No But Srsly Husna Best Writer - Tumblr Posts
bloody blue ; k.th
pairing ; prince!artist!taehyung x muse!reader
summary ; in which you can't stay still for taehyung's painting and you're afraid you've been dancing for far too long.
words ; 1k
warnings / includes ; angst, artsy tae, mentions of symbolic blood, my pathetic attempts at poetry :D
a/n ; this fic is written for the royalty drabble event @ficscafe is holding !! im kinda lovin the aesthetics of this drabble OOMF !! huge thanks to @kireiwoo and @gyukult and @subways-stuff for hyping me up, i love them sm :(
“Stay still, my love,” he whispered softly, scrutinizing you with a soft gaze before darting his dark irises back towards the canvas. There was a dried smudge of aegean blue streaking across the expanse of his cheekbone, the same tint coating the paint brush’s bristles. The flaky pigment was a stark contrast to his peach-hued lips, slightly parted in the midst of his hazy concentration. His tongue pressed against the side of his cheek, brows furrowed.
Despite his gentle reminder, you shifted in your spot once more. There was an itch on your shoulder blade, no doubt due to the scratchy mauve fabric laying loosely over your intricately-positioned frame. Your dress glimmered under the clementine flames flickering above dribbling candlesticks, casting a warm honey-light over your skin. The dark, elongated shadows splayed across the marble floors danced with your ever fidget, resulting in Taehyung releasing a frustrated huff.
“Your Majesty,” you mumbled, arching your stiff spine, an uncomfortable grimace twisting your features. “Can we take a break? Just for five minutes, please. I don’t think I could stand staying still any longer.”
After a final stroke of paint against the coarse fibres of the canvas, Taehyung pauses and places the brush back into its tankard of water. Dissipating curls of cerulean spun away from the bristles, staining the water a faint aquamarine.
Silently, he pushed himself off of the velvet stool, approaching you with long footsteps. You watched with bated breath, tilting your head upwards to meet his indiscernible stare.
“Why do you look scared, dove?” His words were tender, almost hesitant. His spindly fingers reached out to push your chin upwards, cradling your jaw as if you were a fragile piece of glass.
With a subtle frown quirking your lips downward, you moved your face away from his grasp, crossing your arms slightly.
“Is this all I am to you?” You muttered, shocking Taehyung enough into kneeling beside you. He smelled far too strongly of flower gardens and cinnamon ciders. “A pretty thing to put on display?”
“You know that’s not true,” he replied in a mildly offended tone, as if the very notion of diminishing you to only your looks was abhorrent. “I love you. Why else would I be painting you?”
Unwilling to meet his pleading eyes, your sharp tongue formed words the both of you knew were far from the truth. You were afraid that if you so much as glanced at him, you’d melt right into his arms, like wax around a wick. “My prince,” you sighed out, lifting a hand to pinch between your brows. “I’m only here to be your muse - an inkling of your inspiration. Nothing more, nothing less. We can’t be in love. Nobody even knows about us. You don’t want them to know about us.”
“Must love be announced to the world for it to be of any significance? You know better than that, darling.” Though he still spoke softly, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being scolded. You were tired of this dangerous waltz. It was time to retire into the night, before your feet started bleeding.
You recoiled from his touch, as if the very sensation of his skin on yours was enough to burn. You wouldn’t be surprised if there were scorch marks on your arm.
There was a heavy silence that laid between you. Your shadows molded into one dark figure, looming and twisted, mirroring the queer feeling that tied your stomach into knots.
Finally, you angled your face towards your Prince. There was a tentative kind of despair hidden in the depths of his expressive coffee-tinted irises, almost as if he knew what you were about to say next. Tendrils of Taehyung’s overgrown hair fell into his eyes, but he impatiently batted them away.
“Don’t go, Y/N. I need you.” His pretty hands held onto you, but his grip loosened with every passing second. There seemed to be tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but you paid that no mind. No point in making this more painful than it needed to be.
Without warning, Taehyung wrapped his arms around you, brushing his nose against the nape of your neck. He breathed in your warm scent of faint rosewater and honeyed tea. You could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage, not unlike a frantic bird trapped in its cage.
“Is this farewell then, Your Majesty?”
Your words fell on deaf ears. Taehyung pulled away from your collarbones, only to dip down once more to capture your lips with his, one last time. Screwing your eyes shut, you leaned into him. He was crying, and you were still. It had always been like this. Taehyung would throw his emotions across a canvas in the form of colorful blends and portraits, and you would watch from the side. After all, he was never in love with you. He was only in love with the image you portrayed.
“I love you,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to pick up. It hurt you to admit that he was starting to sound like a broken record. With the tears running down his cheeks, the aegean blue smothered along the side of his face now dripped in a watery blue mess all over his face.
A small, non-committal hum escaped your throat.
You placed a hand flat against his chest, the fabric of his tunic crinkling under your palm. For a second, Taehyung seemed hopeful, as if you would keep dancing with him beneath the moon and stars.
But your feet were already starting to bleed.
“Goodbye, Taehyung,” were the last words you could manage to say, rushing to press a chaste kiss to his forehead before gathering the scratchy mauve fabric of your dress, bolting away from the Prince you broke.
He didn’t know it, but his feet were bleeding, too.