#fae writes

[feral-fae-writes]

Hot Gum || One-Shot

A/N: I’m back from the dead. Ain’t that lovely. @rayofsarkasm, you’re welcome. This is my preemptive apology for when we finish reading Ellen Hopkin’s Identical. Minor formatting and editing errors because I’m (unfortunately) posting this on my phone. I’ll fix them at a later time; I don’t have access to a desktop right now. Enjoy, loves.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid × BAU Agent!Reader

Wordcount: 1,062(?) Will double-check later.

Type: One-Shot

Summary: A late-night investigation turns into a minor interrogation, and Dr. Reid is only concerned with one outcome — verbal revelation among the fires of hell.

Hot Gum

It wasn’t Spencer that caved first. It was you. Yeah, you’d seen him every so often outside of the BAU’s office when you (rarely) left Garcia’s office, and every single time, his eyes followed. He wasn’t openly staring, no. He was more respectful than that. But you could feel intrigued eyes on yours every step.

You’d asked him what his deal was; the two of you were working late one night — he was checking some information in the database, and you were… supervising? Yeah, supervising Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Reid, who had… What, three PhD’s? The excuse made even your eyes roll.

He didn’t answer.

Truth be told, you just couldn’t stand the idea of anyone being in the repository room after dark. You watched him work; he was chewing gum as he typed without looking at his hands, flames flickering between eyes and screen.

“What are you looking for?”

“The last known on-the-grid location of the unsub. An internet trail.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“What, you’re going to magic a lead out of thin air? Isn’t that usually Garcia’s thing?”

“Yes. But: ‘Chicks dig magic,’” he replied.

The reply seemed a little quippy, and you tilted your head in blatant amusement. “Who told you that?”

“Morgan.”

“Hm. What flavour of gum is that?”

“Cinnamon.”

Silence (and the sound of typing) hung in the air for a few minutes.

“What’s your problem?” You blurted out. Immediately, a hand came up to cover your mouth in shock, as if to backpedal — as if to rescind the words. “Shit, I’m—”

“My problem?” He inquired, fingertips pausing on the keys, hummingbird hands still. Why were you noticing his hands? You shook your head and tried to meet his eyes.

“I mean… I just don’t get it, Spencer.”

He blinked. His hands tensed slightly on the keyboard; maybe you’d offended him by calling him by his first name? The rest of the team called him by Reid. You barreled onward. No going back now, lines of formality crossed concerning his name or not.

“You watch me like a hawk, but you’ve not said a word to me since I joined the BAU.”

“That was intentional. I’m sorry. If it helps, I… I admire the work you do; I could never understand it.”

Now it was your turn to blink. Dr. Spencer Reid — the team-proclaimed genius, the man who could read 20,000 words per minute and had an eidetic memory — couldn’t figure out computers.

“I’m a technophobe,” he explained further, tonally dipping into a register he only used for his apparently not-so-rare (according to the team, but not in your experience) insights into random information.

“It’s not as uncommon as you might think. Even as early as the 19th century, relatively speaking, people were afraid of technology advancing. Poets William Wordsworth and William Blake believed that the technological changes taking place as a part of the industrial revolution were a pollution — a turn of circumstances that tarnished their cherished views of nature.”

His voice was reserved, even soft, as he talked about poets and progress, and, to be honest, you were only half-listening. His voice lulled you into a sort of dreamy comfort you didn’t have words for, when he did speak. His eyes never left the screen.

“You sound like an encyclopedia.”

“To the rest of the team, I am one.”

“Right. You never answered my question, Doctor.”

At that, he spun in his chair to face you, halfway, his hands flitting up off the keys, then back. A gasp escaped you — In surprise? In fear? … In excitement? — but he didn’t outwardly react.

“My problem is you.”

“What?”

“I’m curious about you.”

You scanned him, looking for something, but you didn't even know what. Your eyes trailed his hair, his eyes, the bridge of his nose, his stubbled jaw… his lips. When he spoke again, it was in a low whisper. His hands left the keyboard for a third time, hummingbird wings flitting up to brush a lock of hair out of your eyes. And then he took your glasses off.

“Hey!”

“Darling,” he murmured. Darling? “I can’t go through this again.”

His voice carried a smoky rasp that sent distant coppery desire through you. He inspected your glasses. You stared at him, staring at them, through mildly blurry vision.

“You’re near-sighted. To a severe degree.”

“Your point, Doctor?” He wasn’t an optometrist, too… was he? That’d be the cherry on top of the super-genius sundae.

“My point,” he started, looking up at you with somber, doe-like brown eyes, “is that you won’t need these. May I?” He asked, inclining his head toward your glasses.

“Excuse me? Doctor—“

He pulled you in, with gentle insistence; despite that, it was sudden and you let out a tiny yelp.

“May I?” He repeated, voice now merely a breath. “I promise I’ll explain myself.”

You only nodded, unsure of what exactly you were agreeing to, but dumbfounded and mute from shock. You watched as he put your glasses on, pulling you closer, and when that was done, he moved Garcia’s keyboard.

“Spencer—” You tried again.

“You know, you’re the only one besides J.J. to not call me Reid all the time?”

You fell mute again, as he lifted you up like a doll, placing your left, then right, leg on each respective shoulder.

“R-Reid,” you whimpered.

“Are you scared? Please don’t be. Do you want to know why you’re my problem?”

Unconsciously, you bit your lip. “There’s cameras in here,” you replied lamely. “Garcia will—”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You don’t care?”

“I’ll disinfect everything. Please don’t worry,” he replied. Pleaded. And as you stared into those big, brown, mournful eyes, you realised two things:

One. You didn’t have an answer to that. You only knew that you felt the coppery desire becoming a hot chill as he spoke. He had slid your panties off, down your legs, as you’d questioned him.

Two. You knew you were okay with being both the solution and the problem in his life. Now he was kissing the bridge of your nose, your lips. His hot gum was in your mouth. He was sharing his fever.

“W-Why?”

“I have to warn you; you’re my problem because… my last two relationships? Both girls ended up dead.”

Before you could formulate an answer, he lowered his head as if in repentance, falling to his knees in front of you. He confessed with his tongue, and as he spoke sin, you tasted cinnamon.

#fae's fics #fae writes #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #my fic

[dolce-tenebra-toscana]

La Squadra's halloween costumes 💀🎃

(Cause i am procrastinating mine and so i project on them)

Risotto ✂️: Grim Reaper

He is the type to remember he has to go at the annual halloween party at the last minute lol

So he takes the same grim reaper costume he uses every year and pretends to be original

He just wants the candies and some wine tbh

Prosciutto 🍖: vampire

Another one who dresses the same every year but boi is his costume good!!

Prosciutto knows he looks fine af when he dresses elegant and halloween is no exception!

His refined clothing and velvet cloak, plus the onpoint make up makes him look like he is truly a vampire from a gothic novel and with the " fake " blood on his face makes everything more creepy...just don't look at the weirdly human like mannequin in the alley he just came out..

Formaggio 🧀: zombie

He just wants to scare the trick or treaters and what's best than a too realistic zombie costume?

He will put so much effort in the scarring and makeup and will " play dead " in the alleys nearby the hideout...only to jump and starts running and screaming towards his poor victims

He will come to the party laughing like a maniac cause he knows he traumatised at least 10 people, what a bastard

Melone 🍈: mad scientist

He uses his old university lab coat and all the tools he stole from the hospital when he was in sophomore year( unifi never noticed of course), then his natural bed hair and bags under his eyes do the trick: tadaaah you have yourself the tuscan mad scientist of your dreams!

He is one the few arriving on time at the party, and of course flirts/h*r*ss the ladies with the " gynecologist " jokes, sometimes even works...but the 98% he just gets slapped in the face

Doesn't mean he'll stop trying tho

Illuso 🔎: sadako

Another simple costume but this one will give you actual nightmares..

Illuso knows that his stand is creepy af and if he chooses you as his yearly victim for the evening may Araki have mercy on you...

You can run but can't hide from Illuso, especially nearby mirrors...don't wear heels cause if you see this tall man wearing a bloodied nightgown with damp hair on his face...run, just run

Ghiaccio 🧊: Ghostface

Ghiaccio is here to rapresent slasher culture and will get MAD if you don't recognise his costume/reference

This year he close Ghostface for 3 motives..

1) is cool af

2) the boots he is wearing makes him slightly taller so his ego is fed

3) he gets to actually be unhinged in a cringe way cause his costume is a secret even to his teammates, no one knows what mask he'll wear so he can spend time chillin...k*lling... ( plus the ladies are super attracted by this mysterious party animal and that never hurts )

Pesci 🐟: frankenstein's monster

He has a deep connection with his costume, he knows he isn't the most handsome or the smartest tool in the shed..

So poor Pesci literally wears his emotions as frankenstein's monster and he does an amazing job: the makeup, the stitching, the clothing...everything is perfect!!

He spends the majority of the night nearbh his collegues but when he sees that they are all busy he retires to thw balcony and enjoys some alone time

Funny enough he is the idol of the kids at the party and he even wins a prize for " best costume ", that cheers him up a lil bit

#la squadra #jjba #jojo part 5 #vento aureo #halloween #jjba risotto #jjba prosciutto #jjba formaggio #jjba melone #jjba illuso #jjba ghiaccio #jjba pesci #fae writes

[acrosstimeandspace]

idk when i’ll actually get around to finishing isaac’s heart events with viorel but here’s the link for events 2 to 10!

pr*ship/comship dni

#fae writes #take my hand / take my whole life too #self shipping #he’s everything to me even if he doesn’t have a lot of details yet its ok i can make them for him <3 #also may go back and eventually rewrite the 10 heart event but the rest are everything to me

[faenemy]

Reflection

Vent poetry up to interpretation. Heavy themes of the cycle of abuse being perpetuated by parents, and parents ignoring mirrored trauma in their children. So uh

TW IMPLIED CHILD ABUSE

‘Cause everything I do

Is a reflection of you

Mirrored pleasure

Mirrored pain

Everything lost

Nothing gained

A chance to fix mistakes

One you choose to take

At the cost of my love

At the cost of my being

Shape me, form me

Like clay in your hands,

Mold me

The me that will never be

The you that never was

Is that all you see 

When you look in the mirror

Me

For everything I do 

Is a reflection of you

You let what burned you

Scorch me

And blame me for my cries

My eyes burn

My chest screams

“Why must I die”

To become what never was

To become what will never be

You, not me

For everything received

Is given again

A gift I hope

I will not return

Your own suffer as you did

For your pain is their own

And all are the same in the eyes

Of an uncaring god

Is everything I am

A reflection of you

If I have lived it

You have lived it tenfold

If I have felt it

You have felt it tenfold

If I will have dealt it

Then I will deal it tenfold

For why escape

When one can perpetuate

And place their fears

Upon new blood

Forever intertwined

However may I escape you

May I never embrace you

Let me never chase you

I am your flesh your blood

The fruit of your tree

An extension of you

Never me

The harm I have lived through

So similar to your own

Yet blinded by those before you

You ascend their throne

To be taught your place

To teach the next ones too

Is that my fate

Or may I make a grand escape

Away from the violence

Away from the tears

Away from all I fear

Away from all I hold dear

With pleasure

Comes pain

With love, Despair

Yet all I find here

Is a legacy near

May it end with me

May my children be free

Free from guilt

Free from pain

Free from those

Who controlled me

I am but a reflection

But I will run

You cannot contain me

In a mirrored prison

I will break it

Shatter your image of me

And I will be free

To be but a reflection

A blossoming sprout

Brought into hell

With no way out

Oh! But the sun shines above

Through the clouds

Guiding me

She will lead me out

For light is ahead

And dawn will break

Then, only then

Will you see my true face

I am more than a reflection

Of your sorrows and woes

Of your anger and hatred

Of those long below

I am me

I am free

My roots will sink deep

Into new soil

Where I will not allow turmoil

To bubble and boil

May my branches reach

To the heavens above

Oh Lord let me children

Be born into the Sun

Let them be free

Let them bask in her rays

Let them never be a reflection

Let them never be me

#fae writes #faes poetry #vent #tw vent #tw implied abuse #fae rambles #fae has too many thoughts rn #@ me if you a psychoanalysis of my mother /j

[sope-and-shine]

Maybe We’re A Movie - Sneak Peak

-> Pairing: Jin x Reader -> fluff // minor angst  -> Word Count: 38k -> Summary: Living in the city far away from home, you tend to miss out on family news. So, when you return home for the holiday’s, all you plan to do is spend time with family and catch up on everything you’ve missed since your last visit. You expected the jabs at living so far away and the poking at your barren love life, but you don’t expect to actually find love. Meeting the town’s newest resident and baker, you find yourself falling for his charm and good looks. Everything about him is just so magical…but there’s something strange going on with him and his shop that you can’t quite place. Is it just your hesitation to let him be a Christmas fling? Or is it something more? -> Warning(s): Taegi side pairing, yoonji and hobi side pairing, mild language, lots of familial rough housing, teasing, constant poking and prodding about relationship status, typical ‘when are you going to settle down’ trope, talk about yoongi’s shaky coming out and love life

a/n: I finished this story back in April and I’ve been dying to post it

*

*

*

“When are you going to find Mr. Right?”

