#But More Discoveries Await!

[michaelgabrill]

NASAs NEOWISE Spacecraft Re-Enters Atmosphere But More Discoveries Await!

NASA’s NEOWISE (Near-Earth Object Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer) spacecraft re-entered and burned up in Earth’s atmosphere on Friday night, as expected. Launched in 2009 as the WISE mission, the spacecraft has been mapping the entire sky at infrared wavelengths over and over for nearly fifteen years. During that time, more than one hundred thousand amateur […] from NASA https://ift.tt/cKYTXFR

[flowersforjude]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Cousin!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You could not leave him. Not when your very breath was the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,433

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Arguing, Angry Jace, Desperate Jace, One curse word, Kind of hurt/comfort. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This was requested by @intheheartoftheking. I had a million different ideas for this, but the inspiration wasn’t there for any of them. So, I hope this is to your liking! Also, Varaxs is the name I gave the reader’s dragon! 

masterlist

Sea salt kisses your cheeks as the gentle roll of the tide rushes below you. The familiar scent of your dragon fluttered in the breeze as the Dragon Keepers brought your ivory mount out to you. Varaxs growled deeply, as if mimicking the waves that crashed against the inky cliffs of Dragonstone.

Chills danced up your spine as the cold seeped into your bones beneath your riding clothes. The weather wasn’t what had you so chilled, though.

Nervousness burns through your mind. Has your eyes darting from the dragon pit to the palace looming behind you. Every howl of the wind and every tumbling pebble falling from the rocks, kept you on high alert of discovery. There were more than enough troubles to keep your mind occupied, but should anyone catch you here before you could depart, your plan would be all for nothing. 

The Greens had sent an assassin to take Rhaenyra’s life in the dead of night. Ser Arryk was unsuccessful thanks to his brother’s valiant efforts, which cost him his life. But even if the Queen was unharmed, the usurper must still pay for the cowardly attempt on her life. 

Rhaenyra still hoped for peace, though, and such wishes had her stalling her hand. You, as her stepdaughter and loyal subject, could no longer rationalize doing nothing. 

And so, you were going to King’s Landing.  

You dare not give thought to what could befall you once you’re there. But if death or something worse awaited you, then it would have been worth it fighting for your queen. 

The wind seemed to pick up with his arrival. You didn’t notice until a loud cry of your name sounded over the currents. You spin around and see your betrothed, Jacaerys, dashing towards you. Trepidation and unease flowed through you as you caught sight of his vexed expression. You hadn’t told anyone of your plan, and you thought you had snuck away with no one noticing your absence. But of course, it was Jace who figured it out. 

He’s still in his princely attire, the Targaryen colors displayed proudly. The deep hues of black and red had always complimented him in the most alluring way. His boots kick up clouds of dust and sand as he comes to a stop in front of you. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his jaw clenched in irritation. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword like he always did, but the knuckles were white with the forceful hold he had on it. 

“Jacaerys.” You greet, meeting those serious, dark eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you could remember. 

“What are you doing?” He asks simply, but the sharpness of his voice made it clear this was no easy matter. His eyes burned into yours as he stood just inches from you. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” You questioned in return. Deciding to let him reveal what he knew before you told him the whole of your plan. 

He scoffs and swallows thickly. “I am not certain, but I am sure that it is something reckless and not something that my mother approved of.” 

Shifting your weight in the sand, you thought about how best to proceed. “I was anticipating no one finding out until I was already gone.”

“Did you think I would not notice your absence?” He asks incredulously, his brows rising in disbelief. 

You shrugged. “I hoped it would take you a little longer.” A leaden sigh leaves your lips while the restless waters below you rage on. The light reflecting off the water shines like a beacon around Jace, and you have to battle against the longing ache that spreads through your chest. 

“Someone needs to scout King’s Landing. Gather what information we can.” You explain praying to the seven that he’ll understand. 

His eyes widened as exasperation ignited in them. “Have you lost your mind?” He exclaims, shaking his head of dark curls. 

“Jace-” 

“No,” he insists. “You’re not going. You’re not going to fucking King’s Landing, where you very likely will be spotted.” His jaw is tight, and his eyes are just as troublesome as the waters crashing against the rocky shores of the island. 

“Someone has to do something!” You argue back, your raised voice causing Varaxs, waiting in the landing pit, to hiss with displeasure at your growing distress. 

“And if you are captured? Slain? What then?” He sneered, a sudden thickness lingering in his words. 

You lose yourself for a moment. Imagining all the horrors that could come upon you should anyone discover you even somewhat close to the capitol. Aemond held resentment towards you and your sisters for what occurred the night Luke took his eye. And Aegon was a mindless drunk, but no less cruel than his brother. But thinking of all their treachery just made you all the more determined to do everything in your power to see Rhaenyra on the throne. And Jace, good-hearted, compassionate Jace, as the heir.

“I have to do this, Jace. And if I meet my end, then it would be worth it to see Rhaenrya and you reclaim your birthright.”

Desperation colors his features, his sharp expression melting to one of concern and tenderness . Something that stokes the fires of your affection for him. 

“I forbid you.” He finally declares after a long moment of silence. 

“Forbid me?” Your own frustration at last rises to match his. “You are not my king yet. You’re not even my husband yet. So unless you intend to tie me up, I will be leaving now.” 

You turn on your heel to approach your mount. Fully planning on flying off to King’s Landing before his voice breaks. 

“You cannot leave me!” 

You halt in your place, your throat growing tight upon hearing the sheer panic coming from him. Your hands twitch at your sides as the wind dies down enough to allow you to hear the ragged breaths sounding from your betrothed. Hesitantly, not wanting to be met with his distraught expression, you turned back to face him. 

Raw desperation swam in his eyes. His lips, that had welcomed yours in so many devoting kisses, parted with pleading breaths. He closes the short distance between you; his hand captures yours before falling to rest against his heart. Heat flashes through you where your skin touches his. 

When he speaks, his words come out breathlessly. “It is no secret between us my devotion to you.” The strong fingers of his free hand, calloused from all his hours of training, fluttered over your cheek with a touch as light as goose down. “But even before our betrothal, you were my guiding light. In the wake of all the chaos, there was you.” His normally collected voice cracks. He clings to his hold on you as if terrified of you vanishing from his sight forever. “My entire heart craves only a fraction of yours. Even if only a piece of you loved me, that would be plenty, because that would mean at least a part of you was genuinely mine.”

“Jacaerys.” 

His gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I cannot live in a world where you do not exist,” he professed. The air had been stolen from your lungs upon hearing his words. You were no fool to Jace’s affection; you returned it tenfold. But never had he confessed such adoration to you. 

“I cannot just do nothing.” You whispered, knowing he could hear you. 

He was nodding along with your words. “We will destroy them,” he vowed. “But we will do it together. You cannot not be so careless with your life, Issa jorrāelagon.” 

You do not wish to be labeled as rash or reckless, but the Greens must face retribution. For all the agony they’ve caused. You wish only to help your family win back the heritage that was stolen from them. One day, sit by Jace’s side as he rules with all the kindness and strength you know him to possess.

But he was right. 

You look down at his hand, holding yours to his heart. It beat as fiercely as dragon wings in the sky. Each pulse hammered in each nail of faith you had in him. “Together?” You coaxed meeting his eyes again and seeing determination mingling with his sheer devotion. 

“You and I will take back my mother’s throne.” He pledged, pressing a reverent kiss to your brow. “And one day I will take you as my queen, and we will rule together just as we are meant to.”

This was shorter than I wanted it to be, but I'm just glad I was finally able to finish it!

Issa jorrāelagon; My love

[abyssruler]

furina’s guide on the art of matchmaking

neuvillette x gn!reader

it’s no secret that furina is constantly bored of the mundanity that comes with court, but with the recent discovery of neuvillette’s crush on you, things have just gotten a lot more interesting. if only you and neuvillette would just get together, but alas, it comes down to the great hydro archon to bring justice to neuvillette’s sad, pathetic love life.

furina pov, comedy, furina being dramatic as hell

Furina knows the best way to get under Neuvillette’s skin is through you. The Iudex may seem impassive from the outside, but she knows where to look for his tells, particularly when he’s annoyed (she has, after all, been the recipient to silently judging stares, usually those of a disappointed or even irritated nature).

And she’s seen the way Neuvillette looks at you—his face softening, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, and most damningly of all, the slightest hint of a blush whenever you stare into his eyes a little too long to be considered proper.

It’s all so entertaining to watch, if a bit miffing to endure seeing how utterly slow the two of you are. If Furina had been in Neuvillette’s shoes, she would have long since enacted a performance grander than anything Fontaine has ever seen and asked you out on a date. Not just any date though, no, she would have to pull an all-nighter to come up with the best date there is. One does not simply go on a date with the God of Justice and have it be mediocre.

But all that aside, with how boring Neuvillette is with his stricter than strict rules and views on how one must go about their day, it falls upon her to make sure he doesn’t die as a decrepit old bachelor who’s never felt the touch of another person intimately. (Not that Furina had any say on the topic of intimacy, seeing as she’s never had any experience in the romantic aspects of life, but experience means nothing compared to the wisdom of the God of Justice!)

So, after many nights spent huddled beneath her blankets, scribbling on her notebook and brainstorming the best way to get a rise out of Neuvillette, she happened upon a breakthrough. An idea so great it would not only be something worthy of the Steambird’s headlines, but also be something the people of Fonatine would speak of for years to come.

Yes, it all comes down to this very moment, standing over the highest place in the opera with hundreds of eyes watching her as she points an accusing finger at your figure standing on the very stage she’s set up.

Neuvillette watches it all with his eyes narrowed at her, hands clasped tightly around his cane, and Furina would have loved to relish in that reaction, but alas, she must continue with her script.

With a haughty smile, she meets your eyes as she yells out loud to her captivated audience.

“I charge you, (Y/N), with the crime of theft!”

The people below gasp in shock at the sudden accusation. Only natural, of course. You, an esteemed person of reputable background who most people view as a kind person, being charged with theft? How scandalous!

But that’s not all!

“You stand accused of thievery,” Furina pauses for a dramatic effect, feeling the spectators hold their breaths as they await her final verdict.

She then looks up at Neuvillette, and it takes all she has in her not to burst in hysterics at the comically pinched face he’s sporting. She moves her finger from you to Neuvillette, practically preening in place as the assembled crowd below let out varying expressions of shock.

And with a smug smile, she deals the final blow.

“For stealing the Chief Justice of Fontaine’s heart!”

One, two, three—

Screams erupt from below. Women squealing in delight while the men cheer at the sudden twist from accusation to romance.

Furina basks in the attention as the people sing praises of her.

“Of course, how could not I have seen it before?”

“Lady Furina is so sharp to have caught on!”

“Monsieur Neuvillette and (Y/N) do make a good pair, don’t they?”

“How ingenious! As expected of our Lady Furina!”

But then, Neuvillette stands, a stern look on his face as he taps his cane on the ground hard enough to rattle her eardrums.

“Order!”

His face could have been made from stone with how hard he’s looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the spot. Yikes! Perhaps it’s time to make a swift escape…

“Lady Furina, might I remind you that charges and accusations are not to be made lightly within the court. To abuse your position in order to make a ridiculous statement. I…”

With every word that leaves his mouth, Furina slowly begins to feel that perhaps she’d been too hasty in thinking that all would turn out well. And oh, maybe she should have thought up of scenarios and what-to-dos after she finished performing her grand plan, but in her defense, she’d been too excited at the prospect of finally pushing you two together that it completely slipped her mind!

Is it too late to claim it was all an elaborate performance not meant to be taken seriously?

Neuvillette stares thunderously up at her.

She’ll take that as a no, then.

Just when all hope seemed to have been lost, a savior comes in the form of you raising your hand.

Neuvillette immediately stops speaking in favor of addressing you.

“Would the accused like to defend their innocence?”

You take a deep breath, gaze briefly flitting to Furina’s before meeting Neuvillette’s. And even without much prompt, from that single glance alone, she knew she was about to witness something extremely entertaining.

“I… I would like to press charges as well,” you say evenly, and for a second, Furina’s heart drops as she thinks you’re about to charge her for false accusations and perhaps even slander, (the first time in history that anyone has charged the God of Justice for a crime!) but then, you continue—

“I would like to press charges against you, Monsieur Neuvillette, for stealing my heart too.”

Your statement is followed by a stunned silence that only lasts for a brief moment, before it’s overcome by exclamations and whoops at the sudden turn of events.

Furina falls back on her seat and howls with laughter as she watches Neuvillette be struck speechless, red creeping up his cheeks as your statement echoes across the cavernous hall. She reminds herself to gift you something extravagant for saving her at the very last moment.

Ah, what a delightful way to end the show.

She watches you direct a besotted smile towards Neuvillette. Another day, another poor sod saved from the horrors of a nonexistent love life.

Furina mentally pats herself on the back for a job well done.

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura Haruno fic recs: romance-centric

I, like many others, definitely enjoy a a good romance every so often. All of these recs are going to have the romantic development of the characters as the forefront of the story, so just because the fic includes a ship doesn't mean it will go on the list. That means, many of them might feel more on the slice of life side of the spectrum, but that's not the case for all!!

There is going to be a mix of ships here so if you're interested in one in specific then use the search feature!

Started: 2024.08.28

Last Updated: 2024.12.19

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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To Build a Home - RedPowder || ao3 || E || kakasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Sakura and Kakashi are assigned a mission that will change the path of their lives forever.

Kakashi and Sakura are forced to marry on orders from the village and I know that description sounds dumb, but trust me when I say this fic is gold. I've always had a hard time with kakasaku fics because I feel the whole teacher/student thing gets swept under the rug too easily, but that's not the case here. Their past relationship from team 7 is a glaring shadow over their marriage and the guilt over the whole situation weighs heavy on Kakashi. This mission isn't easy for either of them and it takes a lot of pull and tug to ensure things don't completely blow up. To Build a Home is probably one of my favorite takes on this ship as the portrayal feels realistic and the character feel accurate to themselves. Just give it a go!

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Approaching Sun - ANerdInAllHerGlory || ffn || T || sasusaku || blank period || ongoing

After 2 years, Sasuke returns to the village where friends anxiously await him. Still troubled by the mysteries of Kaguya and his personal guilt, Sasuke is split between friends and his journey. Troubled by rising casualties and international dependence on her abilities, Sakura is torn between her love for Sasuke and her duty to her village.

Approaching Sun is probably one of the most realistic depictions of Sasuke and Sakura's relationship that I have read. This takes place during the blank period and references the novels, so it feels like an actual possibility of what went down. As much as I love them, I have a hard time believing that their relationship was smooth sailing and so I think this is an interesting take.

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The Fool - thekatthatbarks || ao3 || T || shikasaku || blank period || complete

Ino kicked at a pebble on the ground, her arms folded across her chest. “How long?” Shikamaru sighed and pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “The war." It was a lie somewhat. He’d liked her since they were kids but had simply ignored the budding crush expecting it to fade over time. It hadn’t and by the time the war came around, he accepted he would always carry it despite his increasing efforts to drop it. He’d tried drowning it in the river, burning it in a fire, covering it up with something else. But it was all to no avail. It stuck with him, always apart of him. “Have you ever told anyone? Chouji? Her?” "No."

I actually really like Shikamaru and Sakura as a pairing (or just working together in general); however, I haven't read much of them. The Fool was a great post-war read where with some meddling (curtesy of Ino) we get to watch the progression of their relationship into something more than friends.

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Nightmare in Red - Sariasprincy || ao3 || M || itasaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Haruno Sakura used to think the eyes were the windows to the soul, but after witnessing the horrors of the Sharingan firsthand, she's convinced they are the doors. It was pure chance that led Sakura to the discovery of the disease eating through Uchiha Itachi's lungs and now that she's aware, she knows she cannot just turn a blind eye. But how is she to treat the very man who tortured her while at the same time keep her nightmares from consuming her? That she doesn't know, but she knows she has to try, even if it nearly kills her in the end.

Itachi unintentionally captures Sakura in his mangekyou after being rolled into the hospital for her to heal. While Sakura tries to work through the impacts of the genjutsu she continues to work with him in an effort to cure him of the disease infecting his body. I actually really liked how the whole thing played out. Itachi's sickness was sort of a mystery in the original series and so I found it rather interesting to see what was done in regards to it. Anyway, I love their interactions and Shisui is (like always) a great character as well.

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Blind - ObsidianSickle || ffn || sasusaku || T || canon divergent || complete

It was almost time, Orochimaru was going to take his body as a vessel. He hated being used...he refused to be used. With that thought, he took the kunai in his hand and slashed across his eyes.

I won't lie, Sakura is pretty weak in Blind and the whole thing is super cheesy, but it's still an enjoyable read.

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Ghosts - ElegiesforShiva || ffn || sausaku || M || blank period || incomplete

In love and loss, it often comes back to family, and Team 7 had always been fated, hadn't they? Deny it as she may, Sakura finds her heart strung to them with an uncanny reverence and the weight of their ghosts. Sakura-centric. Heavy, heavy angst. Slow burn Sasusaku. Canon pairings. Lots of friendship feels. Eventual (consensual) lemon.

Ghosts is a pretty dark read where basically everyone is suffering. Sasuke and Sakura in specific have an especially hard time coping with their individual struggles yet they find comfort in each other. Check TWs before going in

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Home is Where the Heart is - DeepPoeticGirl || ffn || sasusaku || T || blank period || complete

And with every moment together, they get just a little closer, a little more comfortable with each other. Fall a little more in love. Post-war. Pre-epilogue.

This fic is actually adorable! Taking place during the black period we get to see how Sasuke and Sakura's relationship slowly progresses. If you've always wondered what their travels were like then definitely check this one out.

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In Times of Peace - SouthSideStory || ffn || sasusaku || M || blank period || canon divergent || complete

The war is over, and like Konoha, Team 7 has rebuilt itself from the ground up. Everything has changed, but Sasuke and Sakura remain much the same. Eleven years, she thinks, is a long time to be in love.

Sakura and Sasuke have like a secret relationship going on. Also, Sakura as a jonin sensei is so good!! I really wish that someone from the original cast actually went down that route, but whatever.

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Labyrinthine - FM_White || ao3 || itasaku || M || canon divergence || complete

ItaSaku (Post Uchiha Massacre) AU: Some things are destined to be. It just takes a couple of tries to get there.ItaSaku. Light KakaSaku.

I actually really liked how this was done as team 7 is still a family, Sasuke didn't lose his mind, Itachi picked a much more respectable path imo, and the characters are all adults.

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Only a Crush by Gingersoup || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon divergent || complete

It was supposed to be an easy, fun night out. She never intended to wake up in her sensei's bed, half-naked and with no memory of what happened the night before! As she tries to unravel the mystery of that night, something sinister is growing beyond the walls of the Leaf Village... and what was only a crush spirals wildly out of control.

Sakura is unwillingly thrust into the world of illegal drugs, trafficking, and sex all while coming to terms with her new feelings regarding her former sensei. I typically don't like kakasaku, but I think this work is done tastefully well. The characters are both adults and the immorality of the relationship is not ignored, so be prepared for a lot of "we can't," "this is wrong," etc.. Anyway, Sakura is an absolute powerhouse and I thoroughly enjoyed the relationship between all of the different characters and villages!

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Dreaming's End - thepiedsniper || ao3 || T || kakasaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura didn't avoid the Infinite Tsukuyomi with the others, and all the events that happened afterward were simply the product of her dream-state. When Sakura finally wakes up from years spent in her personal "paradise," she must to learn how to start again. Kakashi is there to help her. ~*~ (TWs for genjutsu-related unreality)

Basically, imagine the entirety of Boruto was Sakura's dream in Infinite Tsukuyomi. When Sakura manages to breakout during the war she's left to deal with serious ramifications of the life she just lived. She finds herself constantly questioning what's real and Kakashi tries to help her through it.

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Mamihlapinatapai - FM_White || ao3 || E || itasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Mamihlapinatapai・Yagan. (n.) a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire, but which neither wants to begin In which Sakura tries her hardest to raise one hell of a rambunctious baby by herself, Sasuke is searching for something unknown, and Itachi is the uncle.

In another life where Itachi doesn't end up dying and instead tries his best to help Sakura raise his niece in Sasuke's absence. It's my head canon that everyone came together to help with Sarada just like they did for Kuranai, and so Mamihlapinatapi satisfies that thought for me. I like how Sasuke was criticized in this since as much as I understand the necessity of what he's doing, I also find it completely unfair to his wife and daughter. Itachi and Sakura form a great bond and it's all very domestic and just super fluffy all around, which I love.

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Louder than Words - SouthSideStory || ao3 || T || sasusaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Sakura hasn’t uttered a single word since the day her family died, but Sasuke is determined to hear her, one way or another. (No Uchiha massacre AU.)

Sakura gets taken in by the Uchiha family after Fugaku finds her on a mission. She's been mute ever since, but that doesn't stop her and Sasuke from forming a close bond.

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Snake Bound - shefalls || ao3 || E || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

"You... took me with you." "That's what I said." "To Orochimaru. You took me with you, to Orochimaru." Sasuke nodded curtly and shoved the medical kit a little more insistently into her hands. Sakura accepted, and prayed to every known god that Orochimaru would ignore her existence. She should've known the gods don't listen. Now only on AO3. Sequel up.

What if Sasuke took Sakura with him like she asked? Snake Bound explores that idea and it's honestly a very uncomfortable read. Their relationship is based off of the isolation and dependency their new situation puts them in. All they really have is each other and the new bond that brings is not a healthy one.

