that mole on his face. "I like it."

"Then it's decided."

Floyd yawns, draping his arms dramatically against the couch, and lulling his head upwards with a sigh. “Ugh. Enough with the flower talk‒ let’s talk about something more interesting.” He flashes a toothy smirk. “(Name), you wanna hear about the time Azul cried so hard he threw up?”

His twin clasps his hands with a similar expression. “Oh, that’s definitely a good one.”

Azul’s eyes blow wide open. “That is absolutely a violation of our contract‒”

“I don’t believe that includes (Name) actually.” Jade muses with a sly grin.

"Why was he crying so hard he threw up??"

The dormleader groans, dropping his hands into hands.

The twins exchange a look before Jade answers. "You, of course."

"Me?" You point to yourself in disbelief.

Floyd chuckles. "He sipped a little wine at the restaurant on accident. Then he starts blubbering about how 'oh I miss them', 'oh remember when they did this', and 'oh‒"

"I think they get the point, brother."

While Floyd ignores his twin in favor of continuing the story, Azul continues to hide his slowly darkening face behind his hands, while you sit, pen hovering over the paper.

“Why?”

The twins blink with a confused expression on their face, while Floyd speaks with a baffled tone. “Ha? Why? What do you mean why?” From the corner of your eye, you see Azul lift his head from his hands to look you, with what expression, you can’t tell‒ training your eyes on the paper with hardened brows, blood tinging on you tongue from the flesh drawn between your teeth.

The pen in your hand hovers above the paper with a soft tremble. Why? Why me? When you left that reef years ago, you left any notion that your presence would be something that would be worth lingering over‒ much more grieving about‒ a thought that was confirmed by the way your mother hurriedly dumped you at your aunt’s flower shop near the somber shores, her frosty gaze and distanced followed by years of inveterated silence as incurable and everlong as the one wrapped around your throat. Like the winter storms on the beach where your aunt's shop sat upon, that silence from your mother, and everyone else for that matter, was as thrashing and unforgiving to your empty ears and throat. There was nothing left for you down there, just memories that would make that scraped dryly against your throat and make you long for something your body was not mended properly for. So the proposition that Azul had felt something towards you‒ so much so that he had shed actual tears for you‒ threatened to bring the nausea deep in your darkened stomach frothing at the surface. You pushed through it, hand gliding clumsily across the paper.

“Never mind, sorry. I should get going soon‒ I’m behind on some duties in at the Botanical Gardens.”

Azul sighs in slight relief, and stands as you gather your things. "I'll see you off." You bid goodbye to the twins, who flash a pointed smile at you while Azul holds open the lounge doors to leave.

“Come back again so we can embarrass Azul more with our stories.” You smile at Jade's words.

Before you pass through the portal, Azul taps your shoulder. He lays his hand flat against his lips, sweeping it towards you. You're taken a bit by surprise, but soon your cheeks ache from the warmth squeezed into them by your curved lips, turning the nausea reaching from your stomach to your chest into something, you think, extraordinary.

You held that feeling in your chest as much as the rupturing threaded into yourself would‒ drinking in the ease of passing clouds and the clemency of rippling seawater tickling the bottom of you feet‒ much too quick, too light, too wonderful to be bound by the chthonic gods. Your heart races with the swiftness of sprightly, sun drunken waves. There was a rising ache‒ knowing your fractured body would splinter before you could swallow this feeling in its entirety, filling you body brilliantly like a blooming chrysanthemum‒ unfurling its divine petals towards all cardinal directions in a form which flared itself every which way. Victory of love. You knew it would not triumph against your fragmentation‒ but despite it all, you smiled stupidly, weaving your florid fingers against his to show him the correct placement of the word.

"Like this." You instruct‒ on his chin, near that dotted mark, then towards you in one motion. The word is practiced twice so you can linger your hands on his own. "Thank you, thank you." You mouth.

The heat of your fingers burns this motion into him, even as you let go. He practices it again, hoping to retrieve your sensation onto his skin with the repeated motion. “Thank you.”