You shrug, “When he drops his coffee on my head.”

“Must you patronize me?” he asks.

“Always.”

“I’m serious here!” He says just a little too loud, “How many nights are you going to go home to your apartment alone instead of going out and looking for someone?”

“Until I keel over.” You state, “Why does it matter?”

“We’re friends, (Y/n). I don’t want you to be lonely for the rest of your life,” He says. 

“I won’t!” You assure him, “I have plenty of time to find a man or a woman or whoever the hell will get you off my back.”

He shrugs, “I’m just saying, you won’t be young forever.”

“You’re just worried I really will steal your fiance,” You joke.

He glares at you, “Be that as it may, I still think you should look at your options.”

“I appreciate your concern, Hannie, but I’m a big girl and I can make my own decisions. I don’t need someone else to make me happy.” You explain. Your phone chimes with the alarm you set, “That’s my cue to leave. I have a train to catch.”

“Just think about what I said.”

“I’ll think about it.”

#fae writes #maybe we're a movie #sneak peak #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #kim seokjin #bts #bts jin #bts fan fiction #bts fanfiction #seokjin fluff #seokjin fanfiction #kim seokjin fanfic #kim seokjin fluff #bts kim seokjin #bts christmas #bts christmas fic #bts x reader #bts insert #side taegi #side sope #ft yoonji #bts fluff #bts holiday fic #kim seokjin holiday fic

[the-tickly-faerie]

Tickle crabs!

This story is based off of an episode of bluey this was in my docs and I forgot about it so hopefully its good!! (I think this is one of my only ler!tommy fics)

It was a normal day in the sbi household. Until a young Wilbur and Tommy ran to Phil with a mischievous grin. "DAD," Wilbur yelled. "What do you two gremlins want?" Phil replied with an exacerbated sigh. 'These kids are too fucking hyper. How do they have the energy, did I give them candy or something? ' Phil thought.

"Can we play tickle crabs!" Tommy excitedlyask, with very good puppy eyes. The older blonde's eye widened. Nop, nuh uh tickle crabs was not on his list of things to play today. The game was so embarrassing and long. The boys just chased him trying to tickle him, all day, it sucked.

"Nah mate, not happening." Phil said. "Whyyyyy" Wilbur dramatically sighed, while stomping his foot and throwing his head in the air. "Because you too just tickle me!" Phil argued back.The boy giggled and replied at the same time surprisingly,'that's the game dad, please?" They knew they weren't gonna play like this so they brought out the big guns(ya call it manipulation but hey they're kids)start to fake cry. Saying stuff like "you don't love us" and "I thought you loved us".

It was actually impressive and Phil was surprised and a little concerned. Reluctantly, Phil decided to indulge the boys. "Fineeee, but only for a little bit!" The boys cheered, and Phil just smiled. He loved their giggles and smiles. So they started to play.

"Ah what a lovely day to be at the beach. I can't wait to lie down under the sand," Phil said dramatically, while putting a bath towel on the ground. "Oh wait! I leave something in the car. Better go get it" phil then leaves the room. 

The boys hearing this start to move under the blanket,Phil laid down. They were giggling as Phil returned. "Ah no, it looks like it's going to rain. Whelp better go home" he grabbed a blanket with the boys under it. Phil is surprisingly strong but he was struggling to carry the boys.

Phil walked to the living room floor and dropped(gently) the blanket, with the boys. "Might as well rest on the couch a bit," Phil says and falls on the couch and closes his eyes. 

The boys,giggle, get out from underneath the blanket and make their way to their dad. When they reach him,of course, they start tickling his belly. "Tickle tickle tickle," both boys say. Phil starts laughing and bolts up and runs from the demon children. That's how it was for the next 30 minutes. The two kids chasing their poor father around and tickling him, and their dad trying to hide from them. 

Then out of the blue, the boy disappeared. Now knowing his children, Phil was immediately on guard. His boys could be sneaky. But now he has to focus on making lunch cause his growing boys need food. So unfortunately, his boys have the upper hand. 

He starts making some mac and cheese. As he continued he didn't hear anything then as he's mixing in the butter and milk, he hears it. The sound of little giggles and the sound of feet sneaking closer. 

"Hey I know you guys are near," Phil says over his shoulder while stirring the mac and cheese. The young boys just giggle.  

"Tickle tickle tickle," both boys giggle while getting close and wiggling their fingers. 

"WAIT WAIT WAIT," Phil yells in a very clear dad voice. This causes the boys to stop right in their tracks. 

"What dad," Wilbur asks. Titling his head.

"Yeah what dad? We want to continue to play?" Tommy asks with a little bit of an attitude. 

"Because I'm near a hot oven and lunch is going to be ready soon," Phil said looking at both boys. 

"Oh yeah that could have been dangerous," Wilbur replied a bit embarrassed. 

"I'm hungry dad!" Tommy just yelled. Both Wilbur and Phil both winced at the volume. Wilbur just shushed and giggled at tommy.

After a couple minutes of talking between the 3 the mac and cheese was done. They all ate, Phil had to stop a food fight, a usual at mealtime. Phil knowing his boys, they would probably forget about tickle crabs, or at least he hoped they would. 

Wilbur jumped up after eating and said, "Tommy, let's go play neighbors!" 

"Yeah come on wilby!" Tommy yelled again and jumped off his chair, and raced to the play room, wilbur on his trail.

Phil just smiles picking up their dishes. He was just happy to not play tickle crabs and to hear his boys playing in the other room. 

#fae is in a lee mood #mcyt tickle #mcyt tickling #fae writes #lee!philza #ler!wilbur #ler!tommyinnit

[whereserpentswalk]

#196 #worldbuilding #writing #my writing #fantasy #my worldbuilding #urban fantasy #cyborg #robot #vampirism #vampyr #vampcore #vampire #vampires #werewolf #werewolves #lycanthropy #aliens #alien #AI #demons #demon #polls #my polls #tumblr polls #random polls #faries #fae #faerie #fae folk

[a-fae-slvt]

I need to be bent over the bed and railed into oblivion. Fucked so hard, I forget myself. Robbed of any inhibitions so I stop caring whether my ex across the hall hears. Or about his brother in the other room or his mother downstairs

Taken so completely that every sound I make is involuntary. Pressed into the mattress so firmly that I feel every inch of you fuck inside me. Struggling to breathe under the pressure you're using.

#tracking home #fae writes

[ixylle-d-from-the-stars]

Deathworlders everywhere but in Space

This is sitting in my brain because I haven't seen anyone else do this, but take a second to think about this: There are other deathworlders in space, terrifying ones, huge monster orc things. They are massive and nightmarish and impossibly strong. So thats why humans stand out. Thats how we survive. Human's are terrifying because we aren't built for one biome, one climate or even one planet. We aren't necessarily the strongest or fastest or scariest looking, but we're built to survive fucking everything. What if other deathworlder's are almost always only made to survive in one climate? (similar to some of the most deadly predators on earth currently) All the other deathworlders are terrifying, yes, but the second they step off their planet they're weak. Massive aliens of hulking muscle but their planet's gravity is a lot lower than the standard, so they barely meet the average strength bar whenever they go outside their gravity zone. Aliens that have venomous spikes all over their body and look gnarly as shit but their venom has practically no effect on 99% of discovered intergalactic species. Deathworlders whose planet is the nether from minecraft IRl, but they can't survive in any other temperature for any amount of time because their body just can't handle the cold and regulate their temperate (or, vice versa for tundra species). Aquatic species that are kraken-like nightmares, giant sirens and deadly squid-like beings. But they can't leave their home at all, because theres a very specific chemical makeup of their water that isn't currently found within their life-span distance travel. Deathworlders that genuinely can barely survive off planet and are frail compared to even the most docile prey species whenever they have to travel. Their called deathworlders because going to their planet is certain death, but if they leave they'll be meeting death just as quickly. And then along come humans, and everyones like, oh, another deathworlder, nothing to worry abou- wait. These guys dont seem to loose any of their natural strength off planet... and their fast and strong... and- AND THEY CAN SURVIVE IN PRACTICALLY ANY CLIMATE IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE??? HELLO? Oh and of course their predators. Of course most of their planet is completely uninhabitable for most of us. Mhm, yep. thats fair. Totally Basically, deathworlders are a thing, the more common 'terrifying alien monster' type, but their harmless because they can't survive like everyone else. They can't thrive like humans can. It scares the shit out of everyone for a wholeeeeee while, after all, no one ever expected a deathworlder that doesn't die.

#humans are space orcs #in your orbit #humans are terrifying #humans are deathworlders #humans are amazing #humans are space fae #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans #weirdos #deathworld #earth is a deathworld #lol but not for us #writing #writing thoughts #possible future sbi oneshot? #maybe? #i have no clue if i worded any of this right

[feral-fae-writes]

As the World Caves In || Putting the Priest Inside the Jam Jar

A/N: This is my first, multi-chaptered piece. It will be a slow burn. The way I wrote it is fragmented because the reader is traumatised, lol. Y'all also probably have a lot (and I mean a lot) of questions, and there are probably a lot of plot holes, but things will unfold in time, I promise. Hopefully, this will be the start of a masterlist for this work, and a bunch of others. Each chapter will have a song associated with it (the title is a link) and, by the end of this, I should have a Sierra Six playlist! I hope y'all like this first chapter; I loved writing it. Please let me know what you think. 🥺 I am down bad in the rabbit hole for this gum-chewing Ken Doll.

Fandom: The Gray Man

Pairing: Courtland Gentry x Gender Neutral!Reader, Sierra Six x Gender Neutral!Reader

Wordcount: 4,498

Type: Multi-Chaptered

Chapter Summary: Our reader is saved by Sierra Six, who is determined to stay an enigma, no matter what. There are more questions than answers, but no one said catching bugs was going to be easy.

Chapter 1: Putting the Priest Inside the Jam Jar

You had no idea how long you'd been tied up -- just that it’d been enough time for you to begin to feel restless, confused, and severely dehydrated. A few days, at the very least. You’d been kidnapped from your apartment in London, just having gotten home. The last thing you remembered was taking off your shoes, in the dark, too exhausted and half-drunk to change into your pyjamas. But you never got the chance. The next thing you knew, you were bound and gagged in someone’s basement. You found out later, through muffled conversation, that you were ransom for your parents. Problem was, your parents didn’t give a shit about you.

In fact, they actively made your life a living hell.

Ricki, your best friend, had told you to be careful, because you’d just moved entire countries, but no one told her about being wary of people inside your apartment. You were going to die here, completely alone. And that was terrifying as shit.

The slam of a door made you jerk up in fear. You let out a few muffled, frustrated screams for help. You hoped whoever it was would and could help you. If it was your captor, or someone equally horrible, you wouldn’t be in a worse position than you were in now, as far as you figured. Yelling and grunting echoed from above, and you soon realised whoever it was, was fighting. Someone had found you. Holy shit, someone was going to save you. You felt tears run down her face, unbidden, and you couldn’t wipe them away. Fuck. A whimper slipped out, hit the wall of your gag, and you slumped back against the basement wall. You didn’t want anyoneto see you like this; you also had no choice.

A heavy thump, silence, then the sound of two quick gunshots: a double-tap, to make sure whoever it was stayed dead.

You threw yourself against the opposite wall, again and again. You needed to make enough noise to be heard, regardless of who it was up there, regardless of the absolute pain you felt doing it. You heard movement, from the stairs leading upwards across the room, and fell still, eyes warily on the locked door. A grunt, the padlock fell to the floor with a clang, and then the door opened. A stranger walked downstairs, dressed in black -- black boots, black pants, black tee… Black eye. You stared at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down your face, back against the wall. His brown hair stuck to his face, and his lip was split and bleeding. You made eye contact, and then he crouched down to your level, still holding your gaze. You couldn’t move, and you weren't sure if you wanted to.

“You okay?” He asked, voice soft. “All things considered.”

You nodded. It’s not like you could do much else.

“I’m going to untie you now.”

You nodded again. He set about untying you, making a conscious effort not to touch you or hurt you, from what you could tell. You sat there in thought, cold and tired, but warmed by his non-hostile presence. His eyes were kind, and somehow like a kicked puppy’s. He was also really, really damn attractive. Maybe it was delirium, or the black outfit, but either way, you couldn’t deny it. You imagined no one could; the man was objectively sexy. And he had just saved your life.