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Armour-Sleeved Single Hit - thatdamnuchiha || ao3 || T || madasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Sasuke always told Sakura she was weak. Even after she trained with Tsunade for years he only had eyes for Naruto whom he considered strong. She would forever be invisible to him no matter how many mountains she toppled.Being a member of Team Seven despite Sasuke’s refusal to acknowledge her meant she got herself into her fair share of sticky situations. Getting stuck a hundred odd years in the past had to take the cake though.But she was just a weak little girl and compared to the shinobi of old she’d be ridiculously pathetic. Sasuke had said she was weak to him – a modern day shinobi who hadn’t been forced into battle after battle like they did in the Warring Clans Era. Obviously she’d be nothing more than a spec of dirt in the eyes of the Founders.

Sakura manages to find herself in founding-era Konoha! While trying to prove that medical ninja are capable fighters she unknowingly gains the affection of Madara Uchiha. After all, the Uchiha find beauty in strength. Super cute read!

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Always You - alex-halcyon || ffn || T || kakasaku || age swap AU || complete

[AU. Age-swap] Kakashi x Sakura. From academy days to the third shinobi war and beyond, Kakashi and Sakura grow up and fall in love.

Basically, Sakura takes Rin's place on the old team 7. The progression between the character is quite interesting as it definitely isn't smooth sailing for Kakashi and Sakura. However, even through everything they find themselves drifting towards each other. Pretty cute imo.

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interim - stannide || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke lives with Sakura in the weeks after the war.

Interim is such a wholesome read where Sasuke and Sakura rekindle their former relationship. Super fluffy

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Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Tozette || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke is actually eighteen the first time he looks at Sakura and realises abruptly that he wants her.

I think we all know by now that Sasuke has always been attracted to strength, power, so why not when it comes to romance? Essentially, one day on a mission, Sasuke discovers he has a strength kink. Watching him continuously get flustered throughout the fic because of his admiration towards Sakura's strength is so entertaining. Really fun read

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the problem with how time works - MurderMittens || ao3 || E || kakasaku || generation swap AU || complete

"I don't remember you being this uncomfortable when Kakashi was nine and had a crush on you," Ino pointed out neutrally. "You thought it was flattering before." She moved to pour more wine into their glasses as Sakura exhaled sharply out of her nostrils. "Obviously! It was fucking cute when he was a kid! But now he's..." she trailed off, gesticulating feebly. Ino, taking pity on her, finished the sentence: "Now he's a stone cold hottie who looks and sounds like he'd murder the ever-loving shit out of your vagina."

Sakura and Kakashi's generations swap place and boy is it entertaining. With Naruto as his sensei, of course Kakashi has met Sakura. Now that she's back in the village after years, Kakashi decides to try his best to win her over.

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on still water - summersirius || ao3 || T || shisaku || canon divergence || complete

and sometimes, there are days without rain. —shisui/sakura

I'm actually devastated that the author decided to not pursue the plot line after about chapter 15 (it was so good too), but On Still Water is great nonetheless. Some really cute Shisui x Sakura moments

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never let 'em know your next move - MirrorImage003 || ao3 || T || itasaku || non-massacre AU || one-shot complete

six times itachi is surprised by sakura, and the one time he's surprised by his mother.

Sort of drabble style moments between Itachi and Sakura and it's honestly adorable.

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Hatsukoi - sparklyfaerie || ao3 || sasusaku || gen || non-massacre AU || complete

Sasuke leans away as the girl turns to him, and his mother doesn't need to be any closer to guess as to the expression on his face. The girl's body language changes in an instant, and Mikoto recognizes the posture of a little girl in love. It's kind of adorable.

Probably one of the cutest sasusaku fics I have read as Hatsukoi follows them from genin to marriage! It's told in multiple perspectives and it's full of tooth rotting fluff. You get to watch the slow progression of their relationship over time and how they grow even closer in Naruto's absence. Definitely read is you want something light!

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(oh, you'll probably go to heaven) please don't hang your head & cry - SafelyCapricious || ao3 || T || itasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

There’s no such thing as a good death. But Sakura faces her death without any regrets. Her dying is keeping her precious people safe — and that’s all she can ask for. So she dies with a smile, taking thousands of enemies with her. She wakes up and falls off the branch she’s laying on.

More of a pre-ship than anything actually romantic, so maybe this isn't the best for this list lmao.

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Ghost - twilightdazzle || ffn || M || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura is officially declared missing on a Wednesday morning. Wednesday, what a stupid day to go missing. Of course, Sakura is the only person he knows that is annoying enough to interrupt the middle of the week like this.

Sakura goes missing and this fic is basically Sasuke slowly losing his mind over it. Ghost is honestly pretty darn touching and feels true to Sasuke's character. Everyone is concerned for Sakura and that doesn't exclude him despite how nonchalant he makes himself seem.

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Send me some recs if you have any to share! I'm generally fine with any ship as long as the story is good :)

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

I was going to post a different au idea tonight, but this idea caught me in a death-grip and would not let me go, so enjoy!

Note: You can find the translations for the old English at the end!

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here, and part three here!

In this au, Merlin dies at Camlann instead of Arthur, and his magic was diffused into the king and kingdom he so loved upon his death, making everyone in Camelot immortal. After a few centuries of thriving though, Merlin's magic starts to fade, and everyone falls into an almost comatose state. It keeps them all alive and protected the kingdom from intruders, but it could not keep them awake. However, the people of Camelot did not worry about this. Both the druids and the dragon had proclaimed that Merlin would return to the world of the living again one day. So, they were content to sleep peacefully and await the day of their friend's return. Slowly, the earth rose up to swallow Camelot, and the sleeping kingdom was buried underneath the earth.

Fast forward to modern day, and Merlin's been reincarnated without any of his memories or his magic. He winds up as an archeologist, and eventually is sent out to a promising dig site on the border between England and Wales. There, his team unearths a window into an old fortress. Their sonar equipment has revealed a full castle underneath their feet, and they have everything prepped for a preliminary excavation! They've already found coins and a few blades on the site, dating back to the 6th century!

Now, stories of the "immortal kingdom of Camelot" and its undying and legendary king Arthur were commonplace, and Merlin quite enjoyed those stories as a child. However, historians doubted if Camelot was ever a real kingdom at all, and no one past the age of six believed in an immortal kingdom! Merlin, deep down, was hoping that the dig site was indeed the historical kingdom Camelot itself, as much of the kingdom's history had been lost and buried under ridiculous myths about magic and dragons.

However, the issue is that the window that they discovered is pretty small. Merlin, as the skinniest out of all of them, would probably be the only one who could fit through it. Excitedly, Merlin puts on his safety harness and hard hat and descends through the window and into the castle.

Merlin explores for a bit, constantly telling the team on the surface all about the amazingly preserved artifacts in the castle. There's tapestries, suits of armor, furniture, even clothing still in wardrobes all in perfect condition! The entire team is besides themselves with excitement! They've just made the most important discovery of their careers!

Merlin spends a few more days exploring the castle by himself. Eventually, he comes to a rather impressive and ornately decorated door and decides to find out what's behind it. It must be something pretty important to warrant such an impressive door! Perhaps the throne room?

As he opens the door though, he lets out a loud gasp, shocked by two things in the room. First, the large round table in the middle of the room. He knew that he was near the supposed site of the lost kingdom of Camelot, but this confirmed it! All of the legends spoke about king Arthur's round table, and here it was before him, confirming the legends!

However, Merlin's elation was dashed by the second thing he noticed: bodies. There were bodies occupying the seats around the table, all of them slumped over or slouching in their seats with their eyes closed, but they were not skeletal remains that should have been there, seeing as how no one had set foot in those room for hundreds of years. No, these people looked like they had only been there for a day, with no signs of decay on them.

As Merlin's fear began to rise, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe this kingdom had surprisingly advanced embalming techniques and had unusual burial rituals? What other explanation could there possibly be?

As Merlin reported the bodies to his colleagues on the surface, they warned him to be careful is something didn't feel right, which it certainly didn't. Something about these bodies creeped Merlin out in a way that no other human remains had ever done. However, Merlin's unease lessened somewhat as he described the bodies to his colleagues, his excitement at such a well-preserved find started eclipsing his fear.

There were in total five male bodies and one female body, with four of the male bodies being clad in chainmail, surcoats, trousers, and long bright red capes with an insignia of a golden dragon sown into it. The other male body was similarly clad in chainmail and a cape, but wore a golden crown on his head. Lastly, the lone female body, who was sitting to the left of the crowned male body, was a dark-skinned woman wearing an ornate and richly decorated dress along with a small silver crown on her head.

Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest as he came to the natural conclusion of these observations: he had just found the perfectly-preserved bodies of a king, queen, and four knights. Forget making his career, Merlin was going to be put in the history books for this discovery! Quickly, he called his colleagues (who had finally found a way to safely widen the entrance at the window) to follow the line of his harness and join him in the room he had just found. They needed to see this!

Finally turning away from the bodies, Merlin let his gaze wander around the room. He takes note of the impressively high ceilings for the time period, the repetition of the dragon crest on decorations around the room, and the designs carved into the wood of the round table. However, one of the most intriguing elements of the room, was the lone empty chair sitting next to the king.

The fact that there was only one empty chair was strange enough, but there were a few even stranger elements to the chair. The chair was directly to the right of the king, presumably reserved for the king's right hand, his chief advisor. Why would such an important figure be missing here? Another puzzling feature of the chair was the scrap of red cloth that was tied around one of the arms of the chair.

Stepping closer to examine the little piece of cloth, he could see at first glance that the cloth was old, battered, and made with cheap material, unlike the richer cloth that made up the knights' and kings' capes. What was this random piece of cloth doing tied around the arm of this chair, which presumedly belonged to a powerful figure in the kingdom?

A sudden piercing shriek caused Merlin to jump into the air. He looked up and across the table, relieved to see that it was just four of his colleagues who had just entered the room. They must've been freaked out by the well-preserved bodies too! Merlin certainly couldn't blame them for such a reaction.

Merlin chuckled a bit and spoke to his frightened coworkers. "Well, what did I tell you? This is going to shock the world! We've just made the discovery of a lifetime!"

However, his colleagues were only getting paler by the second, not even looking at him, instead looking... past him? Merlin frowned a bit and turned to look over his left shoulder, at the body of the king, which was where his coworkers were staring. What could possibly...

His eyes were open. His eyes were definitely not open before.

As soon as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, Merlin let out a panicked shriek and flung himself backwards, away from the king who he swore was dead just a second ago what the fuck was happening?!

Unfortunately, Merlin desperate attempt to get away from the maybe-undead king sent him sprawling to the ground, having tripped over the empty chair, and his shriek had jolted his colleagues into action. The four of them ran forwards and grabbed ahold of Merlin, dragging him back towards the entrance to the room while never taking their eyes off of the maybe-undead king.

As they made their way back to the entrance though, something truly horrifying happened. The king moved. He blinked and moved his neck to track their movements.

Oh god, that thing was awake and aware that they were here! They needed to get out of there!

Together, the group turned and ran as quickly as they could back towards the entrance. Horrifyingly, as soon as they were out of sight of the king, they could hear the screeching sound of a chair sliding against the stone floor. Each one of them could feel their hearts pounding with fear as they all realized at once: the king, whatever he was, was going to chase after them.

They nearly all have heart attacks when they hear a voice roaring after them, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

After a tense few minutes of running with the terrifying echo of boots chasing after them ringing in their ears, they finally reached the hallway connecting to their window entrance. They could see the light outside! They were almost free!

Fear gripped all of their chests, however, when a group of what should have been corpses blocked their path, cutting them off from the sight of the daylight. For a second, Merlin thought about making a break for it and attempts to run through them, but then the probably-undead knights unsheathed their swords (which were still somehow sharp and pristine after 1500 years, this was getting ridiculous!)

The group quickly turned around, hoping to run back and perhaps find another path towards their freedom, only to have their hopes dashed by the sight of the undead king storming towards them with his sword (why was it golden?) unsheathed and rage in his eyes.

Looking between them, the closest thing that they had to a weapon were a couple hard hats. They were doomed, and they could see their death marching towards them.

Getting closer, the king furiously shouted at them again with unfamiliar words. "Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

The group of five archeologists are shaking in their boots at this point, fearing for their lives. Each of them had reached the only logical conclusion about their ludicrous and possibly deadly situation: they must have woken the king and his knights from their eternal rest, and they were now angry at the archeologists for disturbing their final resting place.

As the knights close in on them and grab ahold of each of them, they're all prepared for the worst. As the king barks commands at the knights, all of the archeologists are prepared to be meet with some horrible death.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

At the king's commands, the knights nodded, and while Merlin was led down the hallway to the right, the others were led back down the dark hallway from which they had fled. Merlin tried to call out to his colleagues and to shove his way out of the knight's grip, but the knight responded by picking Merlin up and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, eliminating Merlin's ability to fight back.

Merlin tried to calm his mind and to avoid thoughts of what horrible fate would be in store for him at his destination. His treacherous mind spun up terrible theories as to why he had been separated from his group, each one more horrifying than the last.

Finally, the knight seemed to have arrived at his destination. As the knight pushed the door open, Merlin tried to brace himself for what horrible instruments of torture were surely inside.

However, there were no torture instruments at all. There were only sheets of paper strewn about, some herb bundles here and there, lots of little vials and pots scattered around, and an old man slowly walking towards them.

The old man blinked in what looked like surprise, followed by tears seeming to brim in his eyes. What the hell was going on?! The man spoke softly, "Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr."

The knight deposited Merlin gently on a nearby small bed and gave him some sort of smirk before speaking to him in a surprisingly gentle, almost teasing, voice, "Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele."

When Merlin could do nothing but stare at the knight, more bewildered than he's ever been in his life, the knight seemed to take offense to his inaction and began tugging at the bottom of Merlin's shirt, trying to pull it over his head. After a brief struggle, the knight emerged victorious, holding Merlin's shirt in his hands and grinning like a loon. Why on earth had the knight wanted his shirt of all things? What was he about to be subjected to?!

After a tense few minutes, the old man pottered over to where Merlin was sitting, bringing a small bag along with him. The man then began looking over Merlin's torso, paying particular attention to a certain to a spot underneath Merlin's ribs, prodding it repeatedly.

Merlin was quite uncomfortable being examined like this, but with an undead knight in the room still armed with a sword, there wasn't much Merlin could do to without risking getting stabbed. Well, at least the old man wasn't hurting him, so he supposed that he could look on the bright side and be grateful for that.

Eventually, the old man seemed satisfied with his examination of Merlin and addressed the knight again. "Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge."

The knight nodded at the old man, looking pleased at whatever he had just been told. Then, the old man turned to him and handed him the small bag. "Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian."

Merlin gently took the bag from the old man and tentatively opened it and pulled out its contents. Inside the bag were a scratchy red tunic, a pair of old trousers, a brown jacket, a thin leather belt, and a scrap of blue cloth. Merlin looked up at the knight and the old man, unsure of what to make of these clothes.

The knight just rolled his eyes, snatched the tunic out of Merlin's hands, and started pulling the tunic over Merlin's head. Did they... did they want Merlin to put on the clothes? That seemed like the correct answer, as they looked happy when Merlin complied and put on the tunic, and they pushed Merlin towards a small room in the back of the chambers with the clothing still in his hands.

Alright, Merlin thought to himself, he would change clothes in this odd little broom closet if that kept him from being stabbed.

(And he did not acknowledge the part of his mind that swore that he knew this room, that this room was his. That was ridiculous, he had never seen this place before in his life!)

After putting on the trousers, belt, and jacket, all Merlin was left with was the scrap of blue cloth. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Should he keep it in his pocket or something?

However, it seemed like his hands moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, as his hands, seemingly of their own accord, wrapped the blue cloth around his neck a couple time before typing it in the front. Huh, that was strange. Merlin normally didn't wear scarves, why did he know that this piece of cloth was a scarf?

It was... strange. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, namely not getting killed by undead medieval knights. After taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin opened the door and stepped back out into the main room, where the old man and the knight were waiting for him.

They both smiled at the sight of him, and the knight quickly slung an arm over Merlin's shoulders, said what was presumably a goodbye to the old man, and started leading Merlin back out they way they came.

At this point, Merlin started struggling again. If he could just escape from this knight, he could get back to the surface and gather a rescue team to save the others! But the knight's grip of him was tight, and after a certain amount of Merlin's struggling, the knight just sighed and threw Merlin over his shoulder again. Damn it!

Merlin tried to reference places that he had already seen as the knight dragged him deeper into the castle. An escape route would be essential if he was going to make it out of here alive. However, Merlin's hope was quickly running dry as he was carried further and further away from the only exit to this godforsaken castle and further away from any area that he had explored so far.

What's worse was that, as they went, Merlin could see more and more undead (maybe undead? what else could they be?) people throughout the castle. And it wasn't just knights either: there were guards, servants, and even what looked like noblemen and noblewomen running around the castle. What made all of this truly eerie for Merlin though, is that all of them would stop and stare as soon as they saw him. Even though he was dressed like one of them, they could still somehow tell that he was an outsider, not one of their number.

After what felt like an eternity, the knight finally stopped in front of a large door and put Merlin down. Merlin's dread skyrocketed as the guards opened the doors and the knight dragged him inside.

The room itself was richly decorated, with a dining table, a study, and a plush canopy bed. If looked like a room fit for... a king.

Oh no.

As if summoned by Merlin's thoughts, the king rounded a corner and appeared before them, thankfully looking less angry than before, but still sending Merlin's fear into overdrive. Merlin jumped at the sound of doors slamming shut behind him, leaving him trapped with the king.

Merlin was sure that he was shaking terribly, but he managed force his joint to work and took a step backwards as the king began to approach him. Merlin continued to back away from the king until his back met the cold, unyielding wood of the door. Slowly, the king stepped towards Merlin, his eyes never leaving Merlin's form.

In what was entirely too short of a time period in Merlin's opinion, the king had closed the distance between them and was within an arm's reach of Merlin. Merlin's eyes desperately darted around for a weapon, anything he could possibly use the defend himself with, but there was nothing that he could reach.

As the king took one last step closer to Merlin, Merlin closed his eyes and braced himself for pain, even death. However, to his shock, no pain came. Instead, the felt the king's warm hands on his shoulders, and without warning, he was roughly pulled into a hug. What the actual fuck?!

Through the king's ragged breathing, he could hear more of those unfamiliar words, this time spoken tenderly.

"Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr. = Is it really him? Oh, my boy, you've returned to us! Here, Sir Gwaine, set him down on the cot and have him take his shirt off so I can see if his wound is still there.

Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele. = You heard the man, Merlin! Off with your shirt now. I know you can be shy about it, but this time it's pretty important.

Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge. = Well, he seems to be in perfect health! You can tell Arthur that I am pleased to report that I could find no sign of his previous injury.

Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian. = My boy, I am so deeply glad to see you again. You have been dearly missed! Here, we've saved some of your clothes for you! I'm sure that you'll feel better wearing something familiar again.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Well, I hope you guys liked this au! What I originally planned to be a short little prompt turned into this beast of a post! I probably won't be able to post on Friday (since I'm planning on adding a new chapter to my fic on ao3 on Friday or Saturday), so hopefully this will tide you all over until the weekend!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

(And please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!)

EDIT: You can find a continuation of this au here!

[dinsbeskar]

Wicked Game (Sauron/F!Reader)

He knows he shouldn't covet you, that he is above such earthy things as love. So why does he stalk you in the forests you call home? It's love at first sight, and the feeling is mutual; or:

Sauron engages in some light stalking and gets the girl somehow.

Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Wicked Game / Beautiful Stranger / Iris

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

Warnings: 18+! Smut, fluff, lil bit of angst, P in V sex, fingering, licking/biting. Sauron!! He's super creepy, sorry, idk what to say, there's some stalking, some creepy behaviour, he's a bit unhinged. Love at first sight!! Like babe it's been an afternoon, calm down. Anyway we move fast!!

A/N: bro is head empty, no thoughts, down bad in this, sorry!! in this house we subscribe to the 'elves fuck once and they're married for eternity' idea, so there's that tiny spoiler for you!

Word Count: 6.2k!

Mairon was already old when he met you, unfathomably ancient in fact, wandering Arda and beholding the power of creation, amongst other things. He was sure he had already experienced everything there was on the physical plain, but you would prove him wrong indeed. When the first Elves awoke, he felt a pull, like many of the Ainur, to see the new life that now roamed the forests and plains they had sung into being. He was not the first spirit to stumble across the peoples of Middle Earth, and he would not be the last. Watching your people dance and sing and create gave him new inspiration to take back to Aulë's forge, to bring order and balance to your lives as he saw fit, for who could know better than he?

Today was a feast day, when all of your people were out in the forest hunting and foraging, mirthful song filling the glades as you ran barefoot through the trees, breathless with laughter and exertion, carrying a basket of berries meant for the evening's festivities. Pale golden light streamed through the leafy canopy, dust motes floating in the rays and sparkling like the stars above. You looked around for your companions, a little far off beyond the thicket you had picked through for its fruit. Unperturbed, you continued, hearing the silvery sound of water flowing somewhere in the vicinity. A drink or a dip was almost certain, you thought, to refresh you and your companions before the feast, but you would find it first and save them from searching. Soft birdsong and rustling leaves accompanied by a warm breeze made for the perfect setting; how could you wish for more?