You take your pointed and middle finger to your eye, then glide it towards the tip of your chin with a circle made with your pointer and thumb.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————

Carnations are always a favorite among your customers. The flower of love, of adoration‒ of the gods. They have been woven into hair to commemorate new beginnings, have been rumored to sprout from a devoted mother’s tears faced with her child’s death. Their name comes from carnis, or flesh, from the myth of innocent bloodshed, a shepherd who had his eyes gouged out from a goddess of the hunt, who was displeased by his flute playing which caused the animals of her hunting grounds to be spooked. From his empty flesh, carnations grew, white petals emerging, stained with blood. White carnations typically signify the mourning of lost lives, pure love, unrequited love, loyalty, faithfulness, a mother’s love.

But most of all, it whispers, my love for you is alive. It felt that way when they flourished in your lungs, choking the song in your throat in just a few months after they sowed into your meat. Alive and red and beating so vibrantly against your flesh‒ filthy with the darkened red of your aching insides. They came as impossible heaps from your mouth, emptying quietly as you could in the corner of your room so as not to bother your sleeping mother in the room over. You remember furling your body inward, praying it to become smaller, smaller, smaller‒ quieting your agony, erasing your swaying footsteps to the medicine cabinet, slicing your body up and down into manageable pieces. It was a dance in your eyes you carried everywhere with you that classified every variation of footsteps, the slightest inflection in tone, a twitch of the lungs before it even came‒ so you could shape yourself flat against the sharpened teeth of any who bothered to bite down on your brittle, bitter form, flaying and cleaving your meat carefully to its shape. Your eyes remembered these wounds, reopened and festering against your clumsy stitches to take into account next test‒ next time, next interaction, next opportunity to prove‒ I’ll be better, I’ll prove I am worthy enough to live.

‘You’re so sensitive‒ you would be good with flowers’, your aunt says. Thank you, you gulp in the ache of your disfigurement with pride‒ a medallion passed from your mother, passed from her mother, passed from her own‒ blood through blood it was gifted, and split from your strangled throat. It felt like your body rejected it, but oh, that was the best part of it all‒ more pain, more, more, more‒ something to wear on your skin as a testament to how you’ve been such a good child, to mutilate yourself against anyone’s maws. Something to show, mother, love me for all of these marks prove it, prove that I can cut open myself deep enough to mirror the perfected version of yourself.

Carnations are a symbol of that. People give them as a trophy of love that is agony, love that is alive, love which slaughters. It is a mother's love. They're popular in those early months during the spring, where the flowers devour the corpses mulled over by autumn and winter, chewing and spitting it out with a drunken splendor. As such you had many on hand during these colder months, surrounded by consecrations of this love, thrashing, bursting inside you like sea-brine churned into frothing bubbles, the waves breaking against it swelling them over the edge of the shore. You could feel the eyes of the flowers leering towards you, tightening the ribbon around your neck.

The hand in your pocket reaches towards the heads, your fingers brush against their cold petals. They are worn, withered from the days they have slept stagnant and untouched in their watery casket. You are quick to take them from their bucket, shoving in a bag to be thrown away in the compost, back into the earth to nourish the next generation.

“(Name)?”

Was it already that time already? You had promised him you would meet with him to plan the twins' broomquet after you closed, but the day had waded through you so quickly.

His name, as always, almost makes it out of your throat. But you held the silence in your mouth like your muffled heartbeat, quietly turning to him with weary eyes. He immediately drinks their lorn gaze, before he takes out a small leather bound pocketbook from his inner pocket, flipping through a few pages, returning it to his coat when he finishes reading the contents of the page. With clumsy hands, he signs. “Do you need help?”

You look him up and down, pausing your hands shoved deep inside the bag of wilted carnations. “You know sign language?”

“I learned.” He says sheepishly. “Apologies‒ clearly I haven't gotten too far with it. I don't know some words yet.”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

He points to his head, then towards you. For. You. I learned for you.