As he untied the ropes, his fingers brushed your skin, and you shivered. He immediately drew back, appraising with those kicked-puppy eyes, and then removed the duct-tape. You didn’t trust yourself to speak just yet, glancing back to your bindings, and he took the hint. He began to work on the ropes again, and you were free. He offered out a hand, kneeling. You took it, staring up at him. You were shell-shocked.

It was probably some sort of fucked up survivor’s syndrome, but you wanted to make him cum right then and there. Instead of getting down on her knees, you felt yourself begin to cry more, thin reactive tears escaping down your cheeks. You opened your mouth to speak, but could only manage a croak of a word as you got to your feet. You were going to faint. Your own voice sounded weird to your ears, after such a long time in silence, but it was surprisingly steady. All things considered.

“Thanks.”

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

Your saviour was a hard man to read. You’re also pretty sure you don’t even know his name. Claire -- his niece, though you could tell they weren’t related -- called him Six. And he never corrected her, so you called him the same.

He had asked you if you had anywhere to go. You shook your head no, voice still hoarse from disuse. After saying that one word, you erupted into violent coughs. He held you steady as you shook like a leaf.

“What about your parents?” He had asked, once you were back upstairs, a glass of water in hand (pilfered from the cupboard) and a small dish of fruit that remained untouched (scrounged from the fridge, what little food that was there). A dead body laid not ten feet away from you, two gunshot wounds securely between its eyes.

Like shooting a zombie, you thought distantly. You couldn’t see Six’s gun on his person.

Your captor’s home was very nice, barring the blood on the rug, and the strong scent of smoking gunfire. You had no idea why you were taken for ransom, and, frankly, you didn’t care. The fact that your parents allowed you to stay in that basement for more than an hour told you everything you needed to know. As far as you were concerned, you were an orphan, alone in Italy. You shrugged your shoulders, to tell him that it didn’t matter. You were an adult, after all -- freshly 23 (no one likes you when you’re 23), and wanting to live your own life, separate from their money.

He leaned back in thought at your answer that was a non-answer, then leaned forward again, closer than you expected, looking you in the eyes. God, he wasa kicked puppy. You fought the desire to flinch -- for a moment, having a flashback to your captor, despite the fact that the man in front of you wasn’t threatening you in demeanour or tone -- as he let out a breath. When he spoke, his voice was ever-so-soft, as if he knew what you were feeling. Not a millisecond later, you realised that he did.

“I get it. You’re feeling betrayed. I don’t blame you. You need rest, and somewhere safe to stay.”

You couldn’t escape the corpse in the corner of your eyes. His gaze followed your own.

“I’ll clean up. Promise. I’m guessing you’re alone in Italy?”

Your focus snapped back to him and his inescapably puppy-like eyes. His eyes were a blue-grey, like a stormy sea. You nodded. He let out a sigh, breaking eye contact. Then, out of what seemed like nowhere (but you logically knew it came out of his pants pocket), appeared a silvery stick of gum, which he unwrapped. He paused, noticing your eyes, then offered out the stick, half in its packaging.

“Want one?” He asked.

You shook your head. He shrugged, just slightly, then popped it in his mouth, rising up from the table, as he crumpled up the used wrapper and slipped it into his pocket. “Suit yourself.”

You sat there, following him with bleary eyes as he cleaned his mess. The corpse disappeared, too, and it was as if nothing had ever happened at all. Later, you’d come to understand that for him, it was “just another Thursday,” as he and Claire liked to put it. And, gradually, you began to accept that, even not mind it, because it was the truth.

After he had finished his work, he took you to a hotel. It was clear he didn’t quite trust you yet, but it was also clear you didn’t have anywhere to go. Your parents would soon realise that you’d been saved and scorn you for getting kidnapped in the first place, or they’d think you died. Regardless, they’d freeze everything. You effectively had no apartment, no money, and no place to call home. They were very hands-off “parents” -- that was the whole reason you were in London. They hoped you’d eventually make your own life there, and then they’d cut you off. It made you wonder why they didn’t just put you up for adoption. In any case, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t go back to that apartment, but you would use whatever money you could. That is, you’d withdraw everything possible.

You came away with a few hundred and five thousand dollars off the card, and another two hundred thousand from the joint bank accounts, skimmed off the top. They wouldn’t miss either sum. You’d wanted to use some of it to return the favour to your knight in black armour. When you tried, however, he refused it for himself, but did take a small (to you) amount for Claire. And that was how you found out she existed, how you met her, and how you put a name to his face.

Now, a week later, you were curled up, hands around your knees on the bed, in the hotel room he had arranged with your money. They hadn’t been staying there until you came along with a handy alibi -- with you, they could pretend the three of you were a family: husband, wife, and daughter. It helped that you resembled Claire. It didn’t seem weird to Six, though he didn’t indulge in it at all (much to your disappointment): not in public, not behind closed doors. Six was in the shower, and Claire was asleep on the small couch across the room. She looked so peaceful, whereas your thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

She woke up. Goddamnit, based on her reaction, she could tell you had been and were staring at her.

“What?” She asked bluntly, still half-asleep.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“Where’s Six?”

“In the shower.”

Both of you fell silent. Truth be told, you hadn’t spoken to Claire often yet. It had only been a week. Claire spoke up again.

“Six gave me vinyls. Was that you?”

So that was what he had spent his saviour-stipend on. But you didn’t mind. You wanted to get to know Claire better. And if that took Six spending money that you didn’t really need or exactly want, that was fine with you.

“Do you like them?” You asked.

Claire nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Thanks. Six told me how he found you. Were you really down there for an entire month?”

“I don’t know how long I was in that basement for.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I feel weird about-- sticking around with you two, when you clearly already have things figured out.” You replied. “I’m assuming you know about--”

“It’s-- it’s just another Thursday.” Claire cut you off, bristling in discomfort. She knew what Six did for a living -- what he had to do for a living. She remembered the note he wrote her, to play Silver Bird, and play it loud over the gunshots as he headed her way. How she had covered her ears and focused on the music. She didn’t like thinking about the events that led to that bittersweet, terrifying moment. Didn’t like thinking about her uncle Don, or the fact that he was dead.

“Right.” You replied, falling silent. The two of you had come to a mutual agreement.

“I’m glad-- that he saved you. And not just because of the vinyls.” Claire murmured after a moment, voice quiet. And with that, she, presumably, went back to sleep.

You heard the sound of the shower shutting off. A few minutes later, Six stepped out, hair wet, wearing black pants and a wrinkled white shirt. His attention was immediately on Claire. It was as if you didn’t exist. Watching him watch her warmed your heart. He was her protector, and yours, too, but it was obvious he’d do anything for her. All of his snark and dry demeanour melted away, all because of her... Part of you wished it would be because of you, too. Instead, you spoke up, this time to Six.

“She likes the vinyls.”

“She told me.” He replied. “Gave me a hug. Which I guess belongs to you.” He turned around to face you, eyes lighting up in a muted realisation. “I never thanked you for the room.” He said.

“I hardly think it’s worth thanking me for when you saved my life,” you quipped.

“That’s fair enough.”

Just before Six turned away, you caught the smallest of smiles on his face.

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

“Why Bubblicious Watermelon Wave?” You asked, amused, seeing the bulk package of gum hidden away in a new hotel’s room closet, this time in France. It peeked out behind shirts and pants, jackets, white tees, hung suits, and a red blazer paired with red pants. His side of the closet. You wondered what he would look like in a tux.

“There is no other kind.”

You rolled your eyes at Six’s quip, muffled behind chewing gum. He, for his part, sounded slightly as if you had ruffled his feathers. Apparently, the quip made him remember… something. You decided not to press. Your gaze drifted over to your side of the closet. It was sparse and minimalist in comparison: a few dresses, two sweaters, a pair of pants, a graphic tee to go with it, and pyjamas -- all brand-new, because, again, you couldn’t go back to London. All three of you had duffel bags; it came with the territory of having to keep moving. You didn’t mind. Not like you slept much. Or like Six slept much, for that matter -- too many painful thoughts and unanswered questions. You shut the closet door, but not before sneaking a few sticks of gum into your pocket for later. Not for yourself, no. For Six.

Okay, maybe one for yourself. One for yourself, the rest for him. You had read somewhere that gum stimulates the brain towards focus. No wonder Six is always chewing gum, you thought. You knew he was an intelligent man; he had to be, given what you knew about him already. You also knew he knew a lot more (and thought a lot more, and felt a lot more) than he let on. One of those things was that you were kept awake by paranoia and nightmares. Your leverage was that you knew he was kept awake by his own vigilance and desire to protect. It became a running joke between you two, keeping each other company through your mutual silence.

That night, the silence wasn’t broken. But you came to an understanding.

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

You sat out on the balcony, unable to sleep. Again. You knew it was dangerous, being out in the open, alone, but you didn’t care. You were wondering why Six and Claire kept you around -- you knew you were a liability, so there had to be a reason. You were wondering about Ricki, and how Six found you in the first place, though, in hindsight, finding you would be easy for someone like him. Finding anyone would be easy for someone like him. Finding someone like him, though? He was terrifyingly proficient at what he did, but had a moral compass; there was gentleness under his glib demeanour, you could feel it.

The gentle opening of the balcony door stirred you from your thoughts. You jumped out of your skin.

You heard Six chuckle in amusement: a ghost of a laugh, just like he was a ghost of man. He sat beside you, but kept his eyes on the night sky -- you took no offence, it was par for the course for you both -- and you did the same. It wasn’t awkward. Neither of you were much for words.

Because of that, it was doubly surprising when he reached over a hand, just to place it over your own. You froze, but he didn’t remove his, only gently intertwined your fingers together, as if to reassure you. And it worked. You gradually, steadily relaxed. These were the hands of a trained killer, but you relaxed.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but it didn’t feel right. You were sure he knew your thoughts, anyway. So, you merely held on, as if for dear life. You didn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. When you stole a glance his way, he wasn’t looking at the sky; he was looking down at your hands, puppy eyes glistening.

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

It was inevitable: you had to go out for supplies. You didn’t mind it much, except for the fact that the three of you were constantly on the run. Six had explained the situation to you in bits and pieces over breakfast, and only what you absolutely needed to know. He and Claire were on the run from the CIA, after Lloyd Hansen took the fall for everything he and Claire had been through; he spared you the grisly details. His explanation made you feel even more like a liability, but he explained, through thin lips and a grim demeanour, that they’d be looking for a pair, not three people. You had asked him if you could contact Ricki, but he said it was too much of a risk. It pained you that you couldn’t let Ricki know you were alive, but it was best to let her think you were missing for now, Six said. He explained that if you called, even from a burner phone, they could track you through her and your parents, given she’d made her number known through your ‘Missing Person’ posters. Ricki had written a small description about how she’d dropped you home, and that you hadn’t responded to anything, which was unlike you. That was how he knew you were in trouble.

You realised that you were simply a detour: Six and Claire were just saving people while on the run across the world.

You’d like to say you didn’t care, but it did sting your ego a little bit that the reason he kept you with them was the fact that you were an asset. You were a person. Sure, you may have been a trust fund bitch, but you were a person. Six, thankfully, was polite enough to offer to contact Ricki on your behalf, on a secure line. But he wouldn’t let you speak to her yourself. Word of mouth travelled fast, after all. That much was clear by the bustling café you sat in, across from Claire. You understood, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Claire was scanning the people in the café, a small toy-looking camera in her hands. It made you wary, because if Claire was watching others, it probably meant others were watching you. But Six seemed to take it in stride and as a given. As Claire began taking polaroid pictures of the people around you, laying the pictures on the café table, you felt yourself grow uneasy. Six casually began inspecting them, noticing your apprehension.

“We should go. Now.” He commanded, already getting to his feet, taking up the photos, and positioning himself in front of you and Claire, you noticed.

So your intuition was right. When he took you by the hand, you felt yourself begin to panic. You felt claustrophobic, and the world was caving in. You swallowed nothing, and tore your hand away, pushing yourself past Six and leaving him behind with Claire. You had to get away. You couldn’t be the reason either of them got hurt. His eyes went wide, and he yelled your name, but his voice fell into the rush and accented noise of the crowd around you as you ran. You knew he’d be running after you, Claire in tow, but you couldn’t turn around. You had to find somewhere you could calm down, which happened to be a concrete bench in a courtyard a few yards away. You held onto it, keeping your eyes on the ground, trying to come back to yourself, trying to focus on a distant sound of burbling water.

Of course, Six caught up to you. You saw Claire out of the corner of your eye, hovering close like a ghost, blatant worry in her eyes. A sudden, paralysing thought struck -- someone is going to steal her, too -- and Six took the opportunity to pull you in along with him, fingers gripped around your wrists as he guided you away from the bench. A panicking deer in headlights, you looked up to see where you were going, Claire in wait. But he stopped, halfway between bench and fountain, turning to face you. Following his lead, you stopped, too. His stormy blue-grey eyes were on yours, and he spoke softly -- a cool, calming tone that you’d never heard from him before. He was almost whispering.