He makes a great effort to be silent, not wishing to frighten you, unsure of how his sudden appearance might affect you. After all, you hadn't heard him the countless times before, why should you now? He matches your footsteps, remaining in step with you behind the trees in the merciful shadow, careful not to disturb the undergrowth, picking carefully through the wildflowers that scent the air. Your pointed ears prick up at a rustle in the trees, and you snap your head round to investigate. He darts behind a gnarled oak tree, holding his breath and awaiting your discovery. You smile and shake your head softly; what could you possibly be afraid of in these forests, your home for decades? You continue following the sound of the stream up ahead, ignoring all other sounds in the forest now, much to his satisfaction. How innocent you are, how much you need his protection, for what would you do if there were forces that wished to subdue you or do you harm? The glint in his eye grows as he draws closer, still choosing to remain hidden from you. He could use his powers to disguise himself, to stalk you unnoticed almost hand in hand with you, and had done on a few occasions, close enough to smell your soft hair, even to take a few strands for himself, but somehow he likes this better, imagining you the innocent prey to his stealthy predator, a thrill at the though of catching you rushing through him as quickly as he pushes it away. He only wants to watch you, to know you, to observe, nothing more. What interest could you possibly have in one another beyond curiosity?

The first time he saw you, many moons ago, you'd been surrounded by your fellow Elves, dancing in harmony in a field of wildflowers, sweet music in the air. He hadn't thought much of you at first if truth be told, you were all very much alike; all fair and graceful, joyful and innocent. It was only when the music picked up, your dance became faster and more frenetic, that an Elf with long golden hair had tripped and fallen, disrupting the rhythm, leaving all your companions giggling at her misfortune. He too had laughed at her stumble, grateful that the music covered his sudden outburst, but then he noticed you, with your hand outstretched and a comforting smile to greet your fallen comrade, who shook herself off while you picked stray leaves from her hair. She seemed unhurt, and no one else was concerned, already having resumed their merriment, but you held back a moment to check she was well. He was instantly captivated, itching to reveal himself and carry you off, to protect the light within you, or consume it wholly. The tiny semblance of self-restraint he had left held him back, told him to wait and observe, to absorb all he could about you; the idea of you rejecting his advances was intolerable, triggering waves of nauseous anger throughout his being. No, patience would serve him, and so he had waited, oh so patiently. Your kindness had, and would, be your undoing.

Illuminated up ahead is the stream you've been chasing; it's small, barely a trickle, but you follow it regardless. The water is cool and clear and refreshes your worn feet, and you lift your dress to keep it clear as you pad down the river bed, feeling the sandy mud between your toes being washed away as you lift your feet into the current. The light is beginning to fade now, you know you should turn back, but you're sure there is a pool nearby, and it would feel so good to swim a little before getting back to the others. They could share in it tomorrow, but today you could bask in some sweet time alone.

He has been following your softly trodden path in the mossy forest floor, but when he reaches the water's edge, it vanishes. Cursing, he casts about, searching for a hint of your next steps. He had only stopped for a moment, distracted by the way your hair catches the light, your graceful smile, the way your dress flows over your frame. A fleeting thought of taking that same dress off you, the image of you pliant underneath him, all had left him breathless, frankly caught unawares, still unused to the urge to get close to you even after all this time, and the strange feelings that coursed through his fair form that he had never experienced before setting his gaze upon you. He had passed a few golden afternoons like this - perhaps many if he were ever honest - watching and waiting for you, but every occasion felt like a lifetime, which for Mairon was indeed no understatement.

Frustration coursed through him, filling the pit of his stomach with a strange churning at the thought of losing you; it was a feeling he couldn't quite place, nor come to terms with. These mortal forms were not for him, he decided, the lack of clarity in these feelings was suffering enough, and he turned to leave, embarrassed now that he had let it get this far. It was a foolish errand, carried out once too often, following you through the forest with no thought but to see what you would do if you only turned around, saw him, embraced him-

A sharp crack rang out through the trees as he snapped a branch under his feet in his haste, all thoughts of moving in the shadows abandoned as his self-admonishment moved him to run, to leave now before he could become entangled with you. But as he scolded himself for his lack of self control, he heard you call out.

"Who's there? Did you find me? And here I was, hoping for some peace," you laugh, expecting your friends to join you as you wade in the crystal clear waters.

Your eyes widen and you stare at the stranger who appears as if from the shadows themselves, a small smile gracing his face. He is ethereal, and frankly you have never beheld a being more beautiful, but for the first time in your life, a small voice deep in your mind advises caution.

"I didn't mean to startle you, young one," his smooth voice reaches your ears and sends tingles from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

"You didn't," you lie, after a long pause, not wanting to discomfort him any more than he seemed to be. Blood rushed to your face as he regards you intensely, as if you'd met before.

"Were you looking for something? The pool perhaps? It is a warm day, I couldn't be too surprised to find someone else had the same idea." You gesture to yourself with your skirts around your waist, legs submerged.

He steps closer, still regarding you, his smile widening. You had said something right apparently, and you couldn't shake the feeling of satisfaction that his lovely smile gave you; as long as he kept looking at you like that, you felt you might be content forever, such were the tender pangs your heart suddenly felt in his presence. You didn't even know his name, and so immediately you ask.

"I have many names," he articulates carefully, eyes on yours, unblinking.

"So what name should I use for you?" You ask teasingly, beginning to step out of the water, wringing the edges of your skirts out.

Unthinking he stretches out his hand, and as if on instinct, you take it, not needing the assistance but immediately grateful you took it. His hand is warm and strong, and encircles yours comfortingly, fitting perfectly. A wave of some strange feeling overtakes you, a heat beginning in your abdomen, flowing through you. You've never experienced it before, but from what you have heard from your married kin, it might be called lust.

Your face feeling hot now, you look away, anywhere but at this beautiful stranger, and notice a small dark stain blooming on his shoe. Your eyes widen and you drop to your knees to look closer, unheeding of the change in his stance as he takes you in from above. What magic could you wield over him in this position, he wonders.

"You're hurt, my lord," you motion to his foot, and he realises that in his trance, the branch had broken his sole and pierced his flesh. The pain had gone unnoticed until now, your spell over him seeming to soothe any ill in his body or soul, but now that you'd pointed it out, he winced and cursed this body of flesh and bone, so easily vulnerable to the perils of mortality, even if his fëa was not.

"Come, let me look at it, it might be serious," you beckon him to follow you to a fallen tree trunk, lying oh so conveniently on its side, as if waiting for two lovers to take their seats on its bark. He stands awkwardly, watching you, his brow furrowed as if he had no idea what you have planned, before you laugh and pull him to sit. Without ceremony, you strip him of his shoe and examine the wound.

"That is a lot of blood for such a small wound," you murmur, tracing the arch of his foot. You find yourself touching his skin a fraction too long, and without looking at him, you straighten and go back to the pool.

His eyes never leave you, even as you avoid his gaze, ripping a strip of gauzy fabric from your dress and wetting it, before hurrying back. Almost imperceptible to the average observer, your hands shake, but he is not the average observer, and he has observed you for quite a while now. You're nervous, he realises with a tiny smirk, and it thrills him, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. All these new feelings this body gave him, they don't appear to cease evolving while you're this close, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin and nearly gasps. He needs to pull himself together, but try as he might, alas, your kindness was intoxicating. He had known such goodness in Aman when he'd dwelt there with his kin, if you could call them that, but his recent company was somewhat lacking in that department.

You sit back on your haunches and look once more at the wound, now nearly clean and seemingly smaller than it had been. Shrugging to yourself, you carefully dab away the blood that still drips onto the ground beneath you, soaking into the moss and ferns; you don't notice how they seem to brown and wilt with each drop.

"Is everything alright, my lady?" He asks, quick to notice your confusion, eager to distract you from the plants at your knees.

His lady, that did sound delightful. You know it is a manner of speech, but for a moment it is rather blissful to imagine it, the lady to this gracious lord.

"I think I might have overestimated how badly you were injured, it seems to be only a scratch," you reply, still a little bemused as to the disproportionate amount of blood. How were you to know that he could heal himself with nary a thought.

You start to pull away, but he is reluctant to let you go so soon, wishing for a moment it had been a serious matter, that he would require all of your gentle care and undivided attention for the foreseeable future, kicking himself that he didn't allow the wound to fester and bloom. He casts about for any excuse and uncharacteristically lands on a weak one.

"Your dress, my lady, how can I make it up to you? After all, your efforts ought not be in vain." He knows how to ingratiate himself with most folk, and makes the most of his skills to do so, but there is a tiny part of him now that actually feels he owes a kindness in return. It's an alien notion, and he attempts to brush it aside, but as he lingers in your presence, he realises that he would sooner abduct you from this glade than let you leave him, and if a kindness is what it will take, then he will fulfil it.

A small crinkle appears in your brow, then you glance down at the torn hem and chuckle.

"It is nothing, my lord, easily fixed, and anyone would have done the same." You graciously reply.

The way you look up at him through your lashes, his heart skips a beat; he didn't even know it could do that.

Your small nervous smile becomes radiant, beaming even, as you bask in the glow of the dappled light illuminating his face. You realise you don't want him to leave just yet, inexplicably drawn to his presence, and you cast about for any reason at all that would keep him here.

"I'm afraid your shoe is a little wet." To your credit, it actually is wet, full of blood, but in an inexplicable act to scupper his departure, before he can react and you can elaborate, you find yourself holding it on the water's edge.

Your hands move faster than your brain, and you drop it into the shallows, looking him dead in the eye.

For a moment, all is still between you, and you bite your lip, your mischievous grin suddenly uneasy as your mind catches up with you and you consider what in all of Middle Earth you just did. This is a total stranger, an ethereallly beautiful one at that, and you have no idea how he will react to your escapade. You straighten and wring your hand a little behind your back, awaiting a wrath that would never come.

"It would appear it is very wet, my lady." And he throws back his head and laughs long and hard, a sound that you want to elicit from him again and again.

When you are lying entwined together, many years and hardships later, he will ask you what you were thinking, and as ever you answer him honestly: you only wanted him to stay, however you had to do it.

With a playful laugh, you retrieve the sodden shoe and shake it off, before holding it out to him. He can still leave, you think, but it will be mighty awkward.

He takes it, throws it behind him, kicks off his other shoe, and shrugs off his robe. Your mouth falls open a little and you lick your lips unconsciously, as his frame is revealed, taut and lean, through his thin shirt. He rucks up his trousers and joins you in the shallow water, shivering a little at the sensation.

Instinctively, you outstretch your hand to steady him, and he takes it without thinking. His touch soothes any nerves you had and sparks a fire that seems to trail up your arm and end in your aching chest. You hadn't noticed you were holding your breath and slowly exhaled, careful not to alert him to your sudden onslaught of sensation. He considers you for a moment, smile tugging at his lips, seemingly fascinated by where you are joined, fingers entwined. And then he has a mad idea.

The tension in the air is cut by a sudden splash of water on your face, and as you clear your eyes, you realise he was the one that had thrown it. He had seen many an elf play-fighting in the water all the time, throwing it at one another joyously, victory seemingly determined by who doused their opponents the most. He had never partaken, obviously, but now inspiration took him, and you had made the first move with his shoe, but now as he watched your face screw up with indignation, water in your eyes and hair, he wasn't so sure it was the right jest with which to entice you.

For a moment you are dumbfounded. This stranger, whose name you still didn't even know, whom you'd only met in the last hour, had started a water fight.

Seemingly affronted, you snatch your hand away and make to leave, turning your back to him. His face falls and he realises this was probably not the way to win your affections.

"My lady, I-" his apology is cut short by an armful of water to the face, as you reach down into the pool and swing as much as you can in his general direction in one fell swoop.

Cackling with triumphant laughter, you can't help but feel a little sorry for him as he stands there absolutely sopping wet, eyebrows in his hairline, looking positively flabbergasted. Unfortunately for you, his eyes narrow as he realises your subterfuge, and the game commences.

It is over soon enough, the two of you emerging soaked and giggling like children, having run rings around each other and giving as good as you got, both of you thoroughly avenged. As you both wade back to shore, he takes your hand and holds it in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, I present the victor of the battle-"

He is interrupted by the both of you breaking down into breathless laughter once again, two strangers no more.

On the sandy bank, he climbs out first, and awaits you, but you hold back.

"What should I call you then, my lord, unless that is what you prefer to be named?" You have to ask, needing introductions now you had so thoroughly beaten him in battle, never mind your fascination with him, the overwhelming urge to pull him close.

"I have many names, my lady, and you have not yet told me yours," he replies, almost but not quite frowning at you, confused as to why it really matters, why you would need to know who he is after having passed such a pleasurable afternoon together.

"You first, I asked you before and you avoided the question." Your expression is now serious; why would he want to conceal himself from you, after you had passed such a pleasurable afternoon together?

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I have many names, but the one I prefer," he holds his breath a little, still unsure as to how you might receive him, "is Mairon."

After a long pause, in which he considers fleeing, or possibly burning the forest down, your expression brightens as you mull over his name, feel it in your mouth, wonder over the meaning.

"That is beautiful," you murmur, "the admirable? You must be something wonderful to have earned such a name, my lord."

Relief washes over him as he realises his true name must not yet be known in these parts; rumours and slander would not colour his attempts to woo you after all.

His gaze softens as he watches you taste his name on your tongue, and he has a sudden aching longing to know what it sounds like when you're on your back and breathless under him. Surely nothing could be sweeter.

"And you, love, what am I to call you?" He is so struck by you, he barely notices the crucial detail that slips from his lips, but you do, and you regard him with a strange look he can't place.

Love, he said, so casually and so delicious to hear, your breath hitches and for a second the world spins. You've only just met this man, if he is even a man, and he uses such pet names as if you've known each other a lifetime.

"Amarië, that's what everyone calls me." You had almost forgotten he had asked, and it was only the silence between you that reminded you to answer.

"Goodness. A fitting name for so virtuous a maiden." He steps closer, still on the bank, oh so tall above you, the light through the trees illuminating him from behind, leaving his features in shadow.

Of course, he already knew your name, and had always thought it fitting. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had hesitated to approach you, for surely one so good could not possibly want nor need one such as him, despite the ache in his heart that told him you were his to take, the rest of Arda be damned. He knew his purpose in Arda was a valiant one; his methods, however, he was aware they were... contestable.

Your face grows hot at his compliment, and you look down and away, anywhere but at his gaze, currently fixed on you, intense and contemplative. He gently lifts your chin, seeming to study your every feature, every nuance in your expression until he sees what he desires.

A shadow passes over his face, before he tightens his grip and finally pulls you from the shallow water. You stumble a little, but he is right there to catch you, strong arms around you as your free hand is crushed between you, pressed against his chest. His eyes are dark, scaring you and thrilling you all at once, like a wolf studying its prey before their total annihilation. Then he takes your face in his hands and claims your lips, as if he's finally satisfying some dark long-held urge, and you cannot help but melt.

It is as if he has done this a thousand times before, teasing you with his tongue, demanding entrance to your mouth as if he wants to drown in you.

Electric tingles spread over your skin everywhere he touches, from your neck where he grips you softly, to your lips he has claimed for his own, to your waist that he refuses to yield from his embrace.

He is unrelenting, refusing to let you come up for air, even as you claw at his arms for release. Finally he seems to realise his mistake and pulls back, lips swollen and parted in pleasure. You take a deep breath, chuckling a little as you do so.

"You are no Elf, my lord Mairon," you remark, righting your dress and smoothing your hair where he had wound his fingers.

With a slightly apologetic smirk, he nods. "I am something far greater, my love, so from time to time, I might forget such... intricacies."

In this moment, you feel as though your heart might burst, wanting him close, touching you, encircling you. But a shiver travels down your spine as the little voice whispering warnings becomes a scream, beholding him not as an ethereal being sent to ravish you, but a danger to ruin you. It was all too brief and you shook it off, for how could this beautiful creature ever mean you harm?

Evening becomes night, and you migrate from the tree trunk to the forest floor. Nestled into him with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you share the basket of berries that will surely be missed at the feast of your kin, and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He tells you of his work, that he is a smith and loves nothing more than to create beautiful things, but he has never had more exquisite inspiration than you.

He seems to know just what to say, soft words whispered only to please you, and all you want is more. He traces his fingers up and down your arm, across your collarbone, into the shell of your ear, idly mapping every inch of you.

He doesn't press you further than gentle touches and tiny kisses peppering your skin. Perhaps though he is no Elf, he is aware of your people's customs, that to give yourself to him in body would be to make the two of you one forever, body and soul. You're not so sure that isn't what you want, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless; after all, you have only known him an afternoon.

It takes all of his self-restraint to suppress the urge to take you here and now, after all, who were you to stop him? But he wanted you when you were ready for him, mind, body, and soul, and he was willing to wait, even if it took an age. Admittedly it would be a difficult wait, he muses, as he realises the close proximity of your body to his is having an unexpected effect on him. He shifts position to avoid you noticing how hard he is just from touching you, and he prays to any of the Valar who might have an ear for him that his wait for you will be swift.

You twirl a tiny flower idly between your forefinger and thumb, gazing up at the heavens, your other hand wrapped in his. You are such exquisite inspiration, he muses, smirking as he realises he can have you after all. He sits up, making you groan, robbed of his warmth.

"What are you doing, love?" You complain, taking a slightly petulant tone that makes him chuckle.

"You'll see, patience is a virtue," he reaches out with his closest hand and smoothes your hair, gesturing for you to lie back down.

You kick your feet a little, suitably admonished but impatient still.

"Come back to me, I had just got comfortable, and you've ruined it now!" You laugh at him, his back turned to you so you can't make out what he is doing.

You sigh long and loud, earning an affectionate chuckle, before you lay back down and close your eyes. It is but a few moments later that he grasps your hand and pulls you up to face him. When you see what he has readied, you gasp, tears pricking your eyes.

Purple irises grow with literal wild abandon in these fields and you had always loved them, weaving them in your hair and stitching their image on your garb. In his hand, perched on his fingertips as if it is the most precious thing in creation, is a tiny iris in full bloom, its slender stem wound and plaited into a ring, with its gorgeous indigo flower crowning it like no diamond ever could.

He is on his knees in front of you, ring in hand, and for a second you cannot quite put the pieces together. You have known him a day, if that? It is a beautiful gift, but can you accept the deeper meaning behind it, that seems to lie in his expression, if not his words.

"It is beautiful, my lord," you sigh, "I think I shall require your aid in putting it on, it is so delicate after all."

Your heart aches at his wide smile, the crinkle of his eyes as he wordlessly slips it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, which surely he cannot know would mean-

"I would make you mine, my love, if you would have me," he murmurs, heart beating out of his chest, sentiment momentarily making him soft and weak for you.

So he does know the significance, and in an instant you feel as though you've been doused in liquid fire, nerves tying your stomach in knots, regarding his gift on your finger with equal parts trepidation and excitement.

You close the space between you and grasp his face with both hands, claiming his lips for your own, fingers travelling to his hair and over the pointed tips of his ears. He moans deep in his chest and pushes you backwards into your makeshift bed, peppering you with kisses until all your skin is ablaze.

"I am yours," you breathe, words so soft he might have missed them, had you not whispered directly into his ear, clutching his neck and whimpering as he maps every uncovered inch of you he can reach with his lips.

He groans, a noise so guttural it surprises you in the best way, sending a wave of arousal to between your legs. He rolls his hips against yours, and you feel something hard against your mound, through all the layers of fabric between you.

The stars blaze above you, hot and bright, but they have nothing on the way he makes you feel. You have heard of love at first sight, but never thought it might happen to you, that it was rare enough if it happened at all.

His hot breath trails down your neck to your collarbone, and his clever fingers work to unlace you from the fabric shielding you from his gaze. He stops a moment, breathing heavily.

"Tell me you want this -" his silver tongue licks your ear and sucks at your neck. "Tell me you need this."

His gaze is so heated, and his voice rough with arousal, that you clench your legs together to relieve that ache that has been building there since you met him. It seems like forever ago now, impossible that it has not even been a day.

"I need you," you hiss, desperate for any touch he'll bestow upon you. "...I'll always need you, now that I have you, I can't let you go."

Your words shatter the last remaining resolve he had not to ruin you, and he takes you as his own. Stripping every inch of you until you are bare before him, desperate for his skin on yours, he wraps you in his arms, legs entwined with yours. The violent urge to claim you was not satisfied, but he would have plenty of time to show you all of him; tonight was your wedding night, and you deserved what gentleness he could provide.

He runs his fingers through your slick, fascinated by how wet you are for him. Perhaps these mortal forms were not so bad after all.

You moan his name and beg for more, though you cannot possibly know what you are asking for. His lascivious grin sends tremors through you, a swooping feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you there is no going back now.

He loosens himself from his trousers, shucks them off almost clumsily in his haste to be inside you. He is beautiful, you reflect, as you take in his bare torso, his strong legs, and all the flesh in between. His size shocks you a little and you wonder how he plans to use it.

He sees your eyes widen and immediately covers you with his body, kissing softly at your neck so to better hear your tiny sounds of pleasure. In time he will make you scream, he vows.

"It's alright, love," he reassures you with a soft smile, "I've got you, I won't let it hurt."

His fingers move in comforting circles in the small of your back, at the apex of your thighs, across your mound. He gathers the slick from your entrance, readying himself with a stroke. He is already so painfully hard, but he has to come inside you, no way will he waste his seed on the forest floor.

He holds your gaze as he lowers himself to between your thighs, wrapping your legs around him.

"Pull me to you, love, make me yours," he pants, cock straining at your entrance, waiting for you to take the plunge.

It's like standing at a precipice; the fear of falling is so closely tied to the fear of jumping. But you bite your lip and dig your fingernails into his back, tighten your calves, and pull his lower body into yours.

You want to scream, the stretch is too much, he is too big and he's hitting somewhere delicious inside you that makes you see stars. He doesn't move, letting you feel all of him, relishing in you taking him like the good girl you are.

"Well done, love, so good for me, you feel so fucking good," he exhales, towering over you while the moon illuminates him from behind, leaving his expression inscrutable.