A smile curves on his lips, but you avert your eyes from it. You’re afraid to measure that tinted color on his cheeks, the shape of his softened eyes, the length of his smile the wrong way‒ to take something without anything worthy from yourself to give in compensation, so you take his words instead, knowing you could at least repay them with something much more beautiful, whole. Flowers. You don't look at him. “I could use some help.”

He rolls his sleeves up, takes the carnations in his hands and brings them inside the bag. “What is the meaning of carnations?”

“Love, adoration, ‘my love for you is alive’.”

“Easy to capitalize on. I see why it is so popular.” He takes one between his fingers, twirls it with a sly smile. "I like it."

You return it best you could. “They’re a bit grotesque, don’t you think? The petals are quite unfinished, like they’ve been cut jagged.”

“You don’t like them?”

You remember the day after the surgery, your lungs emptied not only from the lack of carnations taking seed inside of it, but sapped from anything you had felt for your mother. You realized, that day, oh.

It was her all along.

You had searched far and wide for what the cause of your sickness was‒ you had given too much yourself to too many people to pinpoint who you had such feelings for. Your nerves felt exposed to all, to everything all the time, pricked and pinched at any abstruse movement, washing over you like a bloody crusade everytime.

There was nothing written about in the dozens of books, articles, and lyrics you dug up that had said anything about familial love specifically, so it never struck you that it was even a possibility‒ besides‒ your mother loved you, didn't she?

But of course, the carnations‒ of course. Your love for her may have been alive, but so were these flowers, once. Before they were picked from your tendons and emptied from you as rubbish.

The absence of your piteous devotion to her plummeted your heart deep into the ocean abyss, your flesh weighted as a museum of that dance, the butchering of your body, marked up and down with lines which traced the shapes of jaws with surgical precision. If you could not be loved by the flesh which founded your own, surely, it would be a ludicrous dream to wish for any other being to love you at all, to take the weeping, patchwork meat of your body and consume it.

You want to get rid of all these carnations, give them all away at once. Take them, take them all. Yes, your mother would love these‒ yes or course they're a sign of eternal love, pure love‒ anything and everything that is alive, they would be a wonderful gift. You offer them as extras to people, suggest them instead of those beautiful roses or lilacs or lilies. These gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Take them, take it all. Take everything from me.

You smile, squeeze your eyes to mimic candor.

"No, I hate them."

His expression is like sand, shifting in a thousand ways. You try to inspect each grain of lustrous sand to feel how they shape around your words, but always, the waves. Wait here, you tell him, to go toss the flowers back into the decomposing earth to become the blood and body their children will sprout from. 

You set some lavender tea and dandelion honey cakes on the table‒ the bareness of the table is odious to you, sways you with abhorrence. Even with it filled, you sign. "I'm sorry, I wish I had more to offer you."

"This is plenty." He signs. You avert your eyes from that soft smile, but the warmth that bubbles in your chest knows the angle of its curve, the way his mole stretches across his chin, the world in his eyes.

"So, what exactly are you looking for in the twins’ bouquet?”

He thinks, you know he folds his arms to do this. “I trust your tastes. You were always better at reading people than I was.”

“I…” You pause. Yes, the dance‒ breathing in the world raw. But part of it is remaining silent to that ripening wound. “I guess.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“I think blue star would be great. Perhaps some ragwort, and I believe I have some dried sea lavender left from my aunt’s shop. Salvia would be great too, and some Zion, beauty berry as well.”

“What do they all mean?”

“Blue star and salvia mean trust‒ something they are bound by. Zion flowers signify that someone is thinking of you, even if they are far. And sea lavender lets someone know they are thinking of you. Beautyberry means a deep understanding. I can of course fill up the space with roses, some chrysanthemums, of course.”

Azul writes in his small pocketbook, scribbling your words across a page, then another, then another. He was always like this when you talked‒ recording the medicinal properties of plants, committing your sensitives to flowers with a fervor. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he was excited by your words, but you didn’t.

“Is it alright if I came and watched?”

���Watched?”

“Yes, if I came and watched you work on the twins’ bouquet.”

“It’s boring work, you would fall‒“

You feel your hands in his, your words quickly swallowed by the warmth of his palms. He speaks with softness which reaches deep within your ears, tingles the back of your neck.