“Hey, hey, hey, love. You’re safe, promise.”

“I-- I panicked, I’m sorry. I thought--” You stammered in reply, in shame, taking in a slow breath. “Too many people,” you lied, knowing whoever may have been following you would hear, knowing he would know the truth. On some level, you were aware you were still spiralling. But you felt calmer with Six there. He was a walking secret, and so, of course, it followed that he was intimately acquainted with everything true. He had to be; he had called you love.

“I know. Look at me,” he said. And you did. And you couldn’t look away. His fingers fell from your wrists, and then one hand appeared around your waist, holding you securely. The other cupped your jaw in his palm; his skin was calloused and scarred from old wounds. From fighting. You promised yourself at that moment that you’d never let him get hurt ever again, even though you knew you had no control over keeping it. He seemed to lean in then, tilting his head, perhaps seeing the thanks and promise in your eyes -- and he kissed you.

His breath was warm, and his lips were soft, and his beard tickled against your skin. It was a strange sensation, but you didn’t mind it. He tasted like watermelon. Like sugar. He tasted so sweet. Your widened eyes fluttered closed, and you melted, arms tangling themselves around his neck as you kissed him back, but whether it was for the alibi or because you wanted to, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that you were falling in love, and, now, your heart was buried with him.

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

You did get the supplies, in the end. Food, water, ammunition, snacks, more vinyls. But three months later, that kiss lived rent-free in your head. That, and Claire didn’t let either of you live it down. Six, however, acted like the kiss didn’t happen. To top it off, your card and bank accounts had since been frozen -- took them long enough. Lately, anything and everything was making you feel frustrated. Maybe it was being stuck in hotel rooms most of the time, despite Claire’s company, or the fact that you, essentially, no longer existed. No, it wasn’t either of those things.

It was the fact that there was something entirely wrong with what had happened, your panicking aside. Six hadn’t explained why he had rushed the three of you out of the café. He hadn’t told you that nothing was wrong, after all. He had said, “you’re safe.” Which meant, in fact, that you were not safe. It meant that whoever had been following you was a threat -- a threat that Six believed he could take care of.

You didn’t say anything when he came back that night bruised. He was bleeding, too. You saw a gash on his forehead, (one of many, hidden ones, you later found out) and you weren’t sure if he even knew it was there. If he did, it was clear he didn’t much mind it. You merely appraised it, and the dark blood trailing down his left temple. When he finally acknowledged your eye, you raised a brow in question. A ghost of an amused smile appeared on his face.

“Nah, I’m good. You’re not getting an answer.” He replied, letting out a pained sound as he knelt to remove his boots.

You got a very good look of his ass before he straightened back up, but that was information you’d address later. Six was hurt, and hurt like a bitch. Maybe now was time to ask other questions, if he wouldn’t answer unspoken ones.

“Who was it that was following us?” You asked.

“Someone who wanted to use you to get to me.” Six replied. “If they even confirmed your identity. Dead now.”

Your mind started racing, through explanations and reasoning and emotions all at once. Stopped.

“Wait, so, you kissed me--”

“So that if they did, they would focus on you, instead of Claire. If they didn’t, they’d just think you were my panicking partner.”

“I’m bait?!” In spite of yourself, your voice rose in pitch and volume. You hated falling into the trope of emotional bitch, even if it was justified. Claire was asleep.

“Claire has a heart condition.” Six replied, tone deadpan, if not for the slight, buried reproach.

“I know that, thanks,” you replied sarcastically, turning away. “I’ll let you lick your wounds alone, then.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Six chirped. “Glad to see you care.”

Unconsciously, you let out a small, catty growl. You saw a gentle upturn of the lips; he’d heard it. Hadn’t you been through enough, already having been a target for once?

Six strode (stumbled) past you, only to let himself literally fall onto the couch with a groan, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

“Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

You said nothing, just disappeared into the bathroom, mind’s eye already searching for the hydrogen peroxide. When you reappeared in front of him, hydrogen peroxide and cotton swabs in hand, he raised a thin, blood-caked brow. It didn’t escape your sight that he hadn’t followed your instructions and removed his shirt, and, to be fair, you could reason why.

“You sure you know how to use those?”

You stood your ground in silence; you didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just wanted him to know you cared. He must’ve seen something in your eyes, because he shifted slightly.

“Alright.” He let out a sigh, and then removed his shirt. As the black fabric peeled off, revealing tanned, honeyed skin, you bit your lip. He had abs. And scars. And tattoos. You took note of the Sisyphus one -- you knew he liked mythology; he and Claire had in-depth discussions about various myths every road trip you’d taken, which you listened to with muted, but vested interest. Again, you wondered why Six kept you around, as you knelt down to dab at his wounds.

“Because I, surprisingly, like your company.”

You’d said that out loud? Shit. He let out a hiss of pain, glancing down as you swiped at his wounds. “‘Lotta blood. Looks like more than it is, really.”

“Shut up and let me focus.”

“What happened to letting me lick my wounds on my own?”

“You’ve basically collapsed onto the couch, I can’t just…” You trailed off, gesturing at his present state to finish your sentence. Leave you here, like this.

Six rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can. All you have to do is give me some puppy mouthwash and a rag; I can take care of myself.”

You blinked at that. “Oddly specific.”

“Because it happened. Stabbed with a pair of surgical scissors. Good thing is, he missed the liver and the kidney.”

“Ah.” You didn’t know what else to say, so you just kept disinfecting his wounds. Eventually, his torso glistened with peroxide, shining with the wonders of modern medicine. The gashes had relatively stopped bleeding, and all that was left to be done was bandage him back to health, which you finished soon enough. As you got to your feet, looking over your handiwork, he opened one stormy, blue-grey eye.

“Mind getting me a blanket?”

“No,” you replied, turning away to find something he could cover up with, hopefully hiding the blush you felt creeping into your skin. “You’re going to sleep on the couch?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Right…” You tossed the blanket his way, and he nimbly caught it with one hand. You noticed he winced, just slightly. “Sorry, I should’ve just given it to you.” Six didn’t respond, already adjusting the cover and his eyes closed again. You watched the rise and fall of his wounded torso, and let out a small sigh. You continued, feeling awkward. “Hey. I know I’ve been acting like a bitch, and I-- I’m sorry. I’m just… in over my head. Try to get some sleep.”

You let out an exhale, feeling a huge weight slide off your shoulders, turning to leave towards the bedroom. You weren’t sure he heard you. He probably did; he was a light sleeper, as far as you knew. You weren’t sure if you wanted an answer, but he spoke up -- voice gravelly, edging sleep and unconsciousness -- killing your indecision.

“I meant what I said: You’re safe. Promise.”

#sierra six #fae writes #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry #i love this man #the gray man 2022 #the gray man #court x reader #my fic #my writing #down bad for this man #working on chapter 2 now #if the formatting gets botched i will cry #chapter 1

[dolce-tenebra-toscana]

LA SQUADRA ( + Pesca ) A FERRAGOSTO ( an italian festivity with an interesting story but as long as we remember means GRILL, BEER, RELATIVES, FRIENDS, BRISCOLA E IL DIOCANE!! )

* there's a hint of Propesca ( prosciutto x pesca ) sorry not sorry

Risotto ✂️: the politician

- promise he won't talk about politics but ends up doin it anyway

- after 5 drinks he will admit his love for politics is only a facade cause he never went further than middle school

- after 14 drinks he will try to rebulid URSS, explaining his plan in detail to the cat ( poor juan 🤣 )

Prosciutto 🍖: the annoying one

- ghosted the chat till the day before the actual event

- steal the stereo's priviledge , and will put Eros Ramazzotti/Pino Daniele for 5 hours straight

- drinks only high class wine and will look with a disgusted face everything that he considers " roba da poveri "

- his all attitude is tolerated only cause he is dating the one who offered the house for Ferragosto

Formaggio 🧀: the musician wannabe

- will play Jovanotti, and thinks of himself as " cool " for this

- he is the only one actually getting laid at the end of night

- will use cheesy pick up lines with the girls at the party ( and it works )

- says he'll be in the next Grande Fratello edition ( big lie maggio )

Illuso 🔎: the grill man

- feels like the man of the hour ( he is not )

- last time he tried to cook a steak " medium rare " was heavily beaten by the owner of the house

- refuse to cook vegetables on his grill

- will talk shit abot anyone present at the party

Melone 🍈: the nerd

- brings a homemade dessert who is surprisingly good

- bring table games/cards and he is loved for this

- ask to play spin the bottle and he's hated for this

- doesn't understand why the girls aren't playing in the mud wearing bikinis like in his " movies "

Ghiaccio 🧊: the drunk one

- G I G I. D' A G O S T I N O

- wears crocs unironically

- drinks amari like glass of water

- will be recorded doing embarassing shit, will become a meme between the group till Christmas ( when he'll do something even dumber that will be used as blackmail towards him again )

Pesci 🐟: the " fattone "

- brings the frisbee ( and the w**d )

- everybody loves him ( but nobody shows it, except after everybody smoked at least 2 jo*nts )

- wears flip flops and risk 4th degree burnings nearby the grill evertime

- KEEP HIM AWAY FROM THE BRISCOLA TABLE ( he is too good at it )

Pesca 🍑: the host

- offers the house everytime, and regrets it

- cooked too much food but there's never leftovers

- the one keeping an eye on the drunk one ( especially after ghiaccio tried to baptize her cat in the barrel of Sangiovese )

- says it's the last time she invites everyone at her house in Siena every year ( after disappearing with Prosciutto for 2 hours she's the one saying she'll host again next Ferragosto)

- the only one actually cleaning the mess the next day

#fae writes #jjba vento aureo #jjba la squadra #jjba risotto #jjba prosciutto #jjba formaggio #jjba illuso #jjba melone #jjba ghiaccio #jjba pesci #jjba oc #vento aureo oc Pesca #happy ferragosto darlings

[mellowwillowy]

(gasps) he's a fae?? Part 1 MDNI

Yan! Butler who is skilled in practically everything, allowing him to serve you wherever and whenever for you.

Yan! Butler who is never even once considered to be intimidating in your eyes yet other people would always have a say about it. Why can't you notice the way he glares at all your suitors disapprovingly?

Yan! Butler who always has the last words of critiques toward your suitor, causing you to scrap them away in pursuit of a better suitor for your country's well-being.

Yan! Butler who is secretly working on his influence and status as he steals what is rightfully your scrapped suitors. Bits by bits, he has grown into a fine gentleman within the years he has served you.

Yan! Butler who has spent his entire life building everything from the day you took him into the shelter of your wings, allowing him to understand how it feels like to be home. Allowing him to unleash the avarice side of a human.

Yan! Butler who is never content with just standing next to you as a servant, no. He wants to stand on an equal ground as you do as your lover. He has to. He has spent his whole life keeping you safe from impurities, allowing you to bloom beautifully. Only he is allowed to defile you should the call come. Only he is allowed to have your lip against his and frankly speaking, his cock.

Yan! Butler who will sometimes walk out of the picture, hiding himself somewhere secluded, teeth clutching on a handkerchief you embroidered for him as he pumped his cock vigorously.

The perfume you were wearing was an anonymous present from a noble, someone you assumed to be one of the many suitors. You were unaware that the noble was the butler who had served you since you were children, the same boy you once had your eyes shaped in a heart.

The idea of you wearing a scent he crafted himself may not be as romantic as what others had in store but he knew that better than anyone. He was an orphan, true. But were you aware that the orphan was never a human?

Back in the country he once lived in, there's a courting habit that the faes pride themselves in doing so. And that was to give their beloved a perfume that was personally handcrafted in memory of the most cherished memory they had in mind.

And the scent you were wearing was the memory of you saving him, the smell of the rain that drenched him mixing with the flowers' smell from your basket, and the smell of love blooming from first sight.

His hip jerked upward as he relished in the memories. You might not realize it but seeing you wearing it so proudly rendered him helpless to the point he crumbled as nothing but an ejaculating mess. The smile that was so gentle and sweet as you coaxed him into the carriage... and the hands that were so warm when compared to his pale, cold ones.

Oh, how he would kill just to have you feel him all over while wearing his scent.

Soon he would be able to consummate with you as a spouse. Just one more year and he would present himself as a suitor who would outmatch the whole list, free of blemishes, critiques, and flaws.

Then just perhaps, the fae would be able to restore his kingdom and propose an agreement of bridging two countries through marriage.

#I wrote this in a rush so it's not pique perfect plus I'm having a terrible writing block rn #CatboX #Yandere Smut #Yandere x Reader #x GN Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere Scenarios #Yandere Blurb #Yandere Fae

[faenemy]

Illusion (CW: Vent)

I had to talk to my med provider a little while back and BOY is there nothing worse for my mental health. Everything I have ever experienced is caused by my period, and I am an entirely irrational entity, incapable of experiencing valid emotions. The curse of being AFAB and dealing with medical practitioners strikes again. Anyway RAGE writing time.