His fingers on your abdomen are so soothing, the stinging stretch you felt disappears, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. You begin to move your hips against him, aching for more friction, more skin on yours, you'd take anything he would give you.

At first his movements are slow and rhythmical, as if you are made of glass, but your impatient whines encourage him to release himself upon you, snapping his hips in time to your thrusts against him, endlessly surprised but thrilled at your eagerness to please him. He has chosen so well.

The intensity of the moment gets the better of both of you, and before long you are chanting his name in his ear, chasing your inevitable ruin on his cock.

He comes first, much to his eternal embarrassment, unable to prevent spilling inside you as your tight cunt clenches his flesh. You feel him pulse inside you and it tips you over the edge, a silent scream on your lips as fire overtakes your flesh and leaves you drowning in him.

For a second, you behold each other as you truly are, not in body but spirit, and it terrifies you; you see something black as the darkest night throwing off flames that lick at your being, triggering that sick swooping feeling in your abdomen again. He is enthralled by you, bright and radiant like the morning star, and he wants to coat himself in your light, drink it in and burn all of Arda until there is nothing but the two of you in the cosmos.

His attentions to your neck slow and he leans back to look at you in all your glory, radiant under him in body and soul, as you lazily trace his hips with your fingers, coming down from your high and needing nothing more than to be held.

"You did so well, my love, so good for me," he whispers as he releases you from his grasp, laying you down beside him and pressing himself against your back with his arm slung over your torso possessively.

Your eyes begin to droop with the lateness of the hour and the exertion of your wedding night, and while he murmurs in your ear how much he loves you, how proud he is of you, how much he needs you, you take his hand and sleepily press a kiss to his palm. You snuggle in closer as he draws his robe around the pair of you against the night's chill, and slowly drift off, a smile on your face even in sleep.

He gazes at you adoringly, murmuring sweet nothings as your body relaxes into his.

"Beautiful girl, only mine," his voice is so soft yet somehow it finds you even as you begin to slumber. "My sweet wife, we will know peace together, I swear it to you."

He wants to claw inside his own chest and pull his treacherous heart out with his bare hands, for surely that pain would be easier to bear than this. He curses himself for being so weak, and you for being so tempting, before closing his eyes to join you.

He thought by having you, possessing you, that these feelings might be assuaged, that the urgency he felt to be near you would fade, and he could move on from this unique torment. Alas they had increased a hundredfold, and he swore on his fëa itself that no harm would ever come to you, that he would cherish you all his days.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

No, I don't wanna fall in love with you

[itsswritten]

teeny tiny

Pairing: Fairy reader x Azriel

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: Azriel practices dwindling with you. (Just some fluff, mutual pining, pre bond snapping)

Wings Universe - read more from this couple here.

Azriel was watching you intently, a soft smile spread on his lips as his gaze danced across your expression. You were so passionate when you spoke about your work– your duty as a fairy. 

A stark difference to how he felt about being an Illyrian.

But knowing you now for only a year, you had softened that perspective he had for his own heritage. Purely by how dedicated you were to yours, and how you lit up whenever you got to speak about it. Naturally, when getting to know the IC you had wanted to learn everything about the Illyrians, everything about the sisters, about Amren. Every finer detail.

That warm nature of yours, got even the most reserved opening themselves up to you. You were always genuinely interested too, mesmerised in the differences and similarities you found among your new friends. You would never scrimp on compliments either, lovely words rolling off your tongue in awe when Cassian had explained some Illyrian lore. You even went as far to admit that you’d always thought the dark winged fae looked very cool and fierce. 

Azriel could vividly remember the heat filling your cheeks one evening at Rita’s when you’d admitted that, the faerie wine offering you some liquid courage. The comment had gone straight to Cassian’s head, prancing round Rita’s flexing in front of Nesta with a stealthy look, posing for her. “Look how fierce I look, Nes,” Nesta only rolled her eyes.

Azriel, though, had kept that comment. Tucked it away in the corner of his mind that he saved purely for you. A space filled with compliments from you, mentions of the things you loved, or observations of when he thought you looked especially beautiful– which truly was everyday. That corner of his mind was slowly growing by the day, bit by bit consuming him more and more. But he didn’t mind. For every new area you occupied in his consciousness, it replaced something dark instead. Those nightmares became few and far between after you entered his life, and he felt lighter, brighter. 

A mark that could only be left by a radiant individual– you.

Ever since he’d met you, he was absolutely smitten. There was a magnetic charge between you both, that just couldn’t keep him away. He was like a moth to a light, fluttering so dangerously close that if he wasn’t careful he might just burn. 

But he couldn’t stop. Despite the risk of it all, the risk of you burning his desires down. The obvious rejection you would undoubtedly give him if his feelings ever became known. So he settled for friendship, in fact savoured in it. He welcomed the friendly banter and familiar touches you so kindly offered him, but sometimes he dared to imagine…selfishly letting himself wonder, if he was to confess, would it really all go up in flames?…or would a warm glow await him instead.

Azriel began to look for the good parts of his own culture, an excuse to be able to share something with you. Little anecdotes of younger years with his brothers, the plants that grew in the harsh terrain of Ramiel, and what creatures may lurk in those mountains. Something Azriel noticed had piqued your interest. 

He found you numerous times after that in the library with Nesta and Gwyn, looking through bestiaries and field journals. Your commitment to the land and its creatures never wavering. You had found old scriptures, thousands of years old, of rare creatures that roamed the Illyrian land. Feline-like beasts that apparently once lived among Illyrians as their companions, a familiar of sorts. You had practically barged into Azriel’s room one evening when you had unearthed this new information, kneeled on his bed sharing this new discovery word for word as you read the translated version Gwyn had given you. 

“We’ll have to go look for them Az,” You had beamed, “It’ll be like an adventure, and well I could write it off as work too seeing as technically this falls under my jurisdiction.” 

Azriel had never cared much for his own culture and myths, actually, had rather hated every aspect of it. But somehow, watching you find the beauty between the cracks changed something in him. Over time the dismal opinion he had of Illyrians and that part of himself, paired with the progression in the camps had made a slight difference.

Today though, today, you were sharing even more of your world.

“So I thought, you know with you already being able to winnow you would grasp this the easiest” you smiled at Az.

You had brought him to the edge of one of the night court meadows you usually worked at. Elain had asked to join you on a day's work for the spring season, once confessing she wished the cauldron had turned her into a fairy just like you. You had told her she was perfect the way she was, exactly who she was supposed to be, and promised her anyone of any kind was welcome in the meadows. 

What was supposed to be a fun girls day with Elain had quickly snowballed into a field trip, the rest of the inner circle adamant they had to come too. But if your friends couldn’t master the art of dwindling then they would not be permitted in the meadows. Rhys and Feyre were fine, that unlimited pot of power they both possessed actually meant you’d caught them several months ago, rolling around in a flower enjoying some quality time together. You’re not sure who was more embarrassed, yourself or Feyre when Rhys clumsily fell out of a flower bell stark naked covered in pollen.

Before the others would be allowed to cross the threshold of the meadows you would need to teach them first.

“Dwindling is a lot like winnowing, how you move yourself to a different space. Or even how your shadows move you through space. It’s essentially the same, but it’s the space within you that’s moving…well smaller.” 

Your hands had been spread wide in your explanation, bringing them closer together as if your movement were perfectly representing how it worked. Your brows furrowed though, as Azriel looked at you with a soft dazed expression. Almost glassy eyed with a dumb smile on his mouth.

“Are you even listening to me Az?” Your tone felt stern leaving your lips. A little huff following after, that got his shadows moving in a giddy manner. It wasn’t just Azriel that found you utterly adorable, but his shadows too had a hard time hiding how your expressions caused a stir in them.

How they basked in your laughter, grew agitated in your discomfort or selfishly, liked to relish in your charming pouts.

Azriel quickly shook his head, as if shaking himself from the daze you so often ensnared him in, “I’m always listening,” he promised.

You rolled your bottom lip through your teeth gently, pausing for a moment to take in his words. How it had struck a ripple through your body, that often created butterflies in your stomach. Glancing up through your lashes you took your friend in, his large strong frame towering over you, never in an intimidating way. No, his presence, however daunting to others, always filled you with safety and comfort you hadn’t felt around many. And there were those beautiful hazel eyes that often reminded you of the sunrise after you’d worked the night shift. Golden rays breaking through the midnight blanket, spilling hazel threads into petals of blue.

Maybe one day you would tell him how when the sky filled with ribbons of gold and sapphire, that you only thought of him.

Quickly you stopped yourself from falling into your own daze, remembering his passing words. 

I’m always listening. 

That he was. So attentive, so kind, you’re not sure what you did to deserve the friendship of the Shadowsinger. You continued on, brushing over how genuine his words sounded. Rummaging around in your bag you pulled out a pouch of fairy dust.

“This amplifies your power, makes it easier to shrink. Should also help with the nausea,” you muttered, now choosing to ignore the way his eyes seemed to drink you up.

It was getting increasingly hard to disregard the effect the Shadowsinger had on you. He was so beautiful, so pretty– in that rugged Illyrian way. And he was very thoughtful too, and there was the way he said things to you sometimes that made it hard not to assume it meant more. Every word felt like a whispered kiss or unspoken promise, that you found yourself at times hoping, and daydreaming that perhaps it did mean something deeper.

Sprinkling the dust over Azriel, his nose scrunched a little at the scent. So familiar, he realised it reminded him of you. That lingering scent of fairy dust was always on you, mixed with vanilla and hints of honey, an underlying breeze of peonies. Your scent alone was enough to enchant him, enough to know he would be dreaming of you again tonight. His consciousness would slip him into a blissful haze of what it would be like to envelope himself in the crook of your neck and laze in your aroma.

Gently you took his hands into yours, his ragged hands engulfing your own. 

Azriel couldn’t help notice the stark contrast. How perfect and soft you were, delicate and light. He was rough and weathered around the edges, hardened by war and conflict. A gentle squeeze from you pulled him from his thoughts, realising how close you were now, he would only have to lean down slightly to bridge the gap between you. So close he could press his lips to top of your head and–

As if brushing that thought from his mind, his shadows moved towards you. Brushing a strand of hair from your face, while the other tendrils wove through the air in between you both like a dance.

“Are you ready Az? Remember everything I taught you?”

He nodded. 

Channelling his power in the technique you had shown him, his eyes fluttered shut. Honing in on the warmth of your hands and the faint sound of the breeze. His siphons simmered a glow as vibrations of power and space moved over the sharp lines and angles of his body, retracting and restricting the space within.

The air sounded different all of a sudden.

Vibrations growing louder, rustles becoming more powerful. Slowly Azriel opened his eyes, looking down at you, standing as you were before. He questioned if he’d even managed to do it, but as he glanced up he saw the tall green vertebrae of the grass tower above. The strands gently swaying in the wind, allowing the morning sun to filter through and cast viridescent shadows across the earth.

He had done it. He had dwindled.

The air was filled with a symphony of sounds, the song of crickets and the gentle rustling of the grass in the wind. Butterflies flitted by, leaving a gentle gust of wind in their wake. They were larger than him now, and he could vividly see the intricate designs and colours that lay on their wings.

“Az? Azriel are you okay? How do you feel?”

He hadn’t even realised you were talking, not until your hand gently pressed against the side of his face. Your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, as you looked up to him in concern.

“I feel fine,” he replied, finally remembering to take a breath as your touch left him.

“No nausea? You looked a little peaky for a moment, I was worried,”

Your remaining hand had slipped from his gentle grip, a simmer in his chest wishing it would remain. But Azriel unfurled his wings, stretching the dark membranes out, distributing his weight onto either feet to check his balance. 

“Okay…” You smiled then, “This went better than I thought, you know it’s Cassian I’m most worried about. I just have a feeling he’ll sneeze himself into a giant or something,”

“Wait, is that possible?”

“No, or at least I don’t think so. But somehow I could see it happening with Cass,” You laughed. The angelic waves of your laughter pulled up the corners of his lips as he let out a chuckle.

Oh Azriel could stay in this moment forever. Just the two of you, no one else in sight for miles.The sun basking it’s glow upon you both. Your laughter faded into a comfortable silence before you closed your eyes, head tilting up towards the sun as the rays washed over your face. 

Azriel thanked the Mother again for the blessings he had received since knowing you, because this moment right here– to be with you was surely one.

“Y/n…” Azriel couldn’t help breathe your name out, it barely a whisper as words he kept tucked in that corner of his mind seemed to pile into his mouth.

Gently your eyes fluttered open, your expression turning to him with a light hum in question. But before he could even untangle the mess of confessions on his tongue, a shadow loomed above.

With a slight jump, you hastily stepped back, colliding into the tough warm frame of the Shadowsinger, craning your neck up to see what had cast such a darkness.

A shadow– Azriel’s shadow.

The smokey tendril seemed to loom over you both inquisitively. It’s movements speaking of a curiosity to how its master was now so tiny.

“There’s always one,” Azriel grumbled, his hand tenderly moving to the small of your back for a moment as he stepped to your side.

Azriel crossed his arms across his chest, his expression boring on unimpressed as he glanced up at the disobedient wisp.

“You’ve got no excuse,” Azriel chastised, referring to the other shadows that had obediently followed an appropriate size to him after dwindling. 

The shadow slumped a little in response, eliciting a small gasp from you at how utterly adorable you found it. As if remembering you were there the shadow turned it’s attention. Azriel’s earlier command to resize itself held no authority but it quickly slinked itself slightly smaller for you. It’s size resembled something of Azriel’s shape as it twirled around you making the layers of your dress flutter up in the wind.

“Oh my…” Your cheeks heated a rosy hue as you attempted to hold your dress down in the gust of air.

“Sorry about that,” Azriel heaved, his patience growing thin as he tried to hide his slight embarrassment at his unruly shadow.

“It’s quite alright Azriel,” you reassured him with a light chuckle, the smile on your lips easing him. The use of his full name, raising goosebumps on his skin.

It wasn’t the only thing your smile eased, the shadow, as if melting under you, softened like honey. Oozing back behind Azriel’s wings in a dazed infatuation.

“Come,” you took Azriel’s hand in yours. Pulling him gently through the blades of green. “You should settle in this size for a while, make sure everything feels okay before we return,”

Azriel watched your fingers interlock with his, the smaller wisps of his shadows winding around your joined hands. Whispering words to one another that he couldn’t hear. 

He swallowed hard, once, twice taking in the view before him. Your usual pink dress dipping to the small of your back, taut flawless skin kissed under the sun as you pulled him through the green. No wings on show, though.

He wondered when you would share that part of you…if ever. 

Azriel would never ask, but he hoped one day you trusted him enough.

That he would be so lucky. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, sending him a soft smile that seemed to bury itself deep into his chest. He pondered, if for only a moment, that perhaps he was lucky.

a/n: just a little instalment from your favourite couple! <3 What else do you want to see from them?? (Other than flower sex , I promise this is coming👀)

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @marscardigan

Wings tags: @minaethrym

[emelinstriker]

Starscream ♡ Kiss The Spark

He may be in denial over certain things, but his spark says otherwise. Also I know this ain't a canon way of humans bonding with cybertronians, but eh, this is how I always saw it as a possible headcanon. Btw, "Kiss The Spark" was supposed to be a little one-shot series for each Decepticon, which is why there's more than one.

[TL;DR] A simple examination of the spark chamber turns into a sparkbond with a human.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"Will he be okay?" You asked the cherry red medic, worried about your lover's current state. The seeker was lying on Knockout's operation table because he took a heavy blow from an Autobot.

"Well, his physical state isn't instable or anything, but he did receive quite the blow to his chassis. His spark might be damaged. And this is why I asked for your assistance", Knockout responded as he brought some potential tools over to the table. You gave him a puzzled look and he raised an optic ridge at you. "You two are Conjunx Endura, right?"

You tilted your head at that question. Humans couldn't physically become a Cybetronian's Conjunx... right? You crossed your arms, avoiding eye contact. "...Not exactly. We agreed on our relationship verbally, but we don't think a sparkbond is possible."

He hummed in thought before returning to check his tools. "Well, either way, you're the closest he has to a Conjunx Endura. Therefore I'm asking you to be the one to examine his spark and spark chamber." Your mouth hung agape at his request. But... wasn't the spark a Cybetronian's most sacred possession? Their entire life essence? Their heart and soul?

"I-I don't think he-" "Oh please, he wouldn't mind being touched like that by you. He most certainly would shoot my own if I accidentally touched his spark." You gulped and he noticed your uneasy posture. "Don't worry, doll. The procedure will not be taking up a lot of your time and he most likely won't suffer from any further injuries. Just follow my instructions as best as you can. Best case scenario would just turn this into a simple examination."

Letting out a nervous sigh, you reluctantly agreed to his request and climbed your way up to the seeker's chassis. Giving the medic one last glance, you lightly held your hands on top of the grey mech's Decepticon insignia. His spark chamber opened up to you with ease as if his spark was awaiting you.

And there it was- a brightly glowing sphere.

"Alright, doll," the red mech started, "check around his spark chamber for any possible dents or even leaks. We do not know if any of his most inner energon spill. The opening shouldn't have any dents either." You grabbed ahold of the edge of his spark chamber, making sure to not touch his spark as you got closer to examine the insides of his chamber. Squinting your eyes at the brightness, you tried looking around the walls.

"...I don't see any energon. Although, I believe there's a potential dent on the right side of the opening, but none in- WOAH-" Suddenly you were interrupted by his spark reaching out towards you with some strange bright rays, acting like little tendrils. Startled, you backed away from his chassis while the tendrils seemed to retreat as you went further away.

"Uh- Knockout?!" You really needed an explanation for this. The medic just started laughing at both the discovery and your awkward misery. "Knockout, this isn't funny, you jerk!"

"Oh my! He really does want to sparkbond with you, even while in stasis!" He was now clutching his tank at the irony. "Breakdown owes me an energon cube!"

"W-Wait, what-"

He wiped an imaginary tear from his optic before he slowly started to calm down. "You know what? I think you can deal with his spark chamber without my instructions. I don't want to interrupt your sparkbonding experience with your Conjunx, doll. Simply write down any possible damages and we'll fix it afterwards."

And with that he casually walked out of the room, smirking. What a prick.

Now surrounded by silence, not counting the slight energy sound Starscream's spark was giving off, you decided to just get it over with. You mustered up your courage and got a little closer to his spark. Again, trying to avoid touching it while attempting to get a good angle to see if there was any damage further to the top of the chamber. And yet again, the tendrils reached out to you once more. They gently wrapped themselves around your head and pulled you closer to the spark. The spark and its tendrils started giving you the feeling of comfort as you let yourself be lead even closer towards your lover. You closed your eyes due to the intense light as your lips touched his warm spark in a kiss. You stayed like this until it started making weird sounds, startling you.

Suddenly, you were able to feel what seemed to be Starscream's memories or present feelings while in stasis. His anger towards the Autobots, his fear of Megatron and Predaking, his sadness over his insecurities, his love for you... You felt it all in one big wave of emotions. After it was over, finally you felt like you could breathe again. You gasped as you swiftly retracted from his spark. However, you then noticed that you now had your hands on it instead.

"Uh-" You were about to call Knockout for his knowledgeable advice, when Starscream's optics onlined. You looked up at him in worry, frozen in fear of him now hating you for touching his spark. But you didn't expect his optics to look so... out of it. His facial expression held a mix between confusion and what you could only describe as having a hangover. And that's when his optics looked down, staring at you. You suddenly panicked as you swiftly retracted your hands. "Oh my gosh, I'm so, so, sorry! I-I don't know what-" Starscream simply interrupted you by using his talons to gently push you towards his spark once more. Confused, you stared him in the optics.

"Please, hold my spark again..." His voice sounded desperate to have you this close to him. Reluctantly, you lightly layed your hands on it. The seeker seemed satisfied, but something was still missing...

"Put your chassis over it...", he added. You stared at him, surprised by his request, but did as he asked. You took off your shirt, as to not have it bother his most vulnerable part, and placed it on the side of the table while you were slowly starting to get cold. It wasn't cold for long however. You climbed a bit further up his chassis so you could lie down over his spark chamber, with your chest making slight contact with his warm spark. Now you certainly weren't cold anymore.

Not the most comfortable position to be lying in but hey, you got to be closer to your love. The tendrils emerged once more, and this time they seemed to hug you by wrapping around you, securely holding you against Starscream. Said seeker used one servo to trail a digit up and down your back, seemingly content to finally have you be this close.

The comforting heat and emotions his spark was giving off suddenly got you very tired. So you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep in your Conjunx Endura's embrace.

Bonus:

"Wow, Starscream..." That voice. That unnerving voice. "I only asked them to check your spark chamber for any dents, and you want to suddenly try sparkbonding instead in a rather desperate way", Knockout said as he walked closer to the table the seeker was lying on. He then added, "And here I thought you couldn't sparkbond with a human. Guess Shockwave will have something new to examine."

The seeker glared at the direction of the red mech, scoffing at the medic. "If either one of you tries to touch them, there will be dire consequences, Knockout." He snapped back, slightly tightened his grip on you as you kind of curled around his spark.

The red mech smirked at your Conjunx's sudden protectiveness. "I didn't say I would touch them. Although, I do hope you two are done soon. I'll still be needing that table to fix you up, after all."

[ Masterlist ]

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter 21.5 — i'm sorry

The night remained sturdy.

The scent of damp asphalt and the commingle with the icy air didn’t help his senses come to. Kuni didn’t know where else to go that didn’t render less scrutiny of how he operated. Even if it meant he’d be withstanding a bitter bite of a nightly autumn. Mind twisted with the idea of even entertaining your presence, somehow a sickly sweet invitation.