“I think it’s quite brilliant, the way you work.”

You want to clasp your ears shut, squeeze your eyes until you see stars‒ knees tucked into your body, forming an embryo to protect yourself from those words. Your tongue shakes in your mouth. You want to scream at him. However to realize this rejection through your trembling fingers would be to deny him something, even if it was the mangled scraps which make your bundle of flesh. You'd keep this revolution plunged deep inside the heart of your whirling sea, a war raging at your marrow to keep the shores lush with anything he'd wish to take. Take it, take it all.

You're still for a moment. "Have it your way, then."

He smiles, but this time, you can't look away.

——————————————————

When he comes a few days later, he brings tupperwares full of food.

"What's all this? A feast?" You see various dishes from the nights your mother brought you to perform at the Ashengrotto’s restaurant‒ fragrant steamed fish that falls off the bone, crunchy seaweed salad, steaming bowls of fish-broth soup, bursting with flavor.

“My mother’s recipes. Your favorite, at least from back then.” He remembers fondly of the times you would finish performing, joining him at the seat right beside him. You’d point to the aquatic plants, bring him to the magic and wonders of their chemistry, their mythos, your sensitivities to them, the world. He's shaped his shores against the curve of your gentle waves, your words always returning to his sandy beaches to leave a million gifts from the sea. This is this, this, and this. He'd hold each sparkling grain of sand, each seashell nymph like an exquisite pearl, cupping his ears to every single one to catch the whispers of eternity bundled in each of them. No matter how you would run yourself raw against jagged beaches and the maws of dark coves‒ he would remain a mirror to your sun faced sanctuaries, hoping that in this lifetime, you would realize that it was you‒ you all along‒ that he'd chased, parodying your brilliance to finally become himself.

His words almost bring you to tears. You gulp it down with the nausea that rises on your tongue, cindering the muscle with its heat.

"Why are you‒" your hands spit out these words in a fervor. "Why are you so fucking nice to me? What is all this?"

You hate the way his expression softens, the infinite arctic blue which melts against your image, the elation in your chest upon devouring such delectable things. It’s revolting.

"Because…" He begins out loud. There’s breath that swells his shoulders, before he gathers his fingers to a shaking fist, locking it under his chin.

Precious.

You swing your head left and right mutely, wrapping a hand around your neck as if to choke any sound that could be ripped from it. Still, it comes out like dried leaves, a strangled rasp, a whimper which rattles in your tightened throat. You hate how he pulls your trembling fingers from your skin, you hate it. But you let him.

His warmth comes as a cosmic storm stirring the oceans into inescapable waves. You were a fool to even try to shelter yourself from it‒ his tenderness beat against your form so loudly it hurt. You can’t pull away, your body does not let you.

Azul sees the fear that bruises your eyes, the way your chest lurches, in heaving, shuddering, controlled breaths to mathematically contain that terror inside of you. There’s a moment where he suspects himself to be the culprit, the distaste of his form, the vile nature of his weaknesses. But you had always consumed all of him, everything‒ his unsightly body, his awful shortcomings, all of the best and worst parts of himself with what surely was heavenly grace. Everything but his adoration for you, a mirror to your givings to the world, and most of all‒ him. This was something within.

He brings you to a seat, a cup of water to your hands. He lets you take time, sipping the moment in small gulps like the drink he sets in your hands. Silence, even with the lack of words exchanged between you two, was never something which was present when you were beside him. His mind always rushed with thoughts about you‒ all the more louder in the eight years you had been absent from his side. Even then, your likeness was always carved in the back of his mind, coming and going like a haunting oceanfront.

“Do you remember the first day we met?”

You remember. “Tell me.” You sign.

“You saved me from those awful kids, remember? I still got so scared of them I got ink everywhere. You were in such wonderful garments I didn’t want you to get dirty, so I told you to back off.”