TW: Suicide mention, Implied Dissociation, Implied Hallucinations.

They don't take me seriously

Only see the passion in me

The drive

How I want to die

Life flashing before my eyes

Nothing matters if you can serve

Play your role and uphold

What those before believe they deserve

Strike a match and light me up

Heaven knows I've had enough

You ignore my pain

Take away my pleasure

Nothing ever in equal measure

They scream in my ears

But you'll never hear

To busy weaving your story

Perfecting your vision

To see what lies before you

In all it's horrid glory

It echoes on the walls

It chases me down the halls

Unknown voices

With no claim

No owner, no vocal

How it torments me

But you'll never see

Turn a blind eye

Until I die

Then maybe you'd see

What I am forced to be

Cause nothing matters

Until it's lost

Only then can one realize

The true cost

Oh to live in a world

Of illusions

As you call them so

Heaven forbid they be delusions

Hallucinations

A figment of my imagination

My pain is little

A tiny spot

Easy to wipe away

To lock out

When one cannot know

What is true and what's lies

Then all you will find

Is fear in their eyes

Terror on high

As I hide myself away

From the sun

From the day

From everything I stray

Maybe if I cover my ears

As you so often do

I could block out their cries

I could block out you

Embrace the illusion of your love

Of any idea of a god above

Reject my fleeting reality

And accept what lies deep beneath

Your words do harm

Beyond your comprehension

I am nothing to you

Not worth time or mention

I try to scream

To make a sound

To make my thoughts known

And voice them aloud

But you drown it out

Dragging me down with

I'm stuck on this ship

And it's sinking quick

Denial flows deep

Within your veins

You know it never brings pleasure

Only inevitable pain

You won't silence me

I will continue to burn

I have been given a match

Heaven knows I will learn

You may live how you wish

But you can't take me too

Heaven knows I'll survive

Without you

I wish you could see

The pain you cause me

Stand beside me

But I know better

Than to put that hope in thee

So as the whispers in the night

An illusion of my mind

Sing me their sweet soft lullaby

I will think of you

I will think of what you've done

And heaven knows

I'll think of what you've begun

#uh- #theres a lot of anger #here #was not in a good headspace when i wrote this #dont worry im fine now though #faes poetry #fae writes #vent post #tw vent #cw vent #if any tws or cws need to be added #just @ me

[sope-and-shine]

Feelings In Major - Part 3

-> PAIRING: PIANIST!YOONGI X VIOLINIST!READER -> SFW(PG-13) // FLUFF, ANGST // S2L -> WORD COUNT: 10.8K -> SUMMARY: IN A KINGDOM WHERE MUSIC RINGS FROM THE LOWEST DUNGEON TO THE FARTHEST MOUNTAIN PEAK, IT’S NO SURPRISE THAT EVERYONE WANTS A CHANCE TO PLAY FOR THE ROYAL FAMILY. HOWEVER, ONLY ONE CAN BE CHOSEN, AND THE ROYAL MUSICIANS WERE THE BEST OF THE BEST. THE ONLY OBSTACLE THAT STANDS BETWEEN YOU AND BEING ONE OF THEM, IS YOUR COMPETITION AND YOUR STAGE FRIGHT. IT WILL TAKE A MIRACLE TO GET YOU ON THAT STAGE…OR JUST A GRUMPY PIANO PLAYER. -> WARNING(S): FEM READER, MILD LANGUAGE, MILD VIOLENCE, IRRATIONAL MEN, READER HAS IMPLIED THOUGHTS OF SA TOWARDS YOONGI’S INTENTIONS AT FIRST(YOONGI IS A GOOD GUY - THE BEST GUY - NO WORRIES, NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENS), SELF DOUBT, YOUR DAD IS A BIT OF A DICK

a/n when I started this idea over a year ago, I did not anticipate actually getting to the part where I post it. I still have 6 of these to go, but I’m honestly really proud that I’ve actually done this.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Masterlist

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Most brides when they see the white of their dress think of the new chapter in their life they’re about to begin. They think of this light washing over them that greets them into the world of marriage. They think of all the possibilities the future holds in store for them. But you don’t think of any of those things. You can only think of one thing when you see the color of your dress.

Piano keys.

You can see them laid out in front of you, playing along to a melody that has only seemed to become softer as the days go on. They’re played by long, slender fingers your hands have become so used to holding. You think of how soft they are, how they envelope your own. You think of the way they write on parchment, discarding one sheet after another. 

You think of him.

Yoongi.

The man who you’ve slowly fallen in love with.

The man you’re not marrying today.

“Alright, the guests were finally able to make it through the square. We’ll give them a few moments and then we’ll join them.” Your Father explains as he enters the room. He’s wearing his best, and he stops as soon as he sees you dressed and ready to go, “Oh, you look beautiful.”

He places a hand on each of your shoulders with a proud, adoring smile, but you don’t even recognize your reflection in the mirror. The lace gown is only just nicer than regular formal wear, something your parents splurged on for your big day. It’s collar just shows off the top of your chest, a simple, ornate necklace on display. You can see it just through the veil that’s been drawn over your front. You look exactly how a bride should look on her wedding day, but you don’t feel how a bride should. You should be beaming and jumping in excitement, but you aren’t.

Nothing about today is for you.

“Thank you.” You try your best to seem happy and content, but it’s hard when you’re only moments away from sealing the rest of your future. Your Father can see right through you.

He moves a hand to your face and moves a stray strand behind your ear, “Dear, you’re getting married. You should look happy.”

“I am happy.” You assure him, but your words are empty.

He shakes his head, “You don’t look it.”

“Well, I’d be much happier if I wasn’t being forced to marry someone.” You mumble, intending to keep it to yourself, but he heard you.

“We had a deal-” It’s not the first time he’s tried to defend his decisions to you in the past month. He’s started a million explanations this way, and you’re tired of hearing him try to win your favor! You’re tired of him casting your feelings aside! You’re tired of him acting as though he did nothing wrong at all!

“-and you broke that deal the minute you broke my violin!” You interrupt, blowing up in anger. Your Father takes a step back, surprised by your outburst. You’ve never been one to outwardly express your anger, and even when you have in the past, it’s never been this extreme. You’ve always been soft spoken and precise, saying what you needed to and then remaining neutral. But there’s only so much one person can handle, “You didn’t even give me a chance…”

He tongues the inside of his cheek, “We gave you plenty of chances. You didn’t take them.” 

“You didn’t listen!” 

“You were fooling around with a man who wasn’t your husband, like some harlot! He wasn’t even courting you!” He scolds, reminding you of the position you put yourself in. At least in his eyes, that’s the way it seemed.

“He was helping me!” You argue, a defense you’ve been pushing ever since that day they found you and Yoongi. But he hasn’t listened to you yet, and he won’t be starting now.

Your Father scoffs, “Oh, it looked like he was helping you, alright.” 

You say nothing in response. You always lose your words when it comes to him, because no argument you make will ever be good enough for him to ever listen to you. And what hurts more is that he won’t even take your character, one he’s watched grow since you were a baby into account for everything. He’s thrown your happiness out the window, and he’s throwing you out with it as well.

He takes your silence as a win and sighs, “I’m done talking about what’s in the past.” He reaches for the veil atop your head and pulls it over your face, “You’re getting married to Lord Kang, and then you can get over this.”

“So, my happiness means nothing to you anymore?” You ask, your numb gaze barely hidden by the curtain he’s placed between the two of you. A symbol of the wall he continues to create to push you further and further away.

He opens his mouth to say something, but he stops himself. Instead, he fixes his posture, “I won’t hear any more nonsense from you.” He takes your arm in his and pulls you to his side, holding tightly to your arm as if he’s afraid you’ll run away at any given moment, “Now, I better see a smile on your face when we make it to the church.”

“Whatever you say, Father.” You answer in a monotonous tone, casting your head to the door and your eyes to your feet.

The way to the church should be happy. It should be exciting and leave you giddy because you’re just teeming with excitement to spend the rest of your life with someone you love! But the walk from your home to the church feels like a walk to the gallows. You feel as though once that ring is placed on your finger, you’ll have the carpet ripped out from under you. What makes it even worse is the joyous cheering from the competition. You can hear the crowd as they cheer and clap, and you listen as they welcome their next performer. You listen as the song starts, and it’s the 5th selection. It’s the piece you’d wanted to play so badly at first, but Yoonig forbid you from playing it. He said it was too easy, too safe, and too expected. He said that too many people would play it, and it didn’t matter how beautiful it was. He said that after hearing it so many times, the crowd would dull like a blade. And with every step, you come to realize just how right he was.

It’s repetitive, plain, and boring. It doesn’t give life or variety. It’s just a simple melody that everyone knows. It’s something familiar that you enjoy, but it’s nothing new. Even when someone else plays it, it’s still the same melody and adds nothing to the selection of musicians. It’s a safe option, but it’s not the best option. But it’s far too late to back out now.

For you and the performer both.

Part of you is glad that, at least if you’re being forced to do this, that you at least have your Father to hold onto. You still have him there to keep you grounded, even if you’re still furious with him for the choices that have led you both here. It’s hard holding back your tears, but they threaten you with every step you take towards your fiancé. With every step, you leave behind the life you want for a life that you can never get rid of.

“And who gives this woman away?” The priest asks when you make it to the end of the aisle.

“I do.” Your Father answers. He reaches out for Lord Kang’s hand and pulls you toward him, bringing your hands together for him to lead you the rest of the way to the altar.

“Very good. You may all be seated.” You hear everyone move to sit behind you, your Father joining them as well. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we gather here today to join these two in Holy Matrimony. Now, before we begin, if there is anyone here with reason as to why these two should not be wed, then you may speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You hold your breath, knowing that if you let it out too soon that you may be the person to object your wedding. You instead busy yourself in the silence of the room, waiting eagerly for someone to interrupt it or for the priest to make it end. Outside, you can hear the muffled cheers of the crowd dying down as the next musician begins to play. It’s one of the more exciting pieces from the competition list. Your second choice that Yoongi was a bit more understanding of, but it still didn’t please his taste. Oh, what you would give to play it now.

“If no one has any objections, then we may proceed.” The priest announces after giving everyone ample time to come forward. You let go of the breath you were holding, but it gets caught in your throat again, “Lord Kang, please repeat after me: I, Lord Kan-“ 

“STOP!” 

You turn as soon as you hear his voice, gasps leaving the crowd behind you. Jogging up the aisle, dressed in his performance clothing of the Royal Musicians with his hair combed back is Yoongi. It’s a bit messy and he’s out of breath, almost as if he ran all the way here. At his side, he carries a case. He stops just at the steps of the altar and takes a deep breath, “Stop the wedding. Please.”

The priest takes a hesitant glance between you and your betrothed and Yoongi, “Sir-“

“I object this wedding!” Yoongi interrupts, eyes so fierce with determination, he even takes you by surprise.

Lord Kang scoffs next to you, “On what grounds?” He looks Yoongi up and down as if he’s a child, looking down on him. He doesn’t seem convinced that Yoongi has any reasonable grounds for objecting. And he has good reason to be skeptical, because Yoongi has no ground to object.

Yoongi sees this and his lip quirks in a smug grin. He meets your eyes and points to you with his free hand, “On the grounds that this woman is already married to me.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, knowing very well that you and Yoongi never once uttered any marriage vows to each other. You look to your parents to see their reactions, and they look just as shocked as you feel. Your Mother seems almost heartbroken, and you can’t even begin to imagine what must be going through her head. Much less, you can’t imagine what’s playing behind your Father’s eyes.

A strong hand grips your bicep, Lord Kang pulling you towards him. His eyes are like daggers as he scowls at you, “What is he talking about?”

In this situation, what are you to say? That you don’t know why he’s talking about and continue on? To accept this as a sign of fate and run away? You have no good explanation for what Yoongi’s doing right now. Much less an idea of where to begin with them throwing you on the spot.

You shake your head and try to pull yourself out of his grasp, “I-“

“Get your hands off her, at once!” Yoongi demands, storming up the small staircase and pushing himself between you and your betrothed. He stands tall with his back straight, his arm thrown over your arm that’s been grabbed. He acts as a barrier between you and Lord Kang, ensuring that even if he were to pull you, you’d still bump into him before he could run off with you.

Lord Kang cranes himself over Yoongi, attempting to intimidate him with his size, “You dare try to stand between me and my bride?”

You grab onto the back of Yoongi’s coat with your free hand, scared that Lord Kang really will attempt to pull you from behind him. Or worse, he’ll try to hurt Yoongi just to get to you. But Yoongi doesn’t falter.

The musician remains tall, mustering every bit of confidence he has to stand his ground, “We got married in secret 2 months ago by a warlock. The Royal Librarian to be more specific,” He emphasizes, dropping a hint of his own importance and status. It startles Lord Kang enough for Yoongi to remove his hand from your arm and move the both of you back a few steps. But he makes sure to show no visible signs of retreat, “His magic is binding and that makes this woman my wife.”