But he didn't enjoy sweets very much. He stumbled out of his car, parking on the curb and holding onto the door. Wearing the remnants of a party that still had some awaiting people expecting him. He clutched the keys in his hand, cigarette smoke clinging to his skin like a ghost. His face, a mess of tear tracks and an old bruise that you gave him.

The purpling around his cheekbone was no problem compared to the letters that he found in his glove compartment that night. Years of hiding it, and handling it on his own, the letters were slightly worn from his lack of care for them. The ink smudged in the places where he was gripping onto them, hands trembling and his edges shabby.

There was a simpler time than this, and he was having a hard time remembering it himself. Mainly because he didn't want to remember it. Back when his former self only stayed a remnant in your head instead of an ugly reminder.

It was the same house he familiarized himself with, but this time, there was no sense of belonging he found. The once golden light he found with you and your family had died, there wasn’t any indication that you were even home other than his phone call to you. His desperate sounding phone call…he cringed.

Kuni hesitated before knocking, but immediately you swung the door open, a snugness immediately enveloping him with the scent of your home. Then it was you, who stood there with stress clouding your gaze, brows kitted together like you were coming across a newfound discovery. He wiped at his face, smudging the remnants of his tears as the bruise pulsates softly.

“Have you been crying..?” You asked in a small whisper, a weight of the things you couldn’t see him admitting anyway. There were freshly baked treats inside awaiting for him to entertain the idea. He didn’t want to be bothered.

“No.” He muttered in a heavy garble, his voice rough as he stared with dead eyes at you. Much like gravel that was kicked down the street.

His lies were smoke that refused to clear. You stared at him, unmoving, taking in his face. Perhaps a lot more adult than when you used to look at him. But while you were, he was also looking for something himself, trying to see anything that may give away your intentions.

You noticed the letters in his hand right away, your heart dropped to your stomach immediately. Something you had the displeasure of dealing with for a good while. Your words failed you, as he was still the same guy that you had the pleasure of falling for. Except this time? It felt bittersweet.

But you didn’t know what he wanted, which made you slump your shoulders. “Why are you here?” Your voice made out, fatigued, weary. The other could tell you were trying not to say anything out of line, but it was there, your exhaustion laced in your frustration.

“I don’t know.”

His own weak and vulnerable exterior he showed made him want to dig into you again and make you scream with him, but he couldn’t put up a front either for the sake of proving something to you. It didn’t mean anything worthwhile anymore. When faced in front of you this time, in his woozy and intoxicated stupor, he couldn’t find the strength to be cruel tonight.

You were about to step aside to let him in, but that wasn’t short of him entirely barreling over onto your body. Kuni’s body finally shut down on him, your hands instinctively wrapped around him while his legs gave out from beneath him. The ground felt swept away from you too, until your back hit the doorframe.

“Hey, come on—” You urgently tried to shake him awake with the strength you could muster, but to no avail. Heat radiated off of him, and you slowly dragged him in and to the couch. His scent thick alcohol, mingling with the piercing smell of cigarettes. His face buried in the crook of your neck, the shallow and quiet remnants of the tears he couldn’t leave unspoken for.

You knew he was awake, because of the soft mumbling you couldn’t hear. You shut the door behind you, awkwardly shifting your weight to the other foot. “I won’t give you anything you don’t want me to, but you have to work with me. You’re not even thinking straight…”

“You’re not fuckin— thinking straight. I don’t need you.” He jumbled, thick with his lessening defiance, even with no true conviction, his voice choked with his own weariness. “Things could have been different, you could have told me I was doing something wrong. Why didn’t you fucking tell me I was doing something wrong?”

You froze, your mind in a blur of what he could even possibly be talking about. You didn’t know what to tell him, other than what you knew, and that was the problem. “I don’t know.” Your voice choked, tears welling up.

“But you knew what she did. You knew why she was so stuck on you.” He let out a small, bitter laugh. “You knew I would never have what you did, not even with your mom.”

“Is that why you…hate me so much? You wanted what I have?”

He didn’t respond at first, blinking slowly. He stared at the ceiling to grasp on to the spins he took with a stronghold and kept tight of it. His eyes dull, face flushed with alcohol as his brain rendered murky and tangled. “I wanted to be you.”

You knew he was sobbing before he came here, but it looked different under the light of your home. Like something he kept locked away for a while and tucked into the recesses of his mind, an enigma that was searched for in anguish. His throat bobbing with the effort to hold his sorrows, muscles in his face twitch as he tried to calm himself down. You knew he wanted to say more, but his words were swallowed every chance he found.

Swallowing hard, you felt what impact he wanted to make on you. It settled into your chest, luring you into heartbreak and comfort that you couldn’t seem to shake yet. This was the love of your life at one point, he, who refuses to look in your eye. “Is he actually dead?”

You didn’t want to answer it, nor did you even want to be in the same room as the urn, but you consistently looked at every day. It was a reality that no longer served as a vacant possibility. You slowly nodded, tilting your head towards the shrine you created next to the antiques.

His shoulders slumped, face twisted in anguish as the venom from what he did to hurt you stayed hauntingly between the two of you. "How could you even fucking let me in after that?" His body curled inward, hoping to make the affliction he felt less tangible. Diminishing the palpable discern.

"Because I know you didn't mean it." You finally spoke, voice was light and filled with a quiet sympathy. He looked at you, despite how much your throat tightened, you still persevered. "You just...can't say that to me. Not right now." Your voice cracked. "Or maybe...ever? I don't know."

Kuni’s eyes narrowed as well to look at it, lips parting as if was going to answer, but hardly any words came out instead. His breath was uneven, eyes sliding towards you while staying dull and distant. “Come here.”

The things he says settled over you like a shroud, you defied what he initially said while keeping a stiffened demeanor. You felt your breath get stuck in your throat, a harsh and raw torment. “I should get you something to eat so you can head home…I don’t think you should be here right now—”

“I’m not going to tell you again.” He didn’t waver, and instead, his eyes softened.

You didn’t move, squeezing your eyes as you felt your breath shake this time. You moved closer to him, his lingering desperation transforming into a volatile breach of your boundaries. If you could even recall having any with him at this point.

You quietly sat there in front of him, his body lying there almost still and you remained on the floor. The letters rested on the floor that you flinched at seeing again. He kept them with him, but you hid away the reminders he gave you. A phantom of adoration you shared tucked inside one of the boxes in your storage, the guilt all arose again as you stared deeper into his eyes.

He was the delicate one you always fawned over, doubling over on yourself whenever you saw him. You wondered how it was possible for things to get this screwed up for you. You didn’t want to fight him anymore, you didn’t want to even be on a thin rope with him. Your chest heaved softly, your throat full as you fought your tears, but they fell immediately as a raindrop on glass. Your dam broke, resolve being shattered while your sobs presented itself in uneven gasps.

Kuni didn’t smile at your sobbing this time, though, his hand missing the mark a few times trying to touch your cheek. He grazed your cheek gently, the cool and dark metal band on his middle touching your skin. “Did you mean what you said in those letters?”

You knew what he wanted from you. He wasn’t asking for help, nor forgiveness, but to bear the same distance again. You were heartbroken. “We shouldn't talk about that…”

“Then, admit you did write them, and I’ll leave it alone.” He lulled, tilting his head back a little.

“I did.” You proclaimed weakly. “I said I would be there for you. You were suffering for longer than I have, and a few years later I hear you’re doing amazing for yourself and I was given that opportunity to reconnect without actually facing it. I wanted to take it…I meant every word I said to you in those letters. And I’m sorry.”

“I was suffering for longer?” He repeated, quietly processing before scoffing and retracting his hand back. “My family’s still alive. You sat in here for years, letting everyone’s dust collect, in silence waiting for them to come back. You came back home after everything. You couldn’t do anything else but that, all you had were those two evil witches.”

Your lip trembled, the corners of your mouth pulling down while you put your face in your hands. A storm built behind your eyes. “And you.” You sobbed, “You meant so much to me.”

His eyes narrowed slowly, something indescribable crossing his expression. He watched you unravel, not exactly comfortable with shrugging it off, but unsure to confront you about it. “Yeah,” His voice came out groggy. “That’s the sad part.”

“You can’t say that to me,” More tears spilled over you. “You’re not a bad person for wanting what I got, it’s me for taking advantage of it.”

“You were never a bad person, (Y/N).” He sighed, his body screaming at him to turn away from you. Watching you cry was seething, but with that frustration bleeding him dry, it was obvious he was tired of pleading with you through hostile speech. “Sleep easier at night knowing that.”

“Then why did you leave me?” You choked out, wiping your face with your shaky hands. “Why did you shut me out so bad? I needed you, too.”

His eyes grew heavier, feeling an eventual loss of his former alertness. Even if it wasn’t the same home with the once two other people who lived here, he still could smell the same smells of the past he kept at the back of his mind. “You didn’t even have yourself, what did you need me for?”

And he was right. The amount of energy you put in everything around was indicator of that. Paying attention to how everything else was so you kept the quality of what you put together solid, and then giving little to no effort in finding a life away from finding your brother was practically nonexistent. You were the one person you didn’t love, while loving everyone else with open arms.

You lowered your head to the letters he dropped on the floor again, feeling your heart sink again. “I’m sorry, Zushi,” You wailed. “I’m really sorry.”

Your tears were hot and relentless, to which he couldn’t stand the sight of anymore. He reached his hand to the back of your head and pulled you down to his chest, an awkward gesture of his own comfort, but he stayed with you like this. The swirling of his vision slowly fading as he fought sleep.

“We can’t try again.” He bit out, through struggling resilience. “I promised myself back then, if I ever were to do this to you, that it will be the last chance I have. You need to move on, and I'm sorry that...I have to be the one to tell you that.”

"...Were you just forcing yourself that entire time to love me, then?" You whispered to him between snivels, your voice hardly even heard. The tears clung to your lashed, trembling there for a moment before leaving damp tracks on your skin.

"Don't delude yourself," He sighed, losing the battle with staying awake. "You were the only one I could love."

His voice faded, his eyes struggling to stay open, but the position he was in when he pushed your head down remained. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up, so you sat there all night, your head against his chest while your tears ran down endlessly, giving yourself quiet and abrupt chances to breathe. His truth pierced you like daggers, but you may have been too optimistic.

You didn’t know how you ended up sleeping in that position for so long, but by the next day, he was gone. Checking the time, it was seven in the morning. He left in the middle of the night.

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

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[joequiinn]

When the Wolfsbane Blooms | part i | e.m. x reader au

Summary | September 1916. Edward Munson is back in Hawkins after 13 years, returning to live with his uncle who serves as groundskeeper to the Talbot Estate. Upon his return it’s as if nothing has changed... except the Talbot daughter, who wasn’t nearly so striking back when they were children. But a strange danger seems to coincide with Eddie’s arrival, and all it takes is one fateful night to expose him to exactly what this danger is…

Warnings & Notes | 18+, angsty horror romance, fem reader, depictions of violence and death, smut and nsfw themes, reader last name for plot purposes, use of some 3rd person narrative, historical inaccuracies

Author's Notes | Sooo, this was supposed to be a oneshot for Halloween, but the plot got away from me, and now we've got a big fic. Due to the premise and time period, Eddie may be ooc, but I tried my best to make him fit the era, and the vibes are so worth it!

WC | 10.3k

!! MINORS DNI !!

“The way you walked was thorny…”

August 1900

The Talbot Estate was a wonder in the late summer, its grounds awash with blooming colors of calendulas and borages, of dahlias and cosmos. To you, it seemed the soil was rich with magic and splendor, for how could the hands of man ever maintain something quite so beautiful? It couldn’t be the hard work of the groundskeeper, always watering and weeding, slaving away under the hot sun for the sake of your family’s gardens - no, it was clearly the power of fairies or sprites that grew the flowers so vivid and the trees so high.

Although the extensive gardens were forever stunning, you favored the surrounding fields as your playground instead, the wild and untamed things far more exciting than the lavish flowerbeds and neat rows of vegetables. It was the rolling hills and woodlands of the seemingly endless Talbot Estate where wonder truly lied, although many days you may have been the only one to see it. Surrounded by the tall grass and wildflowers and imposing trees, you were an explorer - not a mere girl of eight, but a true adventurer of the world, awaiting her next great discovery.

When the days were warm and the sun was high, you could always be found skipping over tangling tree roots or lying amongst the wild helenium. And such is where you were found this lovely August afternoon, snuck upon by the groundskeeper's ward, Edward, the only person in the entire world perhaps more rascally than yourself; or so you thought, as your whole world had only ever consisted of your family grounds and the nearby town of Hawkins.

“You’ll be stung to death if you lie here all day.” The boy’s playful words startled you out of your lazy reverie, having been soothed nearly to sleep by the buzzing of insects around your head. He plopped down to sit beside you, his knobby knee bumping your leg with impatient, childish glee. With a smile wide enough to show off your two missing teeth, you sat up eagerly with a stretch of your arms, your dress wrinkled and the hem stained green from the grass; grass so tall you were both hidden from sight, like two predators stalking their prey.

“The bees wouldn’t dare sting me, we’re good friends.” You argued, delighting in the way Edward grinned back at you and your fanciful way of thinking. He made a conspiratory look, that familiar face he always pulled when he was about to share a tall tale - Edward had always been a storyteller, and you the ever attentive listener.

“You think of them as your friends?” He leaned forward, and so you did the same, coming close enough that he could whisper his closely guarded secret, “No, they fool you. Their queen has it out for you, you know, she’s instructed they play nice to lull you into a false sense of security.”

You giggled into your dirt-covered hand, Edward’s eyes twinkling at how easily he could amuse you, “And what does the queen have against me?”

Although he was only nine years old (nearly ten, he had a habit of reminding you recently), Edward had such control of his face that sometimes you thought he was ninety. His expression became gravely serious, he looked around as if fearful the bees may hear the two of you, leaning even closer while cupping his hand around your ear to keep those pesky eavesdroppers from listening.

“She is jealous. You are like Snow White, ‘a thousand times more fair.’”

Your cheeks grew hot, so easily charmed by Edward’s words; you hid behind your hands, smile large and eyes shining. His own ears were pink despite the proud, confident look on his face; you stared at one another, both nearly too embarrassed to speak.

“Eddie, you are a terrible liar.” You said with a grin, nervously picking at the grass by your feet, getting its threads stuck beneath your fingernails.

“Liar?” He questioned mischievously, “But it was no exaggeration.”

You stared at your feet, unable to look him in the eye. You were too young to truly understand the vastness of emotions blooming between you two this past summer, to know exactly the words for why you looked upon this silly boy as if he were the sun. But you were intelligent enough to know that you felt for him differently than you had before, to know that perhaps this was some child-like semblance of puppy love.

You carefully glanced up at him through your lashes, another conspiring look passing between the two of you, “If you’re caught speaking like that, Edward Munson, they may force you to marry me.”

With a charmed smile, Edward shook his head, eyes alight as he stared back at you, “Oh, Ms. Talbot, I don’t think they’ll allow it.”

“Good.” You said defiantly, rising to your feet and dusting off your skirts, useless as it may be. You squinted against the sunlight as you looked across the fields; your family estate in the distance was like a foreboding beacon, one you quickly turned your gaze from, “Marriage wouldn’t suit me, I have the whole world to see, and a husband would simply hold me back.”

Edward stood with you, the breeze ruffling his hair as he stretched his arms up in the air, fingers splaying wide as if he could brush the clouds in the sky, “But do we not have the whole world here at our fingertips already?”

You two shared an innocent smile, and without a word of warning you quickly spun around and began traipsing through the flowers and weeds, happily going along knowing that Edward was sure to follow. His footfall was merely a step behind you, although with his long legs he could very easily surpass you in stride should he choose. But dutifully he allowed you to lead, and so you pumped your arms and legs a little faster.

“And what is here that I can’t find out there?” You questioned eagerly, bursting out of the grassiest part of the field which neighbored a small pond, one of many scattered about the expansive Talbot Estate. Bugs skated across the water’s surface, a bird glided past your head, a frog croaked somewhere from within a log.

“I’d bet there’s acres of this land that you haven’t seen.” Edward challenged, and you wondered if he’d grown taller recently - why did it feel as if you had to crane your head to look at him more than you did yesterday? You crossed your arms with a smart look, suspecting that he knew something that you didn’t, if that mischievous twinkle in his eye was any indicator.

“And you have?”

The excited smile that overtook his entire face was only confirmation that he had something to share, some new discovery that he was certain you’d absolutely delight in, “Do you know there’s a chapel on your family’s grounds?”

You made a curious face, having never heard about it before. Where could it possibly be hiding, and why had you not previously known of it? You shook your head with disbelief, although you were certainly eager for Edward to follow through and reveal this chapel’s secret hiding place to you.

“If we have a chapel, why hasn’t my father ever shown it to me?” You asked defiantly, debating that perhaps Edward was trying to trick you.

He gave the kind of noncommittal shrug that only a child could, his face showing annoyance that you didn’t believe him, “Maybe he doesn’t know either.”

“But he knows everything.” You argued with silly logic, causing Edward to laugh a little. That was the difference between eight years old and nearly ten years old, the difference between wealth and poverty - he’d stopped believing that his father knew everything long ago.

“I’ll show you.” He insisted stubbornly, although the light in his rich brown eyes gave away his excitement. Your own innocent expression grew wide with exhilaration, eager to see this supposed chapel with your own two eyes.

All it took was for you to nod once, and Edward grabbed your hand, running clumsily over rocks and through brush towards the most northern end of the Talbot property. It wasn’t an easy area to trek, less kempt than the rest of the estate, trees growing taller and wider as it edged along the expansive forest. Perhaps that’s why you’d never seen this chapel, as the northern property seemed far and wide, intimidating even the most adventurous of small children.

But with Edward’s companionship, the journey was exciting, full of wonder and endless curiosity. Eventually, you tugged your hand from his own, struggling to keep up with his longer legs, although you didn’t dare stop moving, else you might lose him amongst the brush and trees. You two laughed at nothing, simply happy for each other’s company, running and running for what felt like an eternity.

The roll of hills slowed you down, the tangle of branches caused brief pauses, but eventually Edward came to a stop, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. His cheeks were splotchy pink as his chest moved quickly, and you yourself had to sit upon a stump thanks to the burning of your calves. From your vantage point, you looked around, a chapel nowhere in sight, and you very nearly whipped your disappointed gaze onto Edward, to scold him for tricking you like this.

That is, until you finally saw it.

Peaking over bright green leaves, a stone spire just barely protruded, practically lost among the foliage. You gawked while rising back to your feet, both shocked and excited to see that Edward was, in fact, speaking the truth. The two of you shared a look, his face satisfied to be proven right, and you once more smiled from ear to ear before stomping down the hill to find the rest of the building.

The chapel stood derelict and decrepit, clearly forgotten about after what must have been a long time. The bricks were covered in moss and lichen, ivy crawling its way up corners and railings, abandoned birds’ nests littering windowsills and the belfry. Even from here, you could see that parts of the roof had caved in, that pieces of stone had worn away from the hands of time.

But curiously, the flowers appeared well-kept, planted fresh in spite of the chapel’s abandonment. It was a flower you recognized from your books of botany, although you weren’t quite certain yet which plant it was - amongst your books there were many beautifully drawn depictions of purple flowers upon sprawling stalks. What would compel someone to return to this ramshackle structure simply to maintain its blooms, you wondered.

You and Edward shared a look of both fear and excitement - although it was unspoken, you both had the sense that you weren’t supposed to be here, and that sent a buzz through your entire body. There was something daunting about the chapel, perhaps something even dangerous, and yet the thrill of that risk was all too gripping to ignore.

You tried to put on a brave face, even as you reached for Edward’s hand again; you held your chin high as if to hide your nerves, acting as if you grabbed his hand not for your sake, but for his. And he said nothing on the matter, squeezing your fingers in his own for reassurance, the both of you slowly approaching the imposing structure.

Those curious purple flowers kept your attention as you drew closer, the way they were planted all around the edges of the chapel - they were practically four walls of their own, a fence of sorts as if to adorn what was housed inside. Drawing closer, Edward reached his fingertips towards the enchanting petals, but you tugged at his other hand, as if the imminent danger suddenly jogged your little botanist memory.

“They’re poisonous.” The words fell delicately from your lips, Edward giving you a quizzical look as the pair of you stopped. You studied the flowers with trepidation, shrinking away from their reach, “Wolfsbane.”

Of course you should have remembered that sooner - your father had an entire encyclopedia of poisonous plants that you found far more fascinating than all the rest. You’d always had an interest in plantlife, even before you could read, so as you grew your father showed you the corner of the library dedicated to such a subject, allowing you to marvel over the pictures while tripping over the Latin names scrawled upon the pages. That book of poisonous plants was one of your favorites, perhaps because of all the beautiful colors that masked the dangers lying just within - but you were too young to read into the deeper meaning of that.

Edward continued the trek forward, tugging at your hand so that you would follow. When you reached the rotted, termite infested doors, he gave a firm push, but they wouldn’t budge. With a determined furrow of his brow, Edward looked around for another way in, but even the shattered windows were too high for you to safely climb. So, he tried forcing the door again; it was once you began to help that it finally began to scrape along the stone floor, the sound grating to your ears as the two of you huffed with each insistent push.

Finally, there was enough space for the two of you to slink inside, and you shared a daunted look with one another now that the path was clear.

“You go first.” You whispered, and Edward’s eyes widened a little, affronted at your instruction.

“Me?”

“Eddie, please.” You requested, swallowing nervously. You looked around, as if fearful that you’d be caught now that you’d gotten this far into your journey.

Edward sucked in his lips and looked at the gap in the door, into the imposing darkness, debating if it was too late to turn back now. He slowly returned his gaze to you, as if afraid that if he turned his back on the dark, it may swallow him whole.