His smile makes your own. He continues. “I was such a brat back then‒ even after you fended those kids off I told you to get away from me‒ ‘don’t come crying if I spoil your garments!’” A stiff chuckle escapes your nose as you remember the expression on his face. It was much like your own‒ frightened. “But you told me‒“

“Stain them, I don’t care.” Of course you remember. The surprise on his face, the stutter of his hands as you held them.

“Yes. We spent the whole day together. You took me to the shores for the first time, facing the field of‒ what was it?”

“Memorial roses.”

“Memorial roses. You told me they meant love for the honest form." He drags his gaze from his hands, and into your eyes. "I didn't even see the sun set when you talked about flowers the way you do. All my current knowledge of horticulture comes from you, you know.”

"Surely not all of it."

He shakes his head. "No, all of it. I've inscribed every word you've said to me in my mind and I've carried you with me all those years I spent toiling away in my octopot." The hand he rests on your own warms your fingers. "I have you written all over me."

You grip the heat of your throat, hands heavy as you raise them to retaliate, again. "No. Why would you want‒ ."

"I'm not. Why do you think so?" That softness, again, his eyes. Revolting.

You threw the words from your hands in frustration. Didn't he understand? "Why would you want someone like me to‒ to poison you?"

"I could say the same for myself. Why did you defend me that day?"

You remember the look in his eyes, the way he crouched low to the ocean floor in shame. "I saw myself in you. I couldn't‒"

"You couldn't bare it." He finishes.

"Yes, but you're different. With me, I'm not‒ I wasn't‒ "

"But you aren't different." There's a growing lump in his throat, frustration, heat‒ it rises with the volume of his voice, erupting raw at the back of his tongue. "Why won't you let me show you that you're worthy of the same treatment you give to the world?"

“How could I let you?" Your legs ascend from beneath you, your hands feel hot in the air as you flare them out from yourself, hurling them for Azul to see. "Look."

"Look at me." He would see, finally.

The nail of your thumb digs on your chin as your splayed hand sharply juts from your skin. It says, "My own mother".

You slip the ribbon from your throat, unraveling yourself in front of him. Azul sucks a tense breath in‒ you revel in it, your venerable mirror‒ it breaks against your old stitches, bringing you an ineffable bloom inside your chest. You don’t know if it's pleasure or pain which tightens it, but you feel as living, as chemical, as whole as a flourishing chrysanthemum‒ blazing your florid petals every which way, splitting the bud in a thousand directions. Here is proof. You lay yourself out, to him, flay your fragmentation against his eyes. The wounds burn fresh the air. This was your wish, wasn’t it? Still, the seafoam bursting against your skin, the ache, in waves. You hold the emptiness in your hand triumphantly, or, you try to.

He looks when you tell him to, of course, but the softness in his eyes tightens your chest. He's silent for a moment, thinking. "Aright." Finally, he speaks.

"Will you make a contract with me?"

"...what?"

"A contract. Will you make one with me?"

Your knees fall from you when you lean towards the table in support, seating you in the chair across from him. You open your arms, facing your palms towards him, empty, silent.

"I don't have anything I could trade you."

He reaches towards your emptiness, filling it with his warmth. "Then give me this. If you have nothing, grant me you."

You bring his heat near your face, hoping to harbor‒ at least‒ next to it. You won't take it, you couldn't. The fear laps upon you like stormy waves, it's force tearing your fingers from his. "I don't have enough of myself to give you."

"This." He replenishes the absence in your hands again. "This is more than enough‒ it will always be enough." It's a firm grip, it quells the tremble in your body slightly.

"So, will you make a contract with me?"

Hesitantly, you nod.

He guides you towards the shop window where the flowers swill in the moonlight, violet chrysanthemums shining pearly, plump with their honeyed sap. He slips one between his fingers, holds it between the two of you. "I lied when I said I only liked these. When you tell me of promises of success, of love‒ I feel like I can crack open this world with my bare hands. I don’t just like it‒ everything that comes from from you soars my soul."

He continues, bashfully. You feel filled with his words. "You're my ocean, the waters that shape my shores. You've always been where I belong, and what comes back to me to mold me to what I am even after your physical absence." The heat of his hands feel like fire on your skin as he pulls it towards his own. "This is a contract, a promise. Will you let love victor over you?"