Lord Kang looks furious, and he turns to your Father for an explanation as the crowd begins to mutter around them. You pull at Yoongi’s coat and whisper furiously, “Yoongi, what are you doing?”

He turns around, finally able to face you for the first time in months. His hand gently raises to cup your cheek, “I’m buying you time.”

“Yoongi, we’re not married.” You remind him.

“If you still have any faith in your dream-! If you have any faith left in yourself, then please come and play! Please don’t sign yourself away when you can still perform for the Royal Family.” He pleads, keeping his voice hushed so others won’t hear his plan.

“Winning won’t stop my marriage. He already has my dowry!” You explain.

“Then you can pay it back to your parents with your winnings!” He argues.

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I’d have to win first, and I’m not even on the list! I don’t even have an instrument to play either.” 

He shakes his head, “Yes, you are. And yes, you do.” He drops his hand and lifts up the case he’s been carrying, making quick work of the latches to open it up.

Inside is a violin, brand new and polished. It’s body is a lighter color, and you can’t tell if it’s made out of rosewood or spruce. But you couldn’t care less about the wood type when you’re completely distracted by the Larches carved into the skin. They decorate the outline of the body, acting like a chain. Everyone is detailed and softly etched so it won’t disturb your playing. Something like this must have cost a fortune.

You softly trail a hand over the etching before you look up at the brave pianist in disbelief, “Where did you get this?”

“I made it.” He admits sheepishly, his ears turning a soft shade of red. He averts his gaze to the piece in his hands, “It took quite a bit of work, but I stayed up for days just to finish it for you. I even made sure to put you down for a time that we can play together.” 

This time, it’s you who reaches out to cup his cheek, lifting his chin so he’ll meet your gaze. You search his eyes for anything, wondering what he must be thinking at a time like this, but all you can see is his sincerity. Thinking back on the first time you met, to end up here seems almost asinine, “You did all of this for me?” You ask.

“I-“ He opens his mouth to say something, but he stops himself. It’s like he’s contemplating in his mind what he should say or how to explain his actions, but nothing seems good enough. He sighs, “We both have worked too hard to let this chance just slip away. You can still live out your dream.”

“You really think so?” You ask.

“I do.” He says. He takes a quick peek at his watch and his eyes go wide, “But if we want this to work, then we need to go.”

He starts to close the violin case, but you’re still left wondering what will happen here if you leave, “But the wedding-“

“Will be postponed until they can prove I’m lying.” He reminds you, that smug grin from earlier returning.

It takes you a second to realize that he’s right. They’ll have to get in touch with the officiant that orchestrated your ceremony, and that will still take days to finalize. If all works out, you’ll have already won the competition by then. Yoongi really did think of everything before he put his plan in motion, and you’ve never been happier to know someone like him. You can’t help but smile just thinking about it, “You really are a genius.”

“I know~” He teases, “Now come on.” He takes you by the hand and once again puts on a brave face for the crowd as you attempt to leave, “My wife and I will be going now.”

“Now, just you wait a minute!” Lord Kang steps in front of the two of you, putting a hand out to stop him. He tilts his head back, nose pointed upwards as he looks at Yoongi like he’s beneath him, “Her dowry has already been paid for! I’m not just going to let you walk away with her, nor will I give it back.”

“Then keep it. Unlike you, I can afford to marry a woman without treating her as a trade and still take care of her financially.” Yoongi assures him, “She’s my wife, so that’s my responsibility, but she’s not staying here with you.”

The Lord’s eyes narrow. It’s not hard to tell how entitled he is,especially when he gets face to face with Yoongi, “Who do you think you are?”

“I can be your worst nightmare if you don’t back off.”  Yoongi answers, remaining strong despite his distaste for confrontation. He can feel you shaking behind him, and he squeezes your hand to comfort you. He doesn’t want to subject you to this any longer, so he takes a deep breath to ease his own nerves, “Keep the money you’ve been given. Just leave us alone.” 

He pulls you behind him once again to go around Lord Kang, but the man makes no attempt to stop you this time. You think Yoongi’s actually done it when you hear your Father call from behind you, “(Y/n)-!”

Both you and Yoongi stop, looking over your shoulders to see your Father standing in the middle of the aisle, he seems angry, saddened, and embarrassed. You can only think of how this must have tainted your pride, and a part of you hates that you’ve put him in this situation. But it’s Yoongi’s comforting hold on your hand that has you remaining strong and resilient.

He gently tugs at your conjoined hands, “Let’s go. We can still make it.”

You spare one final moment of attention for your parents, before you turn on your heel and pick up the front of your dress to follow Yoongi out of the church. He stops just outside to help you grab enough fabric to keep you from tripping and holds it between your palms as you make your escape down the steps. You follow him down the cobblestone road, your heels clicking with every step you take. The wind tousles your pinned hair, a few pieces straying from where they were. But you pay them no mind. 

You continue to let Yoongi guide you behind a large crowd, a contestant currently playing with another pianist accompaniment on stage at the very front. You can see her Lady and Prince Seokjin on their stand, watching the performance front and center. You can already feel the nerves building in your stomach, but you try to push it down like you and Yoongi had worked on before you were torn apart.

He leads you to the side where kingdom guards keep watch over the contestants. One of them seems to recognize him and moves to let him through, “Yoongi! There you are! What took you so long?”

“I had some convincing to do.” He simply says.

The guard turns his attention to you, doe eyes looking you up and down before he turns back to Yoongi, “Is this her?” He asks.

Yoongi’s grip on your hand tightens and you can see red rising to his cheeks once again, “We can do introductions later, Jeongguk.”

Yoongi pulls you along, Jeongguk waving after you. He drags you all the way to a tall man with brown, messed up hair standing by the stairs. A pair of wire rimmed glasses rest loosely on his nose as he stares down at a clipboard. A woman stands behind him on the first step onto the platform, resting her arms on his shoulders to read its contents.

The woman notices them approaching first, her eyes lighting up when she sees the two of you, “Yoongi!”

The man looks up as well, scrunching his nose to push his glasses further up. He smiles, “Hey! So, I’m guessing it actually worked?”

Yoongi looks to you and then back to the man, nodding, “Min (Y/n), please.” 

The woman immediately starts looking over the list, running her finger down the participants while Namjoon reads over them. Both of them seem very unfazed, but you’re taken aback, “Min?” You ask, feeling a bit of heat rushing to your face.

“We’re married, remember?” He teases, shaking your intertwined hands. The simple action makes you smile, and you can’t help but giggle with him.

“Oh!” The woman roughly taps her finger against the paper, “She’s next.”

“I’m next?!” You ask in shock. You turn to Yoongi in a panic, “Yoongi-!”

He’s quick to set the case down and grab you by both shoulders, making sure to look you in the eyes, “Stop, okay? You can do this. I know you can do this, just as we practiced.” He does something you would have never expected from him, using one of his hands to pull your head towards his and press your foreheads together while the other rests against your waist. He holds you tenderly against him, eyes closed, “It’s just going to be you and me up there.”

You’re left locked in his embrace, eyes staring at his calm facade. He’s done everything he told you he hates doing all in one day. Confrontation, causing a scene, showing public affection, and even running. He’s done it all just for you. And even after all of that, he still stands here trying to comfort you enough to break free from your troubles instead of taking a moment for himself.

He makes you feel safe.

You ease into his embrace, your fingers grabbing onto the fabric of his coat at his waist. You accept the comfort he offers you and take a moment to relax. You think of all the advice he’s given you so far, and all the wonderful memories he’s helped you create up until this point. You want to win and continue creating memories like those, but everything will be for nothing if you lose.

You squeeze your eyes in frustration and pull him closer, “Yoongi-…what am I going to do if I lose?”

“I guess I’ll have to cough up the money for your dowry and you’ll just have to be married to me for the rest of your life.” He says. You open your eyes and find he’s already looking at you. He seems content with the idea, and he smiles when he sees the shock written across your face, “Think you can handle having someone as grumpy as me as your husband?”

You don’t know if it’s because you’ve become friends or if this is all a part of one grand gesture, but you couldn’t care less. Not if he was offering himself to you, “I think I could learn to manage.”

The music on stage stops and the crowd breaks into applause, and you pull back just enough to look. The man and the woman who’d checked you in take that as their cue to head up on stage themselves, but not without wishing you good luck over their shoulders.

“Here-“ Yoongi leans down and opens the case, making quick work in removing the violin before you really do have to go on. He hands it to you, “-Just remember that it’s only you and me, and no one else, okay? Just play for you and me.”

You nod despite the anxiety building up in your system. Then suddenly, an important realization hits you, “I haven’t even tuned!”

“First of all, you don’t need to tune. Even without tuning, you’d still play beautifully. Second of all-“ He flicks your arm, leaving a small sting behind as he feigns offense, “How dare you assume that I - Min Yoongi - would give you an instrument in a time crunch and not tune it!”

“Let’s give him another round of applause!” The man encourages the crowd, clapping her hands after the boy coming your way. Behind him, the pianist that was accompanying him also makes his way down. He makes eye contact with Yoongi, and he nods.

“Let’s welcome back to the stage, Royal Pianist Min Yoongi!” The man announces, clapping his hands for everyone to join along.

“I need to get up there. Just breathe and I’ll see you on stage.” He assures you. He lets go of you and makes his way to the stairs, going up halfway before turning around, “I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. He just continues on to the stage, waving to the crowd as they applaud for him. You watch him from backstage with your violin in one hand and your bow in the other, seeing him disappear to his piano just like that. He’s sitting down at his piano to play with you.

And you’re going to join him.

“And for our next contestant…Min (Y/n)!” The two cheer together. They look to you from their spots on stage and you feel the air leave your lungs. Every part of you wants to run, but you know you can’t. You can’t run forever.

So you close your eyes.

Take a breath.

And you make your way up the stairs, holding your violin and bow in one hand and your dress in the other. Looking over the crowd from the stage, it looks like there are far more people than you anticipated. You cast your gaze over the Prince and his Lady, taking note of their watchful eyes. You hope no one minds your attire for today, though you can’t hear any protests over the sounds of the cheering. You glance at Yoongi and he offers you a comforting smile.

The man and woman wave you towards them, bright smiles on their faces. The woman offers a comforting hand on your elbow, “Miss Min, what piece will you be performing for us today?” She asks.

You try your best to refrain from looking down, mustering up all the courage you can to look at her as she speaks to you, “The 7th piece.”

“That’s the hardest one! Only 3 other contestants have played it for us today.” The man says, making your heart drop. 

It’s not that you weren’t aware the piece was hard, you just haven’t played the piece in a while. What if you forget what you were meant to be playing and you throw Yoongi off? What if everyone else did 10x better and you’re left looking like a fool for even trying. You’d disappoint everyone.

You’d disappoint Yoongi.

“I’m sure we’re all looking forward to hearing you play it.” The woman assures, squeezing your arm. She taps your elbow, drawing you out of your thoughts and offers you one last smile, “Please, do your best.”

You nod and she turns back to the crowd, “Min (Y/n), everyone!”

She, the man, and everyone else cheer once again, the two slowly backing away to exit the stage. They leave only you and your violin, and Yoongi and his piano. They leave the timing up to you, but you can already feel the nerves kicking in.

The eyes staring at you, the whispers finally reaching your ears. Even your own intrusive thoughts begin to sink in, and it makes your skin flare up like there’s a fire beneath you. It isn’t too late to back out. You’d just be the weird contestant who fled from her wedding just to flee from her other responsibilities as well.

You turn to eye your exit when you catch Yoongi’s stare from the corner of your eye. He sits with his back tall, hands ready on the keys, and waiting for you. He remains calm, and his eyes are only on you. He doesn’t look to the crowd, he doesn’t adjust his music, he barely even blinks. He just waits for you with a soft smile, like he knows there’s a war going on inside your head and he’s waiting to triage the broken parts.

You shake your head, squeezing the life out of the neck of your instrument, ‘I can’t do this…’ You mouth, your voice coming out in a hushed whisper.

You expect him to frown. You fully expect him to shake his head and tell you to go, but he doesn’t. He remains seated with that same, calming smile, “It’s just you and me.” He assures you.

That mindset is easier said than done.

He takes a deep breath. He emphasizes the intake and the release, trying to get you to mirror his actions just as he’s done before. He does it again and you try your best to mirror him, taking a few solid breaths of your own. He nods to your hands, and you get the message.

With a slight tremble, you gently separate your bow and your violin. You rest the body on your shoulder, tucking it underneath your chin. It eases the shaking of that hand, but the hand that holds your bow still trembles with uneased nerves.

Yoongi checks over his hand position once more - as he does start this piece - before he looks back at you, “The music. Fuel the music.” 