“Hold my hand.” He requested, and you obliged without question or hesitation. You both pressed your backs to the door, shuffling in one right behind the other, feet carefully gliding as you went together into the foreboding chapel.

Despite the fearful drumming of your heart, you were put at ease by sunlight streaming in through the deteriorated roof and ruined windows. You exhaled deeply, sharing another look with Edward as you unclasped your clammy hands.

“Nothing to be afraid of.” He said with ease, as if to calm the both of you down. The corner of your mouth pulled up in a weak grin before you finally looked around the small chapel around you.

The floor was littered with dust and debris, scattered with feathers and leaves. The pews were in tattered pieces, the podium left abandoned on its side; one iron candelabrum still stood tall, melted wax molded upon its holders, but its brethren had fallen much like everything else. You gasped a little at the sight of bones near your feet, but held in the desire to shout with disgust. But then your eyes caught a dried, coppery trail from the bones to the door just behind you, and your heart rate spiked with puzzled fear.

Edward slowly walked past the shredded, crumbling pews, taking careful steps as he approached what was once the altar; where candles should have rested, instead there were more bones and abandoned bits of nature. But you could tell, even while watching his back, that something peculiar caught his eye, and you bit your lip with hesitation.

“Eddie…?”

He reached out towards the ground beside the altar, the sound of scrapping metal making you cringe as he picked something up. He turned around with the cumbersome material in hand, revealing to you a rusted chain weight down by a shackle. Another pang of panic drummed in your chest, finding this place no longer exciting and worth exploring, but rather ominous and frightening - you were not supposed to be here.

Letting your eyes wander, you realized that wasn’t the only chain, that another could be found just opposite of where Edward stood; he seemed to realize the same thing, looking back at you with alarmed eyes, although this place made the darkness of his eyes unnerving instead of comforting.

“I think there’s a reason your dad never brought you here…” His voice was edgy, face appearing nearly gaunt in the low lighting.

“Maybe he doesn’t know.” You countered, although it was clear that you’d only said that for your own comfort. Something told you that your father was most certainly aware of whatever happened in this chapel, although you weren’t sure how you could tell such a thing. A shiver ran up your spine, a sensation so cold that you wrapped your arms around yourself, nervously digging your fingernails into your skin, “I think we should go.”

Edward nodded even as he continued to look around, as if he couldn’t help his innate curiosity to see more, to understand what secrets lie here on Talbot property - you could see in his face that despite the potential peril, he was desperate to know more.

Behind you, the door abruptly scratched agonizingly along the floor, causing you to scream and Edward to drop the chains with a raucous clang as he shouted. In the same breath, you attempted to run towards Edward while spinning to face the sudden danger, causing yourself to trip and fall to the floor. The palms of your hands scraped across stone and dirt and bone, instantly sore as you scrambled towards the altar on all fours.

But before you could even make it a couple feet, something grabbed the back of your dress and pulled, causing you to shout again; you briefly caught a glimpse of Edward’s face in the chaos, and although there was fear alight in his eyes, it certainly wasn’t the kind of terror that you had expected.

“What in God’s name are you two doing here?” Your father’s distraught voice bellowed in your ear, ringing menacingly off the walls. He forced you to your feet with another strong yank, turning you around to face him; you assumed that his face would be red with anger, that his eyes would be full of rage, that his nostrils would flare with fury. But instead, what you saw was horror.

The chaos of the moment made your head spin, and suddenly tears were pricking at your eyes, lips quivering with shaken breath; you cried even as you tried to fight it, eyes locked with your father’s as his alarm melted into worry.

“We didn’t know--!” You attempted to explain, but your emotions made you stutter and trip over your words, making a hiccup leap from your throat.

Your father’s eyes were so caring and apprehensive as he knelt before you, large hands gently grasping yours for reassurance; but as his gaze looked past your shoulder and towards Edward, who was still frozen with fear at the altar, something changed. There was a darkness that seemed to suddenly shroud his eyes, a cruelty knitting his brows and a foreboding suspicion twisting his face. The expression was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, as if your father was seeing something that you didn’t.

Your father rose to his feet, his posture menacing as outrage overtook his face, “You brought her here!”

He released your hands, pointing an accusatory finger at Edward, whose hands were trembling, face pale with alarm. Your father’s shout caused your blubbering to grow worse, but he stepped around you as if you were forgotten, moving as if he intended on causing harm.

“Do you have any idea what kind of danger is in this place? And you brought her here!?”

You watched the confrontation with absolutely helplessness, feeling terror at the sight of your father acting so savage. Frantically, Edward looked around in search of some means of escape, knowing he didn’t stand a chance trying to run past your father and out the door. Your ears rang, vision blurry from tears, as you prayed that nothing bad would happen to him, that maybe your father would show mercy despite his animal-like aggression.

“I-- I didn’t…” Edward was at a loss for words, far too terrified to defend himself. You saw his eyes flick towards one of the shattered windows, clearly gauging if he could make the climb, if he could make the jump; your father saw this too, taking one large, threatening step in the direction of the window to flex his power over the situation.

“I always knew you were trouble, but I could never see it until now.” Your father insulted through his teeth as if he’d had some kind of revelation, his body tense with anger.

“I’m not--” Edward sounded so weak, so petrified; another hiccup interrupted your crying, a weak sound whining in your throat as if to protest your father’s actions.

“Aren’t you?” Did your father nearly sound amused by that? Why did it seem that his words were laced with a mocking malice, as if there were a smile upon his face?

Despite knowing the odds weren’t in his favor, Edward made an abrupt dash for the broken window, using the pews beneath as leverage to jump up and grab hold of the sill littered with broken stained glass. Your father moved only a second later, ever determined to grab the offensive boy and teach him a lesson.

But by some miracle, Edward managed to climb up despite crying out in pain, glass stabbing into his palms as he yanked himself up and over, the shattered remains of the window ripping his pants as he briefly straddled the sill before dropping out of your sight. Your father was just moments too late, angrily clenching his fist around the air in front of him with an enraged growl.

You stared out the window at the green leaves swaying tranquilly in the wind, as if to contradict what had just happened here; you sighed with relief that Edward managed to get away. Tears continued to stream down your face, but you felt numb, as if all the anxiety and fear had drained you of anything else.

When your father turned back around, his expression was far too calm considering the circumstances of what had just transpired; he took deep breaths through his nose, fighting to compose himself. It almost looked as if shame flashed across his eyes as he looked pitifully down at you, as if he realized that he’d behaved dreadfully, frighteningly, that he’d acting like an animal in front of you.

He approached and scooped you into his arms; despite everything, you still clung to him, resting your head on his shoulder as your crying slowly began to mellow out.

“I’m so sorry, my darling, I’m so sorry…” He repeated the apology over and over and over again as he carefully stepped out of the chapel, mindful of protecting your small body as he moved lightly on his feet. He briskly walked down the uneven cobbled steps and past the blockade of wolfsbane as he comfortingly rubbed your back, his voice attempting to sooth your tears.

Despite their dangerous, poisonous nature, you found comfort in the flowers’ purple-hued petals.

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September 1916

Eddie Munson would never have predicted he’d return to Hawkins one day; a few years ago, he would have bet all the money in the world that he’d never see his hometown again. No, once his father showed up following a five year disappearance, insisting that his young son hit the road with him, little Edward barely looked back. It wasn’t for a hatred of his home, nor for any troubles with his uncle, the man who practically raised him - but it was some youthful whimsy and desire, his childlike need to see what was beyond his front door. He was only twelve when his father returned, and as such he thought there would be great adventures to be had, falling for all the promises of happiness laid at his feet.

Of course, it didn’t take long for trouble to start. It seemed that everywhere Alan and Edward Munson went, bad things followed - an arrest in one city, a get-rich-quick scheme in another, a string of debt so long that they’d never see the end of it. As a boy, Eddie hadn’t quite realized how bad it was; but as the years took their toll, he found himself longing for a way back home.

He missed the cozy little cottage shared with his uncle, the smell of the gardens just yards from their front porch, the joys once shared with the Talbot daughter who he had no right to be friends with. All that time away had nearly caused him to forget his childhood friend, his companion in an otherwise lonely world; but once he began to crave his home in Hawkins, Eddie often found himself reveling in the memories of their days spent together. 

The familiarity and comfort of home had been calling out to Eddie, it had become a beacon of hope as times with his father grew worse and worse, his tolerance for this life wearing thin. So, Eddie came up with a scheme of his own, hiding money in tricky ways because his father knew all the usual tactics, mapping out which city they blew through would make his departure the easiest and the quickest.

Really, he could have left at any time - he was a man now, he no longer had to do as he was told, no longer needed permission before making decisions for himself. But Al was a trickster of a man, so much so that he’d find a way to manipulate his boy into staying simply because Eddie was a valuable asset to him.

They were up in Michigan when Eddie finally made his move as his father slept off his drunken haze in the dingy boarding house they’d taken residence in the past month. Eddie had been writing to Wayne for some weeks now, informing the man of his plan and its progression; although Eddie feared his abandoned uncle would want nothing to do with him, the words of forgiveness in his letters were a reassurance on Eddie’s doubtful heart.

When Eddie and Al first settled in upon their arrival in Michigan, Eddie took what chances he could to call the Talbot Estate, hoping to speak with his uncle in preparation - it was shocking to him when his first call was answered by Magda, the elderly housekeeper who had worked for the family Eddie’s entire life. Again, he felt trepidation, but the woman seemed pleased to hear from him, although once she’d been informed of Eddie’s return, she worried over Sir Talbot’s reaction.

That nearly made Eddie’s heart drop into his stomach, fearful that he wouldn’t be welcomed back simply because of a foolish day from sixteen years ago. As if able to read his mind - which was always a startling trait of Magda’s - she reassured him that she’d discuss the subject with her boss, that she’d put the man’s mind at ease. Of all the staff of the estate, Sir Talbot trusted Magda with his life, and if there was anyone that could change his opinion about a matter, it would certainly be her.

And so with everything set, Eddie left for the train station without a single look back, accepting easily that he’d likely never see his father again.

Once he set foot on the depot platform in Hawkins following a near two-day trip, Eddie was struck by how little his hometown had changed - yes, Hawkins was keeping up with the times as best it could, but it was as if the air felt exactly as it did the day he left in 1903. And as he rode through town alongside a farmer willing to give him a lift, he took in that comforting familiarity of the buildings and the roads and the people who hadn’t seemed to change at all.

As a boy, he hadn’t left the Talbot Estate often - Wayne’s job was sometimes all-consuming, so if Eddie did come into Hawkins proper, it was at the side of one of the maids collecting goods, and eager little Eddie was always first to volunteer his assistance. When Wayne was so busy that he couldn’t keep an eye on his boy, the maids took care of Eddie, giving him tasks to stay occupied, teaching him skills that may or may become handy in the future; if it weren’t for one maid in particular, Eddie probably would have been illiterate for half his life.

The streets of Hawkins seemed fresh with new cobbles, many shops with new coats of paint, and more people seemed to congest every direction that he looked - Eddie knew Hawkins had changed more than he thought, and yet that sense of home made it look exactly as it did thirteen years ago.

The farmer dropped Eddie off outside the tall, rod iron gates of the Talbot Estate, their size far less imposing now that he was no longer a child, although there was always something ominous about this property. It was as if there was a darkness surrounding his childhood home, one that only he could ever see, some mystery that he didn’t have all the clues to.

Eddie had to take a moment to simply stare at the estate - at the mansion sat atop a hill, at the surrounding fields losing their color with the arrival of autumn. He smiled fondly to himself despite the intimidating quality that seemed to hang in the air - this was his home and nothing made him happier than being back here.

With a sigh of anticipation, Eddie hiked his bag back up onto his shoulder and forced open one of the gates, stones crunching underfoot as he began to make the short hike up the property and towards the plot of land dedicated to staff housing. As he followed the twists and turns of the driveway, the mansion grew more imposing, Eddie’s gaze jumping from window to window, wondering if someone was watching him or if that was a silly sensation made up in his head.

The staff homes were all small cottages clustered to the northwest of the property - not a terribly far distance from the front gates, but it felt much farther on foot. Eventually, the top of the roofs came into sight, one chimney lazily blowing smoke; Eddie’s steps grew faster, stride longer, as he all but rushed towards the family front steps of his childhood home.

With it being mid-morning,Wayne was nowhere to be found - considering just how much of the property he maintained, mostly on his own, Eddie could guess at least half a dozen places that his uncle may be right now.

So, he deposited his feeble belongings atop the cot that was waiting for him, and approached the Talbot mansion, suddenly feeling a nervous tightening in his chest as he went - would Sir Talbot still frown upon him as if he were trouble just waiting to happen? Would his daughter shun Eddie due to too many years apart? He had to steady himself as he grew closer, taking deep breaths and reminding himself not to overthink as he rang the doorbell - Magda had assured him things would be fun, and that woman never went back on her words.

The butler who answered was a new face to Eddie, which meant he had to explain himself and his presence - he had hoped that perhaps Murray would still be on staff, as it would have been comforting for familiar faces to be greeting him instead. He was half-tempted to ask for Magda purely to help himself relax, but he thought it best to first reacquaint himself with Sir Talbot, considering that he’d be living on the man’s property once again should all go well.

So, introductions aside, the new butler allowed Eddie entry, instructing him to wait in the front hall before disappearing in the direction of Sir Talbot’s office. The mansion hadn’t changed one bit, the art on the walls the same pieces Eddie had seen dozens of times before, the carpet beneath his feet the exact one that he accidentally tracked mud on when he was first learning how to garden. And yet, the familiarity did not stop the drumming of his heart, the anxious little twitch of his hands - ever since that frightening summer day so many years ago, Eddie had never quite looked upon Sir Lawrence Talbot the same way.

Eddie was eventually escorted to the extravagant office, one of the only rooms in the home he hadn’t seen before; the butler announced his arrival, bowed his head, and briskly left the two men alone. Before Sir Talbot sat a stack of papers that he stared at harshly, but it was evident that his mind was elsewhere; nervously, Eddie assumed the man was simply collecting himself before daring to have this inevitable conversation.

When Sir Talbot finally looked over the frame of his glasses, the look in his eyes was nearly startling to Eddie - there was something unspoken in that stare, some kind of secret in the man’s eyes. Talbot’s demeanor became chilly as he studied Eddie closely, his gaze harsh and cutthroat as he looked the younger man up and down in scrutiny.

Growing nervous, Eddie nodded his head in greeting, hoping that his anxieties were written too plainly across his face, “Sir.”

Silently, Talbot looked him over again, assessing the man who he last saw as a boy. When he finally locked his eyes with Eddie’s again, they were coldly unreadable.

“Edward Munson… how you’ve changed.” Sir Talbot finally spoke, his voice still that same strong timber that it used to be. He rose to his feet, removing his glasses with a faint sigh; Eddie was almost dismayed to see that this man was still just as tall as ever, for he’d led himself to believe that Talbot only seemed tall because all those years ago he was an adolescent.

Keeping his shoulders squared and chin high, Eddie kept his eyes on the older man, who rounded his massive oak desk in a slow approach, Eddie suddenly feeling like prey. Once the two men were standing mere feet across from each other, there was a pause, a tense stillness in the air as Eddie held his breath in anticipation.

Wordlessly, Sir Talbot offered his hand - it was not a warm and welcoming gesture, but Eddie knew better than to turn it down. So, Eddie moved to shake the man’s hand, however, Talbot grabbed him by the wrist and turned his palm to face the ceiling; his grip wasn’t rough, but it was certainly insistent. With a confused look, Eddie watched Talbot’s face - the other man’s eyes studied his skin as if he knew palmistry, as if there was some hidden message in the lines of Eddie’s hand.

Talbot’s sharp eyes met Eddie’s abruptly, and the younger hoped that his face conveyed no fear or trepidation. For what felt like an eternity, they stared at one another, Eddie unable to comprehend what could possibly be going on. But a moment later, Sir Talbot nodded as if in confirmation to himself, and finally pressed his palm into Eddie’s for a firm shake.

“Welcome back.” Talbot’s words were far from warm, but he seemed a touch less guarded. Eager to please, Eddie nodded back in thanks as Talbot took back his hand.

“It is good to be back, sir.” Eddie confirmed with a nod, trying to ignore the trepidation he still felt strong as ever. Again, there was something in the man’s gaze that kept Eddie on edge, something that was simply unnerving, “I informed Magda that I’d be returning, although I couldn’t give her a day.”

Talbot nodded while his eyes moved about his office, as if he didn’t want to be looking at Eddie for longer than he had to; there was tension in his shoulders, “I’d heard your return was inevitable.”

Was Talbot always so short with his words? Eddie couldn’t quite remember. Trying to bolster his confidence, Eddie nodded again and took a deep breath, “I’ve come to you first in hopes of offering my services around the estate - I have no intention of living on your land for free, I am no longer a child.”

“No, you certainly aren’t.” Talbot answered in a slow, biting tone that Eddie couldn’t identify. The elder was gazing out the large window, eyes blindly staring out as if in contemplation, hopefully considering Eddie’s offer. When he looked back at the young man, Talbot had a curious expression across his features, “What skills have you acquired while away?”

Eddie swallowed; although he’d been rehearsing this for half the train ride home, it was still so different to be confronted with the actually conversation, to be confronted with the ever imposing man of the house, “I’m knowledgeable in mechanical and electrical devices; I can do any and all hard labor as need be; I’m well acquainted with motor vehicles, both as a driver and as a repairman.”

That last point seemed to catch Talbot’s interest, and so Eddie paused to allow the man to speak, “Motor vehicles? Well, that is a valuable skill.”

Eddie nodded - as motorcars began to grow in popularity these past few years, he’d been more than aware of what opportunities that may offer. Everyone wanted a car, wanted the fun and the luxury of a motor vehicle over a horse and carriage, and so Eddie had decided a couple years back that he would become an expert as best he could, would gain as much knowledge on this new technology as possible.

Talbot continued, “I will not promise you a job, Mr. Munson, however, my own motor car has been troublesome as of late - should you be able to resolve the problem, you have a job here at Talbot Estate.”

Eddie’s expression brightened, although he didn’t want to look too eager - he didn’t want to get his hopes up now that he was offered this challenge. But he gave a quick nod, already thrilling at the prospect of a potential job here at home.

“I’m more than happy to take a look; I can start right now, if you’d like.”

Sir Talbot’s face was once more curious, intrigued to see what Eddie could do, intrigued to see what kind of man he’d become. Talbot’s eyes narrowed slightly in consideration, before he, too, nodded shortly.

“Very well - have Douglas show you to the garage.” Talbot returned to his chair, although he did not yet take a seat, as if he refused to relax until Eddie was out of the room.

“Thank you, sir.” Eddie dipped his head a little, prepared to take his leave.

“And Munson?”

That serious, intimidating tone made Eddie’s heart skip, “Yes, sir?”

Talbot leveled him with a grave look, eyes fierce as they pierced straight into Eddie’s soul, one last domineering show before they parted ways, “Do behave yourself around my daughter. You hear me?”

Nervously, Eddie nodded, swallowing slightly as a cocktail of apprehension and excitement whirled around in his chest at the mention of the Talbot girl, his long lost friend. How much had she changed? How much had she stayed the same? Eddie was oh-so anxious to know, but now was not the time to get roused about it, “Yes, sir.”

Talbot stared for another long, tense moment before giving a small nod of his own, finally lowering back into his stiff leather chair, eyes returning to the paperwork scattered out in front of him as if it took precedence over the man before him, “You may go.”

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Early afternoon and the sun was high, warm in that cozy way that only seemed to happen in late-September once the season changed. It wasn’t the kind of sweltering warmth felt in the summer months, nor was it laced with the hint of approaching winter winds - it was a stillness, as if everything in the world had come to a pause to enjoy the orange sunlight while it would last.

Eddie had been fussing with Talbot’s motor car for over an hour now, tuning up every little thing just to make sure it was in pristine condition - he had to impress the man, after all, and didn’t want to leave a single stone unturned in his work. The vehicle was a virtually brand-new model, as it was undeniably different from those that Eddie had worked on before. Initially, that made him nervous, made him fearful that he wouldn’t have the right tools or knowledge to make any improvements. But once he began poking around at the motor, it was like an intuitive instinct made this new car make sense, and he became lost in his work.

Between the heat and the effort, Eddie’s body was already sticky with sweat; he’d stripped his coat and his vest and his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt, but it was only temporary relief. His hands were covered in grime, and more than once he swiped at his hair or rubbed sweat from his brow only to curse, knowing that trailing his fingers there would be streaks of oil left behind.

As Eddie grumbled to himself, focusing intently as he knelt beside the engine, the sounds of another car driving up the gravel met his ears, and as it drew closer cheerful voices accompanied it. Perhaps the help returning from town, or a visitor joining Talbot for luncheon; regardless, Eddie kept his head down, nearly done with the task he was doing.

The vehicle came to a grinding stop, although the engine continued running, a blend of voices eagerly overlapping one another, laughter harmonizing in a joyous, youthful way that made Eddie furrow his brow. Reaching a good stopping point, he set down his tool and stood, looking out from the open garage door to assess the visitors to the estate; he reached for a rag, already filthy, and attempted to clean his hands in vain.

The driver was a young man accompanied by three women, all of whom appeared near Eddie in age; a realization struck him in that moment, his heart beating faster as his eyes began to dart from face to face, searching for those ever familiar eyes, that ever comforting smile. The group in the car was chaotic, high energy as they made one another laugh, throwing their arms around with hyperactivity as they continued whatever stories and jokes they’d been telling on the drive up. For a moment, the disarray was distracting, but of course, it should have been obvious which of the three women was the one he was searching for--

The woman in the lilac sundress; purple has always been your favorite color, after all.