You trace that spot on his face as he smiles, you find the small way that it curves mirrored on your own lips. You drink in his smile, returning it with your own; you breathe his scent in, exhale with the breath in your lungs that stirs his and yours‒ you mold yourself against him like you've done so many times against gnashing teeth and jagged seaside cliffs, but this time, your rolling waves kiss warmly against his sun faced sanctuaries, melding together to refract the light in your joint tenderness. The feeling begins as a seed he implants in your chest, pressed firmly against your heart, and you feel it slowly burst open when it is showered in his gaze, his touch, all of him against all that you can muster‒ an ineffable thing, a bloom which you could never put into words, even with the language of whispering flowers and the spectacular earth. It comes in heaping waves like the tears that draw flushed lines on your face. He takes all which falls from you in his hands, staining his hands with the salty fragrance.

"Stop that. I'll get your hands all dirty."

"Stain them, I don't care."

You sob, you smile harder. The tears make it impossible to neurotically measure the twinge of his muscles, the shape of his expression. But you don't think of this, filled with the knowledge of his tenderness, the precise shape of his smile, the softness of his seaborne eyes that fossilize deep within you. "You know I'll be difficult. I always am."

"And you know this about me to, don't you? But this feeling for you comes as easy as water to me."

It's true what he says, you feel like you're floating‒ weightless in the mild seas, drinking in the sunlight which trickles from the skies. Waves upon waves of this brilliance that tilts the light a thousand ways for you to admire. The chrysanthamum petals seem to widen with his warmth, the same unraveling comes bursting, flowering forward in your chest. Victory of love. It comes not as a whisper this time, but loudly as the beat of your blood. You feel it within you, that victory. At last you hold it in your hands, and it shines and lusters like a brilliant peal seeped into each of its petals, blooming forward with all of its love. You allow yourself place the flower in his hair, decorating his face with your love, your victory.

——————————————————

Notes:

All sign language is based off of American Sign Language

Part of the reason why I wanted to use hanakotoba (Japanese flower language) rather than western meanings for flowers was not only because I was more familiar with it, but because the twins I believe are Asian coded. The Octavinelle dorm is seen as the "yakuza" one (Japanese controlled crime syndicate), since they demand those Azul signs contracts with to pay the price, whether through general intimidation, or just straight up physical violence. Tweels also unfortunately sort of fit into the 'Asian twins' stereotype seen in Disney media (Siamese cats in Artisocats), but their overall design (ie eye shape and bristle-y, straight hair) fit into a pseudo Asian look. You know, as much as the fictional land of twisted wonderland will allow. But either way, I think it would be cool to see different species of seafolk have different cultures, and I think sirens in particular would have their own beliefs, systems, and traditions connected to verbal storytelling.

Not entirely sure if this is the case in the western world, but the east is very sensitive about numerology‒ so “bad” numbers are usually avoided when picking out the number of flowers to give to someone.

Chthonic gods are gods connected to the underworld

Carnations were used in coronation garlands for the Romans

Christians believed that it was the flower that sprouted from Mary's tears after the crucifixion of Jesus

Also associated with Artemis, who gouged a shepherd's eyes out because she blamed his flute playing for the lack of game that day. Therefore, they are a symbol of innocent bloodshed

Carnis, the word which is speculated the word carnation comes from, also means flesh. The genus name Dianthus comes from Zeus, connecting it to his daughter Artemis' story

Memorial Rose (ノイバラ) : In the western world, it is often a symbol of wisdom or talent, used often on literary and musical symbolism by writers such as Goethe. But in Japan, it symbolizes "love for the raw/honest form", as it is usually a wild flower that grows in the plains. Modest, but lovely. In Japan it is also called the ノイバラ or "thorn of the plains", so this modest but definitely still packs a punch. Just like Azul lol

Also often grows in the coasts

Omg I just noticed all of the fics I have written has had a toxic maternal parental figure don’t worry I’ll even it out soon lol