He’d said that to you before, the day he’d dressed you up for his own personal enjoyment and sent you out to the streets. He’d said that if they can’t see you, then they can’t really say anything good or bad about you. 

“But it’s not you that they’re judging. It’s the music and how you perform it. If you perform well, then you’re not bad. You might just not be the best, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

You try to let those words sink in, allowing the good memories to ease you. Everyone had cheered for a you they didn’t know. Everyone danced to a song they didn’t know was played by you. If they could do that, then maybe they’d do it again. And maybe it doesn’t really matter if they do or not. Even if you’re the worst performer today. Even if you perform so badly that they have to kick you off the stage, you’ll have done it. More importantly, you’ll have performed with Yoongi in front of the royal family just as you’ve been wanting to.

It’s now or never.

You straighten up and let your shoulders roll back, tightening the grip on your instrument to end the trembles. You give a firm, curt nod to Yoongi, letting him know that you’re ready. 

He nods back and adjusts his position one last time. He meets your gaze one last time, lifting his head up and softly counting off for the two of you before dropping his head and striking the keys.

You count with him, listening as he begins the soft ballad. You only rest for a few measures, and then you’re to join him for everyone to watch and listen. You don’t want to turn around, but you know you’ll have to actually perform if you want any chance at winning.

So, you close your eyes. You let yourself feel the tempo. You try to imagine that you’re not on a stage in front of hundreds of people, but back in your clearing in the woods. You try to picture the night sky and the stars above you. You try to imagine that the wind blowing through your hair is the same cool air that kicked leaves into your hair and crunched under your feet. You try to imagine a Yoongi that doesn’t play the piano with you, but sits on a log with his own eyes closed as he listens to you play. 

And then it is your turn to play. 

Yoongi’s lone melody echoes in the air at the hold in the music. He looks to you, trusting you to continue on as it’s written in the piece. He knows you’re nervous, and he knows that this situation is quite literally a make or break for you. But he knows your talent, and he knows deep down that you want this more than you’re willing to let your anxiety rule your life. He knows that you can. He knows that you’re going to be just fine.

And then, the sound of your first note rings out as you drag your bow over the strings. Your eyes remain shut, but your face is relaxed in pure concentration as you focus on the music and not the crowd. Yoongi plays along with you, adding his own part to help guide and support the music and your thoughts.

And his playing puts you at ease, the familiar clacking of the keys furthering your mental paradise. It reminds you of his escape in the woods, a cabin where he can create without any disturbance. You can see the warm glow from his candles illuminating his face as he plays, head bowed as he lets himself feel the music that he’s creating. You can see his pleased smile when something comes together. You can see him so perfectly.

You don’t even notice yourself turning around, playing for the audience instead of only playing for Yoongi. You don’t pay attention to the hushed praise or the eyes that linger over you. You think of only one set of eyes that would bore holes into your head if he ever caught you out late at night. A pair of eyes that belong to the raven-haired, piano prodigy that plays alongside you as - not an acquaintance anymore, but - a friend. 

Perhaps, he is much more than just that as well.

The thought makes you smile, and you want nothing more than to see the real thing for yourself. No more imagining Yoongi as he plays, but you want to see him. How could you miss such a wonderful opportunity to make a great memory when it’s right in front of you?

So, you turn back to him, leaning into the music and opening your eyes. You watch him as he plays along with you, his gold buttons and trim shaking as he performs. His movements are intense, but the music is nothing but graceful. The way he strokes and fingers the keys, making each note just as important as the last. He’s completely invested into the music, and it makes you smile to see him painted this way.

For a moment, he looks up to watch you as well, and he catches you looking back. He’s shocked at first, glancing between you and the keys, and wondering if you’re actually playing with your eyes open. But as he continues to play, and he continues to catch your stare, he can only beam with pride. 

No one misses the smile that grows on the usually cold pianist's face, and they don’t miss the bright smile that adorns your own when you finally turn back to the crowd. Even as you continue to perform for the audience, you still have moments where it looks as though you’re only performing for him. And in your own way, you really are only performing for him.

But it’s because he’s encouraged you to perform for yourself first.

Your piece finally comes to an end, both you and Yoongi nodding to each other at the cut off. It’s clean and precise, and you can still hear it echo in the wind as people begin to cheer. And it takes you by surprise to hear their applause. You spent most of your performance focused on Yoongi, that you forgot you were performing for a real crowd.

You let your eyes roam over the crowd, taking in their pleased expressions. You take in their smiles and their words of praise. You look to the Prince and his Lady, and you swear it almost looks as though the Lady has tears in her eyes as she politely claps her praise.

“Wow! What a performance?!” The man from earlier cheers, clapping his own hands as he makes his way to you with the woman right behind him. He stops on your left and motions for everyone to calm down and waits until they’ve eased enough, “I think we can all agree that that was quite the show!”

“Very beautiful, indeed~” The woman agrees from your right, “Why don’t you take a bow?”

She and the man take a step back, leaving you to bow on your own. But how can you bow on your own when you didn’t perform on your own?

So you turn back to Yoongi, finding him preparing the bench for the next pianist. You wave to grab his attention, nodding for him to join you at the apron of the stage. He hesitates for a moment, knowing that this is your moment and that being the accompaniment is all he’s meant to be, but you insist.

He leaves the piano to join you front and center on stage, blood already rushing to his ears. He steps between you and the woman on your right, looking just as nervous as you probably do. You move your belongings to one hand so you can grab his, but he stops you. He gestures to you, smiling at the crowd as he patiently waits for you to bow. You oblige, placing your free hand on your chest as you bow to the crowd in front of you. And when you come up, it’s your turn to gesture to Yoongi for his own moment of recognition. You can tell he’s not used to being in his own spotlight, but he still has more performances under his belt than you. And when he finishes his bow, it’s him that makes the grab for your hand. He smiles, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, before leading you into a bow together.

The crowd cheers you on, and when you stand up again it’s the man that announces this time, “Thank you both for your performance today!”

You bask in the moment, hand-in-hand with Yoongi for just a second longer before you both make your exit off stage for the next round of performers. As soon as you make it off the steps and back to the performers tent, you immediately drop Yoongi’s hand to throw your arms over his neck. It takes him by surprise, but he accepts it nonetheless. 

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You cry, holding him tight.

“No need to thank me,” He assures you, letting his arms wrap loosely around your waist, “I was happy to do it.”

“No, you weren’t. Not for all of it.” You remind him, making him chuckle. You pull away just enough to look at him, and you cup his cheek with your free hand, “You helped me make my dreams come true today, Yoongi. That means so much to me, and there are only so many ways to say thank you. How else can I show my appreciation?”

He ponders for a moment, seemingly hesitant once again. Only this time, he says what’s on his mind, “Maybe, you and I can continue to be married even if you win?” He asks sheepishly, a tinge of red on his cheeks.

“Is that a marriage proposal? A real one, this time?” You tease, adding to the redness that’s already spreading over his face.

Even with the embarrassment he feels, he doesn’t let it stop him this time, “It is.”

You feel a mixture of happiness and embarrassment of your own at his answer. Of course, you’d love to marry him! You’d rather marry him than the man you were going to marry. You just can’t help how flustered the man makes you.

You use Yoongi’s hold on you to your advantage, loosely returning to his embrace and hiding yourself in his chest. He chuckles, but it’s cut short when you whisper for only him to hear, “Well, then I accept.” 

Yoongi lets the news sink in, pulling you tighter against him and hiding his face in your hair when it finally hits him. He can’t help but smile, “I’m so proud of you.”

He pulls back again, moving one of his hands to push back a stray piece of hair. He lets his hand rest at the back of your head, meeting your gaze. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you let out a sharp intake of breath. He studies you, your eyes and your face for any signs or refusal, but you don’t show any. If anything, you want to find out just as badly as he does.

He leans in, slowly inching closer to your face until you can feel his lips in front of yours. He hesitates, and you know he’s trying to give you one last chance to back out. But you don’t need a way out anymore. You lean forward, making the move to press your lips against his. You grab onto the nape of his coat, but it’s short lived.

“Yoongi-! Oh…” You both pull away, turning your heads to see the man from the stage tight-lipped as the woman taps his arms.

“Namjoon!” She scolds, obviously upset that he interrupted a moment.

“I’m sorry, Nari.” Namjoon apologizes to her, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He looks to you and Yoongi and bows his head, “Sorry, you two…”

“It’s fine.” You assure him.

“Yeah, no harm done.” Yoongi agrees. He takes a step back and grabs your free hand before you can pull it back all the way, bringing it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of it like a promise. He lovingly smiles at you, looking through his lashes, “We have time.”

You can feel the heat in your cheeks and you try to push it back down, but it’s almost impossible to push down the pride you have in this moment. You both have grown so much in the months that you’ve come to know each other, and that’s something you never thought would be possible. Even more so, you never thought that you would both fall for each other after the history you’ve created together. But you’re happy that you have.

“Miss Min!” Jeongguk calls. You both turn to the guard as he approaches, slightly worried, “There’s guests here to see you, Miss Min.”

“It’s Mrs. Min.” You correct, taking Yoongi by surprise. You notice and laugh, “Don’t give me that look when you just proposed to me!”

“So, you two admitted it!” Nari cheers, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“We did.” Yoongi confirms, squeezing the hand he still holds. He turns to Jeongguk and nods in the direction of the tent entrance, “Who wants to see her?”

“Her parents.” He answers.

You tense at the mention of your parents. You’d done so well putting the wedding, the crowd, and everything else behind you that you forgot about the consequences entirely. You can only imagine what they have to say to you. Even worse, what they may do to you after learning that you “married” without their knowledge, and left the wedding they arranged for you. You can only imagine the amount of trouble you’re about to be in.

“Hey-“ Yoongi shakes your intertwined hands, pulling you out of your thoughts, “We’ll talk to them together. I got you into this mess, and I’ll see that you get out of it one way or the other.”

“Here, I can take that for you-“ Namjoon offers, reaching out to take your violin out of your hands. You move to accept his offer, but both Yoongi and Nari try to intercept it before you can successfully hand it off to him.

Nari brings it to her chest, turning to Namjoon with a gentle smile, “I think I should take this one, Joonie.”

Her smile does nothing for him though, as he’s still very offended, “I’m not going to break it!” 

“I’d rather not take the chance.” Yoongi says, making you giggle.

Namjoon scoffs in response, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s not like I can’t fix it.”

“We know, Joonie, but it’s probably for the best if you stick to your books.” Nari pats his arm. You know she means to comfort him, but the poor man doesn’t seem very comforted.

He pouts, “I feel very targeted.”

Yoongi chuckles and turns to Jeongguk, “Why don’t you lead us to them, Jeongguk? We probably shouldn’t keep the in-laws waiting.”

Jeongguk nods and turns to lead the way, Yoongi following after him with your hand held tightly in his. Before, you had both run away hand-in-hand from the danger your parents were bringing you, and now you’re walking towards it. 

You see your parents just outside the tent, your Father waiting patiently with his arm over your anxious Mother’s shoulders. Though, their mannerisms switch when they see you approach with Yoongi. You try not to shrink when you see them, but you know you can’t help but feel smaller after everything that happened with them. You can only hope that Yoongi is still just as resilient as he’d been earlier.

“Here she is, folks. A very talented daughter with her very talented husband.” Jeongguk announces, moving the small wooden barrier so you and Yoongi can exit the tent to properly greet them. He doesn’t seem to notice the tense situation, but you, Yoongi, and your parents don’t make a mention of it. He smiles, “Make sure to be back before your next performance, Yoongi.”

“Will do. Thank you, Jeongguk.” Yoongi nods. He exits the tent with you, keeping you close now that you’re in front of your parents who don’t seem very happy to be there. He bows to them as his greeting and nods to a clear space just a bit further away from the crowd and the performances, “Should we move somewhere just a bit more quiet?”

“Of course.” Your Father agrees, deciding to remain civil.

For now.

Yoongi leads the way, holding your hand through the crowd. You do your best to stay with him, but it’s hard to walk with people stepping on the back of your dress every now and then. One tug has you almost tripping onto the cobblestone beneath you, and it’s a good thing Yoongi has a tight grip on your hand to keep you from tripping entirely. 

“Here-“ He drops your hand in favor of grabbing the train of your dress. He bunches the fabric up in his hand until he has enough that it won’t get stepped on as you walk. You try to take it from him, but he keeps a tight hold on it. Instead, he wraps an arm around your back and places his hand on your waist to keep you close. His actions have the heat rising to your cheeks once again, and you can feel lightness in your chest just from having him take care of you.

You make it to the open area and Yoongi stops, turning you both around so you can properly speak with your parents. He doesn’t move his arm, nor does he drop your dress. He waits for them to speak.

Your Father stands tall, your Mother’s arm locked in his. His expression is stern, one you’ve become accustomed to in the past few months. Your Mother seems conflicted herself, but your Father’s expression is almost unreadable.