Eddie took a sharp breath once he finally had the chance to study you; thirteen years felt like it was melting away in an instant as he took in how you’d changed, how you’d stayed the same.

Your hair was still that same lovely color, especially out here in the sunlight. Your smile was still dazzling, bright enough to light up an entire room, especially now that you’d grown into it. Your body language was still as light and carefree as ever, having not lost any of the joyousness of your youth. Although you were one of three women in the vehicle, you radiated in a way that made you the only person Eddie could see;hHe felt his jaw growing slack as he stared, unable to fight the nervous skipping of his heart, the anxious tingling in his limbs.

You were beautiful, and it very nearly took him aback. It was different from the beauty you had in your youth - when Eddie left, you were only ten and he would’ve deemed you as ‘cute.’ For all of your childhood, he’d heard many people exclaim “she’ll be such a vision one day” or “what a gorgeous lady she’ll become,” but at the time he could not have made such bold predictions.

But now you were a woman, a stunning woman who certainly had no right being so damn lovely to look at. Now, Eddie understood what all those people were talking about when you two were just children, because the proof was right here before him in staggering beauty.

Eddie hadn’t realized he was staring until one of your friends finally noticed him within the shade of the garage, drawing the entire group’s attention. And when you set your sparkling eyes on him, he froze, his tongue heavy with nerves and limbs unable to move. You arched a lovely, curious eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with this man standing in your family’s garage.

As you stood to climb over your friends and out of the vehicle, you curiously eyed this mystery man, wondering if your father had hired more staff or perhaps called for a specialist to deal with his damn car. The man was covered in grease from head to toe, his shoes scuffed and his curly hair becoming unruly from sweat; the buttons of his shirt were undone halfway done his chest, which was heaving from the labor he’d inevitably been hard at doing. Despite the oddness of his attentive staring, you couldn’t help but think that he was certainly an attractive man, whoever the hell he was.

His expression seemed dumbfounded as he stared at you, as if you were some specter that he couldn’t quite make sense of. But there was something about that look that reminded you of someone, that seemed familiar although you couldn’t place why.

Your name being spoken drew your attention, your friends saying their farewells and reminding you about dinner plans you had for tomorrow night; you smiled largely, confirming you wouldn’t forget, as you closed the car door behind you. Billy ripped out of the driveway, just like he always did, far too fond of fast driving and reckless behavior; the speed of the car driving off blew your hair back, the hat securely tied around your neck fluttering in the breeze. Your friends turned in their seats just so they could keep waving goodbye, giggling together as you histrionically waved back for their entertainment.

Once the trio was out of sight - although a dirt cloud was left in their wake - you turned back around, spying the mechanic out of the corner of your eye, seeing the way he sheepishly tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring at you this entire time. It made you smirk just a little, amused by whoever he was, growing yet again curious as to who he could possibly remind you of. Instead of walking to the house, you took leisurely steps towards the open garage, noticing the way the man fumbled with the tool he’d just picked up, which nearly made you giggle.

“Are you here to take that dreaded vehicle off father’s hands?” You questioned with something of a playful tone, clasping your gloved hands behind your back as you continued the stroll up the drive. Amusement flashed across the man’s face as he stared down, aimlessly cleaning the tool with a rag that was filthy; his energy was cautious, and something about that made you want to bring his guard down.

“I couldn’t afford it, miss.” His tone seemed careful as his eyes turned up, mindfully watching your approach. Your lip quirked with curiosity.

“Shame; all week I’ve had to listen to him complain about how burdensome it is.” You came to a pause in the large doorway, studying the man more closely now that you had a better view of him, now that he wasn’t so obscured by shadows.

There was a softness to his features, from the gentle shape of his lips to the curls brushing across his forehead to even the cleanly kept mustache and beard adorning his jaw. His whole aura seemed to radiate with kind easiness, his expressive brows raised with an innocent wonder, as if he was awaiting something in particular.

But those eyes of his, so dark and doe-like, seemed to have an eternal sadness about them, a sadness buried so deep within the bones that it would never quite go away. That struck you as shockingly familiar - those were eyes you’d seen so many times before, eyes you’d known so well once upon a time.

Now, you were the one frozen with surprise, your brow first raising then furrowing, your lips parting slightly with words that never quite came to you. It couldn’t be the boy you once ran through fields with, the boy who always had a story to tell, the boy who had no expectations of you the way the rest of the world had. He was long gone, giving you a rushed and eager farewell as his father insistently tried to drag him away. And yet…

“Eddie?” Your voice came out a soft whisper, his eyes alighting with elation immediately. You saw the exact moment all his trepidation faded away, when his shoulders relaxed and his lips spread into an incredible, gleaming smile. You laughed a little in disbelief, your own face lighting up despite the fact that you still couldn’t quite comprehend it was him; your smile was so wide and fierce across your lips that your cheeks nearly hurt.

Propriety entirely forgotten, you dashed the short distance between you and Eddie, throwing yourself against him so forcefully and quickly enough that he coughed with surprise, your arms winding tightly around his neck as your laughter continued to ring in his ear. For a moment, he didn’t dare move, growing tense against you, as if he was afraid of touching you; but shortly thereafter, he breathed in your scent and snaked his arms around your middle, his palm pressed firmly against your back as he held you close.

“My god, I can’t believe you’re back.” You said gleefully against his ear, pulling back just enough to look at his matured face, your hands coming up to grab his cheeks as you studied him. Your gaze darted with delight over the planes of his face, taking in his familiar eyes, his new beard, the kind smile on his lips; you were practically awestruck at the sight of him, at the sight of how handsome he’d become, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Eddie’s expression softened as his hands reached up to cup yours, slowly removing them from his sweaty cheeks as if fearful the two of you would be caught like this. He looked between your eyes warmly, the smile now a permanent fixture on his face. His tone seemed nearly apologetic as he answered, “I thought the same.”

You gently wrapped your fingers around his, refusing to let go as you dropped your joined hands between you, “What brought you back?”

Your heart drummed a funny tune in your chest as you continued to gaze upon him, enraptured by the shock of your old friend’s return. Eddie paused to consider his words before answering, dipping his head a little as if sheepish, “I was homesick.”

You smiled at the simple answer, squeezing his hands in yours as a little laugh escaped you, “Oh, don’t tell me you missed this dusty old place; what does it have to offer someone who has surely had so many magnificent adventures?”

Eddie looked back at you as if you were a marvel - even after all this time, you’d held onto your sense of wonder, you continued to crave excitement as if it were the air you breathed. For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all, as if you were still children sharing tales of the far and wide world that lived inside the depths of your minds. It tugged at Eddie’s heartstrings, a sadness creeping into his thoughts - he had spent so many years away, so many years without sharing stories and relishing in the company of one another. As you stood here with him, hand-in-hand, Eddie felt a deep longing, missing you even as you stared right at him.

“The adventures weren’t nearly as magnificent as you’d like to think.” He answered, to which you pulled a displeased face while waving a hand between you two, as if you were shooing away the words he just said like insects.

“Don’t tell me that. Are you not the same boy who always had a story to tell, whether fact or fiction?” You smiled at him fondly, which prompted him to mirror the expression, unable to resist your charm even now; Eddie figured he’d never quite be able to resist you no matter how hard he tried.

He shook his head with a small laugh, looking down at his feet; he noticed in that moment that he’d gotten oil on your pretty dress, but knowing you, you probably didn’t give a damn, “Don’t worry, I will always entertain you with stories, all you need to do is ask.”

You sighed pleasantly, pulling Eddie back into a quick hug simply because you couldn’t contain the joy you felt, “Is that a promise, Edward Munson?”

“Of course it is, Ms. Talbot.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a pleasant shiver running up your spine; those pesky feelings that had only started to blossom in your youth were already daring to come back, despite the years apart. You tried not to fall victim to folly, and yet the yearning you once had for the groundskeeper’s boy was coming back with even greater conviction, the flame fanned by the excitement of your unexpected reunion.

And it certainly didn’t help that little Eddie had grown up to be a handsome man, so easy on the eyes that you were already convinced you could stare at him for hours if he’d let you. Hell, you could probably spend days admiring that face without ever growing bored of him.

Your cheeks warmed as a yearning look passed between the two of you, and so you dropped your gaze while taking a step back, meandering around the garage as a means to calm yourself down, to hide the attraction you were oh-so clearly feeling towards him, “Tell me about your travels - tell me about all the places you’ve been.”

As you walked with grace and ease, your moves were almost hypnotic; Eddie cringed at the perfect greasy handprint he’d left on the small of your back, at the swipe of grime that was transferred from his cheek to yours - how he hoped that your father wouldn’t see you like this, or else Eddie would be fresh out of luck in gaining a job here at the estate.

You perched upon a large wooden work bench, fussing with your skirts as they twisted around your feet; you both spotted another spill of oil on the lilac fabric, but you simply made an unconcerned face at it before dropping the folds of fabric from your hands. You directed your attention back to Eddie, raising your brows expectantly as an easy smile graced your lips.

Eddie licked his lips with a grin, shaking his head pleasantly while attempting to focus on all the work still to be done on the car, “I’ve been many places, though none appropriate for a woman like you.”

You scoffed with an amused eye roll, “And when have I ever been held back by what is and is not appropriate for me?”

Eddie faintly laughed, “You never have and you never will.”

You leaned forward while resting your hands atop your knees, a wicked look on your face, “And don’t you ever forget it.”

Sharing a familiar laugh, Eddie began to regale you with tales of getting arrested in New York City and Boston, of stirring up trouble in Virginia and Tennessee. His ability for storytelling had only sharpened after so many years, and you found yourself mesmerized by his way with words, the way his body language always complimented the stories he told.

He spoke of robberies and bar fights, of friends made and friends lost along the way; you were not inclined to believe all the words that left his mouth, but the two of you had always preferred the thrills of a good story to the facts of a boring life. It was like a silent agreement between you two to make a tale interesting, even if that required embellishment.

It was so easy to be with Eddie again, so easy to sit and listen to him talk, to laugh alongside him and share wicked smiles. How could thirteen years have come and gone when this moment felt timeless, as if you were once more four or six or eight years old, hanging onto every single word that left Eddie’s mouth?

He was striking to you, utterly remarkable, the way his stories came to him with such ease even as he fussed with car parts that just wouldn’t work. The way he’d look to you just to see your reaction following a particularly harrowing plot twist made you squirm; the way his grin would spread from ear-to-ear at the sound of your laughter made your cheeks flush with warmth.

Your innocent childhood together was felt heavily as you listened to Eddie’s tales - memories of climbing trees and splashing in puddles ever so vibrant behind your mind’s eyes. There was an anxious thrill in your chest that made this different, however, a swirling sensation in your stomach reminding you that things had changed even as they stayed the same. Each smile Eddie shot you was nearly breathtaking, each cheeky wink like a piercing arrow in your heart. You knew better than to let yourself become excited by him like this, and yet it couldn’t be helped, the fire had started burning the moment you laid eyes upon each other.

Even as you listened and laughed attentively, you tried to tell yourself that this was simply your childhood crush briefly reigniting, that the excitement would die down soon enough and you would simply see each other as friends from the distant past. You knew how your love of stories could tint the way you viewed the world, how the romance novels stacked around your room had always given you a longing for a love like fiction. You couldn’t allow those desires to trick you now, but you couldn’t resist, your entire being reacting to something so simple as Eddie smiling at you with all the softness in the world.

Time had gotten away from you as you sat there enchanted by his stories, and once he’d finally completed his work on that damned motor car, you were surprised by just how much the sun’s position had changed in the sky. You and Eddie shared a look of disbelief as he tidied the tools and put everything back in its place, the both of you clearly having been trapped within a bubble where time didn’t exist. You hopped up eagerly from your seat, exiting the garage alongside Eddie as he looked up at the manor with hesitation.

You grabbed his hand again, to which he met your eyes attentively; You grinned from ear-to-ear, just like you did as a child when you decided the day was still young and there was so much more to be explored, “Walk with me? I’ll show you all the changes your uncle has made to the gardens, they’re magnificent.”

Eddie smiled sadly, which caused you to falter slightly; had you misread something about the past couple of hours? Despite every fiber of his being wanting to cave to your each and every whim, he knew better. He gave a small shake of his head while glancing at your home once more, “I must speak with your father - I can only stay should my work on the car be sufficient. And he’s asked me to… behave myself around you.”

You frowned, your lips forming a beautiful pout as your brows turned down. You were reminded that you were adults now, that neither of you had the freedoms of children. You knew you had to let Eddie go, but how you wished you could simply drag him away to hide in the hedge maze or the woods until all responsibilities and expectations faded away.

Righting your expression, you sighed and nodded with acceptance, locking your eyes firmly with his, “Tonight then. After supper, meet me in the gardens.”

It was a plea, even as you spoke as if it were a command. Eddie inhaled sharply, excited by the suggestion but also terrified that the two of you might be found out - your childhood innocence was gone, and it could cause trouble for you to be found together like that. But that look in your eyes, so fiercely determined, made it impossible for him to deny you; Eddie already knew that, even now, he could never deny you.

“Tonight.” He whispered with a nod, causing you to smile wide. Eagerly, you placed a kiss on the palm of your hand, then pressed it longingly to Eddie’s cheek, causing his eyes to nearly flutter shut; he leaned into the touch with such reverie that it made your heart swell.

“Now go, distract my father so he won’t see me like this.” You instructed with reference to your dress that he had dirtied. Eddie laughed smally with one more nod, stepping away from you as if it were burdensome to do so; he began to round the manor back towards the front doors, pausing once to shoot you a playful look before disappearing beyond a corner.

You waited another few moments before scurrying off towards the kitchen entrance, hoping that Magda could somehow get these grease stains out of your favorite dress.

.

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[PART TWO] | [MASTERLIST]

addt. AN | The taglist is open for anyone interested in being notified about updates! I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of this first chapter ♥

taglist | @ali-r3n @chaoticgood-munson @chaptersleftunwritten @daisy-munson @duncanhillscoffeecups

@eddiernunson @ilovetaquitosmmmm @jasminelafleur @lavendermunson @littlexdeaths

@marlena-marlena @mmmunson @skrzydlak @tenthmoon

[bayporwave]

Utik

The utik (yoo-tik) are a sophont species the rakii came in contact with when they first landed on Ra'hah, their second largest moon orbiting Rek. The utik were actually the first to even set foot onto it, as they had no other choice. After suffering massive damage to their ship, the utik were forced to land on the lunar surface and hope to survive or await help. Years later, the rakii show up, which started an a long, chaotic process of attempt of communication and debating ownership.

The bodies of the utik are actually not their true bodies. The actual sophont lies within the pearly cased cockpit. Utik like the Olac bio-mechs, mastered the technical art of bio-technology, having started on a very hot and humid planet. While unlike the Olac who switched to bio-technology as a means to evade a debilitating disease, the utik mastered it for years, working off various symbiotic organisms. Their mech suits, or cyborg bodies you could say are symbiotic, as after their nervous and circulatory systems are linked, the pilot has full control of the suit, having it feed off waste material from the pilot. The suit then takes the waste, replenishes it, mixes it's own formula into it and feeds it back to the pilot. Like a plant, it gets a lot of energy off light and other forms of UV Retaining it for hours. These suits are suitable (ha) for open space, and lunar terran for a limited time. However proper measures are made to keep the suits tidy from "space dust" so no one goes out "naked" and risk exterior damage.

(quick sketch of utik 'pooters n screens. NOT ENTIRELY FINALIZED)

However, this isn't their true form. At least they didn't start off like this.

Way before, after they reached the ultimate feat in their development, their star was noticeably suffering, as it was predicted to eventually turn into black hole. While they had years 'till then, there wasn't enough time to perfect their original forms for the long-term space travel. So. as best they could, they learned to carefully strip and reduce themselves to nothing more than squishy muscle and brain matter, beforehand creating living space suits and sleeper pods to maintain what's left. Several ships shot into space just in time before their star went dark and each ship jumped in different directions hoping to find and terraform a new world. This group of utik weren't so lucky, as said before.

Now for the first half of the year, rakii and utik were on some tense terms. A lot of internal debates on who gets the moon. While utik were capable of defense, they weren't in a great position to, and the rakii weren't sure how to proceed with their first extraterrestrial contact. (Non-religious turned contact I'd guess???) UNTIL, one day it was brought ahead that, the utik secrete an anti-radiation slime. Something they came with naturally, just cranked to 10.

At first, the rakii thought to use this fluid as an applicable substance similar to sun-block, required to apply pre-spaceflight. However, it was revealed that they are extremely allergic to it. So skin-contact was a big no.

(Unfortunate rakii subject applying utik-based lotion. Results: swelling in skin, which can further cause blisters and splits)

After several trials, they came to a conclusion of using it as a gel layering in space suits, capable of absorbing radiation and protecting the wearer.

This discovery brought up a plan and a deal. It was agreed, rakii and utik would share the moon, making their first ever alliance, in exchange the utik would allow the rakii to harvest this anti-radiation goop off them, of course while exchanging knowledge, and resources.

[sporesgalaxy]

LET ME TELL YOU THE SETUP FOR MY BEAUTIFUL COOKIE CLICKER LOVE STORY

it's not everything but it's a decent introduction to the characters. I've been writing this summary for weeks. I'm hoping that feeling like I can reference parts in the middle will give me more ideas......

why does it hate my images...ok fine no images. god

•••

0 Ascensions:

Cookie is always on the lookout for new ways to bake ungodly amounts of cookies, so she approaches Kirschtorte after reading about the doctor's experimental portal research having once resulted in the retreival of a small amount of alien matter.

The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she does not touch a single morsel of the extravagant cookie spread that Ms. Cliquer made to butter her up. The same thing happens the second, fourth, fifth time they meet and discuss business, no matter what variety of cookies Cookie makes. At last Cookie subjects herself to the mortifying ordeal of directly asking Dr. Kirschtorte what kind of cookies she likes-- only to be shocked and horrified when the doctor says that she does not eat any cookies whatsoever.

Despite her inexplicable distaste for cookies, Michelle Kirschtorte is receptive to Cookie's business offer, but she remains unmoved by Cookie's sickly-sweet commercial persona. Secretly at first, Kirschtorte is deeply cynical about the whole arrangement; she was screwed over by her previous colleagues, and progress on her portal research has been stagnating for some time now because of it. Although she doesn't admit it to Cookie at first, the doctor feels humiliated by the prospect of turning to a baked goods corporation for funding. Michelle ends up accepting the deal under the impression that she is taking advantage of Cookie's deep pockets and naive enthusiasm for unorthodox theoretical baking techniques.

When the cookie-focused research initiatives start yeilding mind-bogglingly impressive results, Kirschtorte reassesses her portal research priorities and her impressions of her oddball benefactor. Cookies are, for some reason, the key to understanding and exploiting the greatest secrets of the universe. Even more impressively, Ms. Cliquer seems intuitively in touch with the logic behind these shocking cookie truths. What other great scientific discoveries could cookie research yeild? How does Cliquer think of this stuff? Why DOES everyone like cookies so damn much? Kirschtorte finds herself irresistably drawn in by these exciting scientific possibilities, as well as the much less sweet and more insatiably driven person she starts getting to know behind Cookie's crowd-pleasing public persona.

Despite a stilted start to their relationship, Cookie and Michelle get along very well once they find even footing. Both are driven to prove themselves through their work, both have been underestimated and cast aside by peers and superiors in the past. Cookie's obsessive drive to make and market infinite perfect cookies matches Michelle's obsessive drive to understand everything there is to know about the nature of the universe; both are deeply passionate about their work and typically striving tirelessly towards the same goal. Both believe that their ends justify their means, and that ethical concerns are a waste of time and a thorn in the side of progress.

Cookie has a knack for PR that Michelle has always lacked the patience for; Michelle understands and appreciates the true, transcendent importance of cookies nearly as much as Cookie does-- Cookie's business partners usually don't care about that part.

Cookie eventually achieves enlightenment and realizes the Secret of the Heavenly Chips, granting her the ability to Ascend. Cookie should be overjoyed at the cosmic knowledge within her grasp; great new possibilities in cookie production await her!

Yet Cookie drags her feet. She keeps finding excuses to stay where she is, keeps setting goals even as her progress slows to a crawl, and reaching those goals in this lifetime seems less and less feasible...

Still, the stress of failure and stagnation chips away at Cookie's resolve to keep dragging out her first iteration. The knowledge of how much she could be doing with the power Ascension would grant her makes Cookie increasingly irritable and bitter about the work which she's made her entire life revolve around.

Kirschtorte is stressed and angry about the slowed progress, too. She is increasingly afraid that age and death will catch up with herself and Cookie before they can discover everything there is to know about reality (and cookies). Michelle is vexed by Cookie's comparative lack of urgency-- or is it a lack of hope for any solution? Cookie has always been the most driven person Michelle's known, yet now Cookie's detatchedness toes the line of seeming resigned to failure. Michelle feels like everything she thought she understood about Cookie is slipping through her fingers, and she feels powerless against the onward march of time (DESPITE having access to time machines!), and she doesn't know how to cope.

The temptation of exponentially greater cookie production and the crushing agony of stagnation eventually outweigh Cookie's sentimental attachment to this particular iteration of her life. Cookie Ascends.

(Michelle lives the rest of her life feeling emptier in Cookie's absence, and never knowing why Cookie vanished.)

1st iteration to reach the Grandmapocalypse:

The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she is offered a slice of Black Forest Cake, her favorite. Somewhat suspicious of the COOKIE Magnate offering her cake, Michelle still can't bring herself to resist. Cookie is clearly delighted.