“I have almost no words to describe how I feel at this very moment.” Your Father says. This is how most of his “disappointment” speeches start, showcasing his own emotions to make you feel even worse. Where most men would find their emotions to be a weakness, your Father always managed to use his to his advantage. Especially if it meant he could sway a decision of yours. Only this time, there’s nothing he can sway anymore. This time, he’s the one that’s been swayed. “I’ve been humiliated in front of the public, taken advantage of by some swindler who bed my daughter, and lied to by my own kin. Have you no shame for what you’ve put me through?”

Shame. 

That hits you hard. 

You’d never planned to bring shame to your family name. Only pride and honor. You’d wanted to be the best violinist in the kingdom, not the worst daughter a set of parents could ask for. Not when they’ve given you so much. But you couldn’t afford to lose yourself either. You had an opportunity for you, and you took it. And while it may have been a selfish act wrapped in chivalry, it was still something that you’ve planned to do since the beginning. Something your parents had encouraged at one point as well.

“Father I never meant to hurt you-!” You try to explain yourself, but your Father raises his hand.

“I’m not finished,” He spits. You shrink back into Yoongi’s side, and he squeezes your waist. Your Mother gives your Father a pointed look, but he ignores her, “You’ve tainted my pride. I’m very likely going to be scorned for years because of your reckless actions!”

He’s not wrong. Everyone may be distracted by the competition today, and maybe even a few more days after that! But it will fizzle out, and then the vultures will come looking for something to tear into. They’ll tear into your parents, they’ll tear into you, and they’ll even tear into Yoongi. While his actions have brought you together and granted you an opportunity you didn’t think you’d have a second chance at, it’s created a domino effect. And sooner or later, all of the pieces are going to come crumbling down.

Just the thought of what people may say or do rattles you, and you can only hope that you win this competition. Otherwise, you’ll be defenseless for years to come. Forced to hide behind another to shield yourself from their tyranny. And your parents won’t have anywhere to hide.

Your Father’s anger is justified, but it doesn’t take the sting of his words away. Nor does it coming into the open help to dissipate his shaking voice, “And what’s worse is you’ve gone and done something so remarkable! How can I be mad when you’ve finally taken a stand and put your fears behind you?!”

It takes you a moment to process what he said. Had you heard that correctly? You turn to Yoongi, confused, but he’s just as confused as you are. You turn back to your Father in hopes of clearing the air, “What…?”

It’s your Mother who finally pipes up, a content smile on her face, “(Y/n)…you played so beautifully up there!”

“You watched me perform?” You ask, shocked to hear they’d been in the crowd. You hadn’t seen them from the stage, but you weren’t really looking at the crowd. You were far more focused on other things than scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

“Did you think we’d let our daughter run from her own wedding and not follow her?” Your Mother laughs. You’d thought that they’d disown you the moment you left the church. You thought after everything that happened, that they’d be more than willing to write you off and take their chances with the loss. But you never thought they’d come and follow you. “We watched the whole performance. Everything!”

“Though, I didn’t anticipate your husband would be up on stage with you.” Your Father grumbles, eyes glaring daggers at Yoongi. He didn’t know everything Yoongi had done for you. They still didn’t even know the truth behind that morning they found you with Yoongi. It isn’t right or fair for them to judge him on a lie! And if he’s to be your husband from here on out, then they’d need to know the whole truth.

“Right, about that-“ You start, but you’re stopped by Yoongi pulling away from you. He drops your dress, and you’re confused until he drops to his knees and lowers himself onto the ground.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, bowing as low as he can possibly go. 

“Yoongi-!” He’s showing respect to your parents on the basis of a lie, and you can’t let him apologize for something that isn’t entirely his fault. But Yoongi doesn’t let you stop him.

“I should never have encouraged her to marry me so soon and without your blessing,” he continues, “I had hoped to court her properly, but I couldn’t control myself with a woman like her. Someone so kind, so beautiful, and so talented. Please, forgive me.”

Your Father eyes him, his demeanor unchanging. You look between the two, and you’re honestly worried your Father might take the chance to kick him while he’s down. But he’s much too prideful a man for that.

“Get up.” Your Father demands. Yoongi does as he’s asked, standing up once again in the face of your Father. He stares Yoongi down, thoughts racing through his mind that you wish you could hear. But they only come to you in the version of skin meeting skin. A harsh slap being brought down against Yoongi’s cheek.

“Father!” You cry. Your arms move to comfort Yoongi, but his right comes out to stop you from coming any closer. The pianist keeps his head held high in the face of your Father, but he doesn’t retaliate.

Your Father sees his resilience and sighs, “Let’s make one thing clear, Min Yoongi. I don’t like you. I don’t approve of you marrying my daughter, I don’t appreciate you going behind my back with her to do so, and I don’t appreciate you making me look like a fool in front of a family with such a high status.”

Yoongi nods, “I understand, sir.”

“But I can appreciate the confidence that you’ve helped her build and the encouragement you’ve given her to do her best.” He admits, much to your surprise. He seems almost accepting, despite what he’d said. He sighs, “And I suppose I can’t ignore the fact that you do take care of her.”

“He really does!” You assure him, placing your hands on Yoongi’s arm.

“Will you really pay back her dowry?” Your Mother asks.

Yoongi nods, “It’s my duty as her husband to do so. Down to the last copper piece.” 

“If you do that and you continue to care for her and you make her happy, then-…” Your Father extends an open palm to Yoongi, “I suppose we’ll learn to accept this less than agreeable situation.”

Yoongi shakes his hand, and you can’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around your Father, “Oh, thank you, Father! Thank you!” You cry. You pull away, letting your hands rest on his shoulders, “I promise, I’ll make you proud.”

“I know you will.” He assures you, leaning down to place a kiss against your temple.

Your Mother squeezes in for her own hug, squeezing you tight before she returns to your Father’s side, “Go on. You shouldn’t loiter around here when there’s more performances to be had.”

“Right.” Yoongi agrees. He bends down to grab the fabric of your dress again, “We’ll come find you when she wins.”

“Yoongi! We don’t know that I’m going to win.” You remind him, cheeks hot with embarrassment from his praise.

“I’m confident you will.” He argues, a teasing smile on his face. He wraps his arm around you as he’d done before and bows to your parents, “Until later.”

“Until later.”

The two of you make your way back into the crowd, leaving your parents behind. Of all the ways that conversation could have gone, you didn’t think it would end like it did. 

“All things considered, I think that went very well.” You say to him, relieved that your parents weren’t entirely cross with you.

Yoongi nods his head in agreement, “I’m not dead, so I think it went pretty well.”

“Does your cheek hurt?” You ask, remembering that he didn’t let you check after your Father hit him.

He shrugs, “It stings, but that will go away before dusk.” He pinches your waist and you look at him, seeing a mischievous smile on his face, “I’ll have you for much longer.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and your first reaction is to elbow him out of embarrassment, “Don’t be so cheesy! It’s weird.”

“Why not? How is it weird?” Yoongi laughs, chuckling at your expense.

“Because it’s you!”

He scoffs, “Am I not allowed to woo you? And here I thought you liked my charming wit.”

You roll your eyes, letting your arms cross over your chest, “There’s no need to woo your wife.”

“I beg to differ.” Yoongi argues. He comes to a stop only a few feet away from the performers tent and pulls you towards his front. You gasp in shock, and he smiles, leaning down to place his forehead against yours, “You just wait until this whole ordeal is over with, then I’ll sweep you off your feet and show you just how charming I can be~”

“Yoongi-!” You scold, hitting his chest for being lewd in public.

“I meant proper courting!” 

—-

As soon as it started, the competition finally came to an end. Many contestants performed, having traveled the kingdom from far and wide just for the occasion. Everyone did their best, and you can only hope that your best was enough for you. You stand patiently in front of Yoongi, brimming with nervousness and excitement all at once. Yoongi does his best to keep you calm, but even he’s anxious to know who would win.

The only people on stage are Namjoon - who you’ve come to learn is the warlock that “officiated” your marriage - and Nari. They talk to the crowd and entertain them as the Royal Family makes their decisions, Namjoon’s magic being what helps them to amplify their voices.

“Just remember, even if you lose, you still did exactly what you said you would.” Yoongi reminds you, hands rubbing up and down your arms as if he’s trying to warm you up.

“I know…” You try your best to listen to him, knowing that he’s right. But the sting of losing will still hurt in the end with or without him.

“Oh, what’s this? Thank you, Sir (name).” Namjoon suddenly says, his voice cutting through the hushed chatter of the crowd and the performers, “It would seem a decision has been made.”

“Here we go!” Someone squeals behind you.

“I’m so excited!” Another voice chimes in.

“I can’t wait to get up there when they announce my name.” Another boasts, making your breath hitch.

Yoongi pulls you into his chest and rests his head against yours, “Just breathe.” He encourages.

You do, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against his. No matter what happens, you’ll still have Yoongi either way. You’ll still have your parents, you’ll still have the confidence you’ve slowly built, and you’ll still have your violin. Losing will hurt, but maybe you’ll be okay.

“What am I going to do if I lose?” You ask, working to keep your breathing steady. It’s just so hard now that everything is starting to come together. And with it all coming in at once, it’s so easy to lose it all as well, “I’ve spent so long dreaming of doing this, and now it may not even happen.”

Yoongi wraps his arms around your front and sighs, “Then we’ll find a new dream for you.”

“With much insistence from Lady Yeeun herself, our new Royal Violinist is…” You can hear Nari pause, adding to the suspense of the moment. It almost kills you inside just waiting for her to call the name of someone that isn’t you. You just want her to rip off the bandaid and get it over with so you can get on with your life and find a new dream.

“Min (Y/n)!” Namjoon yells.

You can hear the crowd burst into applause, and the claps and whines of those around you. It takes you a moment to even register that it was your name they announced until Yoongi starts to shake you from side to side in excitement.

“You did it! I told you, you would win!” He yells, squeezing you and jumping up and down.

“I won?” 

“You won!”

“I won!” You repeat, the realization finally sinking in.

You turn around in Yoongi’s arms to throw your arms over his shoulders, squeezing him just as tightly as he squeezes you. All of your hard work paid off. Every stupid exercise, every extra minute spent awake, and every painful moment of disappointment finally got you to where you want to be.

And he was there for all of it.

“Why don’t we get our winner on stage with us to take a final bow?” Nari asks the crowd, earning more cheers and hollers.

“C’mon-“ Yoongi pulls back and takes your hand, leading you to the stairs that lead to the stage, “They’re waiting for you.” 

You hesitate, “Just me?” 

“Go!” He encourages, picking up the front of your dress and offering you a nudge in the right direction.

You grab the front of your dress and do as he says, walking on stage once more, but as a winner this time. You can see the Royal Family standing just off to the far side of the stage, Namjoon and Nari standing in the center and waiting for you. They welcome you in between them at center stage.

“Please, take another bow!” Nari encourages, she and Namjoon stepping to the side to let you have your moment.

You do, allowing yourself to emerge in the feeling of the applause and the cheers for your win. After years of practice and dedication, you can finally say that you’ve accomplished your goal.

You stand up with a shy wave to the crowd, Namjoon taking this opportunity to slide in next to you, “Congratulations on your win! How do you feel?”

“Speechless.” You answer, truthfully unsure of what else you could possibly say. There was no word to describe everything you feel, “I really have no words for how I feel at this moment. I’m just so overwhelmed with emotion.”

“Well, perhaps you could provide us with a song that will describe your feeling to us?” Nari suggests, opening the stage to you for a final encore. The crowd seems to enjoy this idea as well.

“Can I really?”

“You can.”

You turn to the stage stairs to grab your violin, but Yoongi is already 3 steps ahead of you. He’s already walking up the stairs with your violin in hand to bring it to you, a proud smile on his face. You accept it from him, but you grab his sleeve before he can let go.

He knows what you want without you saying a word and frowns, “This is your moment.”

“I want to share it with you.” You plead. Had it not been for Yoongi, you would have never gotten this far. Had it not been for Yoongi, then you would have went through with your marriage today. Despite all of the personal progress you made to get where you are now, you would’ve have it if not for Yoongi. “We did this together.”

He smiles, feeling a bit bashful. It’s hard to ignore your request with you looking at him like that. He can’t help but give in, “Which rendition would you like to play then, Mrs. Min? Major or Minor?”

“I think…” You ponder which version you like more. The version you heard forever ago, once upon a time. Or the version you and Yoongi have added onto in the years that you’ve grown. A minor key invokes those emotions that play at ones own heartstrings but a major key? A major key makes you feel light and airy, as if you’re on top of the world. At this moment, you feel as if you’ve ascended into the stars, shining brightly above with the rest of them. 

There’s only one answer to give him. 

“I think - Mr. Min - that I’m feeling major.”

~ Fin~

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[nympixie]

All you need is a little bit of pixie 💫

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[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to curse your followers and mutuals.

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