Kirschtorte doesn't take Cookie seriously at first and Cookie knows it, and finds it funny. Kirschtorte has to be convinced of the omnipresence and significance of cookies thru material evidence. Cookie is more hands-on helping speed along her research, but only ever reveals information in bite-sized pieces on a need-to-know basis. It becomes increasingly clear to Kirschtorte that Cookie somehow knows a lot about the most far-fetched characteristics of cookies before they're scientifically proven...and that Cookie has a suspiciously good intuition for knowing things about Kirschtorte herself.

Cookie is delighted by her extra power and knowledge at first. She's entertained by using her extra experience to tease Kirschtorte. Cookie enjoys getting to spend more time with Michelle, despite how one-sided the relationship is early on. Michelle is drawn to Cookie even more from the get-go, because of her strange intuitive understanding of Michelle herself, as well as Cookie Theory.

During the first Grandmapocalypse, Cookie is overwhelmed and focuses on trying to feel in control rather than seeking help from Kirschtorte. When Dr. Kirschtorte approaches Cookie about it, Michelle is surprised by how stubbornly Cookie refuses to bend even slightly to the wishes of the Grandmatriarchs, no matter how logical and cost-effective that would be. Not fully understood by to Kirschtorte, this is motivated mostly by Cookie's resentment for her own grandmother (who is now a parf of the Grandma collective, of course). Cookie insists that any compliance or appeasement would only lead to Cookie and her company being trapped under the Grandmatriarchs' elderly thumb forever.

Instead, Cookie is dead set on overcoming the Grandmatriarchs' sabotage by outpacing them through brute force. Michelle sees this as a fight she is doomed to lose, but Cookie refuses to consider any alternatives.

Cookie's seemingly pointless uphill battle convinces Michelle that cooperating with the Grandmatriarchs is the only way to keep cookie production and research moving forward at a viable pace (she is objectively correct about this). Michelle wants to trust Cookie's leadership, but the two of them are getting older (this is especially visible on Michelle, who is effected by constant proximity to Cookieverse Portals), and Michelle is beginning to fear they might die before they uncover and exploit all the cookie-based secrets of the universe. After all the work they've done, the thought of not being able to see it through upsets Kirschtorte terribly. The Grandmatriarchs subconsciously whisper things to Michelle which exacerbate these fears-- something Michelle is susceptible to due to her proximity to the Cookieverse Portals.

Eventually, Kirschtorte caves. Against Cookie's wishes-- but in Kirschtorte's mind, for Cookie's sake as well as her own-- Kirschtorte convenes with the Grandmatriarchs anyways by using the Cookieverse Portals. She asks them for knowledge of how to lessen the Grandmatriarchs' wrath, and she asks for them to help her understand the true nature of the universe. In exchange, the Grandmatriarchs' ask Michelle to bond her mind with them just a little (still retaining most of her individuality), and vow that she will continue to proliferate portals to the cookieverse as long as she lives. That seems like an easy promise to Michelle, and it makes sense that they would want this. She already makes portals to the cookieverse all the time, so no big deal. Cookie was probably being stubborn and mistrusting for nothing!

Michelle performs the Elder Pledge ("a simple ritual involving anti-aging cream, cookie batter mixed in the moonlight, and a live chicken"), and the Grandmapocalypse is halted. The Wrinklers and Flesh Highways withdraw and cookie production returns to normal, with the Research Facility's grandma augmentation benefits still at work.

Cookie isn't sure what to make of the sudden withdraw of the Grandmatriarchs, but she has a bad feeling.

The way Michelle's deal works is that Kirschtorte will die normally someday, but then the Grandmatriarchs will carry her consciousness and memories to another iteration of Kirschtorte who asks for the same deal, and their knowledge will be combined into 1 continuous consciousness. This will repeat over and over, with more knowledge added to the collective each time, and each new Kirschtorte never knowing about her past selves or the secrets they've uncovered before she complies with the Grandmatriarchs.

Kirschtorte asks the Grandmatriarchs if they can do the same for Cookie, and is shocked to learn that Cookie was never going to run out of time, and never told her. Was Cookie willing to waste the rest of Kirschtorte's limited lifetime arguing with a grandma hivemind?! Did the work they do together matter so little to her?!!

When Michelle confronts her about it, Cookie learns in turn that Michelle is permanently cosmically bound to the Grandmatriarchs. Cookie feels betrayed, but she mostly blames Grandma-- ignoring Michelle's agency in the situation, thoughtlessly belittling her to keep her on a pedestal.

They continue to have problems in this and future iterations, with Kirschtorte always spending a large portion of their time together unaware of all their past lives until suddenly becoming aware when she inevitably goes against Cookie's wishes and speaks to the Grandmatriarchs. And yet, as much as they both claim to be ruthless utilitarians who put their work above all else, it is always quite obvious how much they admire each other and how badly they always want to be together, even at their worst. With all the time they spend building and destroying and rebuilding a cookie empire over and over again, they come to know and understand each other very intimately. They're both insufferably weird about each other when they both have all their memories.

[spncvr]

waiting room | s. reid

summary: spencer can't seem to escape the girl in the waiting room

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of reid's addiction & tobias hankel, mentions of kidnapping and mass shootings (in, like, a joking way??) my terrible, terrible humour, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE LMAO, this is deffo terrible, pls tell me if i missed anything!!

a/n: ok idk if i wanna continue this and make it a series so lmk lol (also im on writers block so i literally can't come up with SHIT)

SPENCER REID WAS a pessimist.

At least, that’s what he’d call himself. His colleague, Derek Morgan would most likely (and by most likely, he means, definitely already has) call him an overanalysing introvert. But in Spencer’s defense, there has never really been a good reason to go out and “live your life”. Consider this:

Go to the new coffee shop? Mass shooting.

Go to the mall? A child gets abducted.

Leave the apartment for a short while? A stalker finds out where he lives, kidnaps him in his sleep, and, in a nightmarish turn, auctions off his organs to the bidder in the black market.

Besides, his life isn’t some John Green book. There were no life-affirming adventures or poetic moments of self-discovery awaiting him. Carpe diem? A fanciful notion for others, but for him, not so much. Sorry, Mr. Keating.

Yet life—or more accurately, bureau protocol— had its own plans. Ever since the Tobias Hankel incident, a visit to the psychologist wasn’t just a request but rather (unfortunately for him) an order. Which meant, he’d have to risk his entire life to get up and walk for ten whole minutes just to sit and wait, in this glaringly bright waiting room, when he could have stayed at home and read the new books he’d gotten from his team as a get-well gift.

Speaking of which, why the gifts? He was fine. Physically, at least. But really, when have you ever seen get-well-soon cards in an asylum? Well, alright, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic. A visit to the psychologist doesn’t mean he’ll be institutionalised—but then again, Spencer Reid was never one to wear rose-tinted glasses. 

This is his third time in the waiting room, and she’s always there. He isn’t sure as to why she is, because, well, unlike himself, she was very clearly an optimist—and at least, from the looks of it, she hasn’t been kidnapped and drugged in the past month. But she's sitting there again, in the exact same chair for the past three weeks, along with a beacon of smiles where joy usually fears to trend. Maybe, he isn't as good of a profiler as he’d like to think he is.

“Dr. Reid?” the call of his name rips him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see the same kind woman he’s seen the past three weeks—not the one in the waiting room, no, he means his therapist.

Dr. Brown was easy to profile: She wore heels to make herself look taller, and she hated wearing glasses, apparent by how she would continuously place them atop her head instead of her nose. Her teeth were abnormally perfect, which meant, she’d had to wear braces when she was younger—which (from his humbling experience) means she wasn’t exactly the most popular at school. Perhaps, psychology felt appealing to her because she could help people like her. 

“How are you?” she asks, her pen clicking.

Usually, he’d offer her a meek shrug. The kind that could win awards for its commitment to non-commitment. Besides, he’s not one to talk about how he feels—there isn’t much to say, anyway. And let’s face it,  “How are you?” in the grand tapestry of human interaction is almost as genuine as a three-dollar bill. And, get this, the average person asks “How are you?” 6,739 times a year but only listens to the answer about half the time—well, okay, maybe those numbers might have been fabricated, but isn’t the sincerity behind the question also made up? But instead of telling her all this, he remembers what Hotch had told him, one, two, three weeks ago: that he ought to cooperate with Dr. Brown or the board won’t be happy. So, he kisses his teeth before he says:

“Fine. I’m fine.”

And the session went on.

PLS TELL ME IF I SHLD CONTIUE OR NOT LOLOLOL spam my inbox with ideas I BEG.

[forgeofthenine]

I need to know how the bachelors would react to their partner slipping up and calling them “Daddy”. Pls 🙏

I've been looking forwards to doing this request for a while now, there's something exciting about exploring a classic daddy kink with our favourite men. I hope you don't mind Anon, I added in a surprise Halsin too!

TW: NSFW under the cut, mentions of overstimulation, mentions of sort of exhibitionism (in Halsins)

Calling the bachelors (+Halsin) daddy NSFW headcanons

Dammon

It's a normal night with Dammon when it happens

Despite him having your knees up by your ears, neither of you decided to get very kinky tonight

That is, until he thrusts into you just right and you can't help the noise that comes out

Even if you might be embarrassed by the quiet moan of 'daddy' that escaped you, Dammon certainly isn't

It doesn't phase him, his pace keeping steady as he folds you over and fills you with his cock

It's easy to wonder if he even heard what you'd just said

He quite happily proves that he is listening with his own groan that leaves him next

"Fuck baby, you're taking daddy's cock so well... just like that."

Dammon is more than happy to indulge your daddy kink now he knows about it

Absolute filth leaves his mouth as he praises you for taking 'daddy' so sweetly

The night ends with him asking you to cum for daddy, his voice low and husky as he tries not to cum before you

There's no need to be shy about it now, Dammon himself is hooked just as much as you are

Also the bachelor most likely to refer to himself as daddy outside of the bedroom

Zevlor

Do you want this man to die from being too horny?

You're laid out over his bed, the tiefling between your legs as he goes down on you

It's easy to buck up and into his awaiting mouth, your hands wrapped tight around his horns, a low moan of 'daddy' leaving you

He definitely pauses for a moment when he first hears it, his breath hot against your skin before he dives back in

The mouth working over you seems more excited, frenzied almost, Zevlors own excitement apparent through how he pleasures you

It's only when you're just on the edge, the paladin pulling back and letting his hand do the work in getting you off, a simple command leaving him

"Be good and cum for daddy."

It's impossible not to do as he asks, stars dancing behind your eyes as your lover kisses and nips the bare skin of your thighs

You'll soon find it's not the first time Zevlors been called daddy in bed, but he'd certainly be disappointed if it was the last

Please just ride this man's dick while calling him daddy, he'll get addicted

Rolan

Rolan has you laid across his lap as swift strikes land on your bare ass, a pause for you to count each time it happens

He's more than happy to tell you to stop wiggling, to take your punishment and sit still

What surprises you both is when a loud moan of 'daddy' leaves you instead of the number eight

You'll feel Rolans hand resting against your ass for a moment as you both realise what happened

Soon though, the wizard will break the silence that's settled over you both

"Don't disappoint daddy now, darling, you still have to count."

Rolan absolutely makes the most of this new discovery, teasing you endlessly in the bedroom with your daddy kink

He'll even alter his pet names for you, preferring to call you variations of 'baby' or 'darling' as he bends you over his desk and fucks you

If you aren't teary eyed and babbling out daddy with overstimulation, then Rolan doesn't feel like he's done a good enough job

It doesn't even matter if Rolan is younger than you, he's still incredibly into it when you can't help but call him daddy

Halsin

It's so easy to get wrapped up in Halsin, literally and figuratively

When he has you sat on his lap, god-like cock stretching you beyond belief, strong arms wrapped around you... Well it's easy to get lost in him

It's no surprise then when you let out a high pitched moan, calling the elf daddy as he helps you ride him

Halsins another one that won't be phased, instead easily falling into his role as your daddy

Large, calloused hands wrap around your hips to help as he lets out his own rumbling groan in response

"Just like that, little one. Let out all your noises for daddy to hear."

He's endlessly encouraging of any noises you make, especially when they're part of a kink he didn't realise you have

As patient as the man is, he doesn't last long hearing you call him that before he's flipping you over

The way he fucks you is primal and comforting at the same time, and like any good daddy he makes sure you cum until you're near begging for a break

There's no better daddy out there than Halsin, both in and out of the bedroom, and he has no shame if your companions end up hearing his new nickname

[theoxenfree]

BOUNTY

hot gunslinging outlaw x reader | 2.7k

following your bitter mother's death, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate child of the most powerful man in san-am, soon to come into a vast inheritance as he is on his deathbed. what you anticipate to be an uneventful train across the country comes to a screeching halt when a mysterious man boards and tells you there's a substantial bounty on your head.

warnings; multiple mentions of death, brief blood mention, some graphic details, kidnapping, roughly proofread, post-apocalyptic setting, neo-western, reposted from old blog 2kmps

this is a concept piece for a larger project. please offer feedback to the questions at the end + reblog!! it really helps out with the project development and honing in on what y'all wanna see in the finished story!

Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.

Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.

Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel.

You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.

“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”

She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.

After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into.

Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.

“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”

Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car.

The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.

You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.

A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat.

The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps.

And then, there was silence.

The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.

“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”

“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”

From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.

“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”

“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”

Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.

Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.

And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather.

You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins.

And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.

You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim.

He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.

“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”

“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.

He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”

“Who hired you?” you demanded.

His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”

“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”

“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.”

“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”

He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”

You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders.

“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”

He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others.

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?”

You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”

A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut.

“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”

You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”

Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”

You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead.

It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.

“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”

“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”

In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”

“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said.

A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.

His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them.

“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”

“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.

He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”

a/n: thank you for reading, and hopefully (pls 🥹) reblogging this first concept piece! let me give you a little bit of background before launching into questions:

this entire idea came to be after reading/watching trigun, watching fallout prime, playing fallout 4, and prior playing my time at sandrock. setting-wise, I imagine the story will have some similarities between all of these things while putting mainly my own spin on the sci-fi western genre.

I intend for this project to be around 90k-100k by the time it is completed and will be the longest piece of writing I've done to date. additionally, I am building the entire world from the ground up and genuinely hoping to execute an extremely immersive reading experience! it is currently in the brainstorming and rough outlining stage, but I am making polls and asking for feedback to help move the process along.

I'd like to up to 2-3 additional concept pieces bc the scale of this project is so large. which concept piece would you like to see next, first? 1) an intimate moment sitting around the fire with jericho 2) jericho teaching mc how to shoot and gets very, very close.

currently, what is your impression of jericho's character? what could I do to improve upon him?

would you prefer for this story to be streamlined w/ the main focus on mc reaching st. corpus + theirs and jericho's romance? or, would you like prev mentioned + detailed character arcs of the other characters in jericho's crew?

this story is neo-western, but is definitely an adventure and epic at heart. is there anything in particular you'd be interested in seeing me write for a story like this? different areas around the continent? creatures? cultures? spend some extra time in st. corpus?

[luvdwkki]

Hyunjin - Through the lens

Hyunjin x Gn!reader

Word count: 11.3k

Synopsis: Hyunjin, a photographer, finds solace and inspiration in a picturesque village that soon becomes the heart of his world. Back in Seoul, unsettling discoveries make him question the reality of what he experienced.

Hyunjin hadn’t touched his camera in weeks. It sat at the edge of his desk, a thin layer of dust settling over its worn leather strap and gleaming glass lens. He used to not be able to go a full day without taking a photo, but now, every attempt felt flat and uninspired. Frustration gnawed at him. He couldn’t understand why this fog of creative emptiness had descended on him, and the lack of answers only deepened his unease. 

Determined to break free of it, Hyunjin tore through his room, rummaging through old photo albums and drawers, hunting for a spark or some long lost reminder of the passion he used to feel. Among the clutter, he stumbled upon a small photograph. Its edges had yellowed, and the colours had faded with time, but he recognised it instantly. It had been a gift from an elderly photographer he’d met at a gallery a couple years ago when Hyunjin was still fresh-faced and hungry for experience. Back then, the man had told him, “Whenever you get lost or need to feel free again, go here. This place has a tendency to make people feel found.’

Hyunjin held the photo up to the light, studying it. The picture was of a quaint town nestled away from the world, its cobbled streets winding between colourful houses with flowers spilling from every windowsill. The town looked quiet, untouched by time, like it had secrets only a few had ever learned. Just looking at it stirred something inside him, a faint echo of the thrill he used to feel when he picked up his camera. He knew he couldn't ignore it. If he didn’t act now, he feared he would lose his love for photography forever. 

Impulsively, he packed a small bag, tossing in essentials alongside his once beloved camera. Within hours, he was on a plane, his heart pounded with a nervous excitement he hadn’t felt in years. The flight was long, but he didn't mind. He gazed out of the window, watching clouds drift by as he imagined what awaited him in that town. It wasn’t just a place he was flying to; it was a glimmer of hope. 

When he landed, he took a winding bus ride through rolling hills and forests, the road twisting and turning until he could finally see the town appearing below in the soft glow of dusk. By the time he reached the tiny motel, the sun had set, and the town was bathed in the warm, golden light of street lamps and shop signs. Exhausted but content, he checked in and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The promise of a new beginning easing him into a dream. 

The next morning, he woke up with the sun streaming through the thin blinds, filling his room with a gentle warmth. After a quick breakfast at a small cafe nearby, he slung his camera over his shoulder and set off to explore. The town was just as enchanting as the photo had promised. Narrow streets wound through rows of brightly painted houses, flower boxes bursting with colour at every turn. Market stalls lined the main square, selling fresh produce, handmade crafts, and little trinkets that caught the light. 

Hyunjin didn’t reach for his camera right away. Instead, he let himself get lost in the rhythm of the town, feeling the cobblestone beneath his feet and inhaling the scents of blooming flowers and fresh bread. He stopped to chat with the locals, even sharing a laugh with an old man who teased him about his tourist’s curiosity. As the day wore on, he took a few photos. Portraits of shopkeepers, a child chasing a cat down an alley, the vibrant colours of the market stalls, but the inspiration he sought still eluded him. 

Returning to his motel that evening, Hyunjin felt a strange sense of peace. While he hadn’t yet rekindled his creative fire, he felt lighter and more hopeful than he had in weeks. He fell asleep wondering what tomorrow would bring, feeling closer to rediscovering himself with every step he took in this little town that seemed to wait patiently for him to find his way back to his art. 

On his third day in town, Hyunjin decided to explore the outskirts, hoping the untouched landscape might stir the inspiration he’d been searching for. He spent a couple of hours wandering narrow trails that led through groves of trees and open meadows, his camera swinging idly by his side, waiting for the right moment. Still, no shot felt right. Nothing seemed to spark the connection he craved. 

Then, as he walked along the shaded path, he came upon a willow tree standing beside a large, serene pond. Its long, wispy branches cascaded towards the water, swaying gently in the breeze. It was peaceful, a place seemingly untouched by time, and Hyunjin decided it would be a perfect spot to take a break. As he approached the tree, he noticed he was not alone. 

You were seated beneath the large tree on a neatly laid blanket, your figure partially hidden by the hanging branches. You looked deep in thought, your gaze fixed on the still waters of the pond, your hair flowing in soft waves, being lifted slightly by the breeze. There was a quiet grace about you, an unspoken depth that intrigued him. Hyunjin felt his breath catch. There was something so captivating about your solitude – the way you seemed to blend with the landscape as if you belonged there more than any human ever could. 

Without much thought, he lifted his camera, adjusting the focus to capture your presence within the tranquil setting. But just as he pressed the shutter, the sound of the camera echoed louder than expected. Your head turned sharply in his direction, your eyes wide with surprise. 

Hyunjin quickly lowered his camera, his face flushing as he stammered, “I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to startle you. I just… couldn't miss the perfect shot.” 

A small smile played on your lips, the surprise fading from your expression. “It’s okay,” you replied, glancing back towards the water with a soft chuckle. “I guess I was just lost in thought.” 

He couldn't help but notice the way you spoke, your voice gentle but clear, each word carrying a quiet warmth. For a moment, Hyunjin found himself lost again, this time in your calm presence. He felt an urge to know you, to understand the stories behind your serene expression. 

“Im Hyunjin,” his voice was hesitant yet hopeful, as if fearing he might break the delicate spell between you. 

You turned back to him, your voice widening slightly. “Nice to meet you, Hyunjin.” Your tone was light but kind, and there was a spark in your gaze that made his heart race unexpectedly.

For a moment, silence settled between you, filled only by the whisper of a breeze rustling the willow leaves. Trying to fill the space, he asked, “So, what brings you out here all alone?” 

You looked back at the water, a hint of something reflective in your eyes. “I just needed a little air,” you said softly. “It’s peaceful here… gives me room to think.” 

You paused, then glanced at the empty spot beside you. “Would you like to sit?” a slight curiosity in your tone. 

Hyunjin nodded quickly, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and sat down beside you, careful not to disturb the tranquillity of your small space. He could still feel the lingering embarrassment from earlier but was relieved that you didn’t seem bothered. You turned to him, the warmth of your smile easing his nerves. 

“So what brings you to this town?” you asked, your eyes alight with genuine interest. 

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment before sharing the story of his recent struggle with his art, the way he’d felt lost and disconnected until he’d found the photograph that had brought him here. You listened intently, nodding at each turn, your expression one of understanding that made him feel oddly comforted. 

When he finished, he asked, “And what about you? Do you come here often?” 

“I grew up here,” you said with a fondness lacing your words. “This place is part of me. It’s home, even when I need to step away from it. I guess you could say it keeps me floating.” 

You both continued to talk as the minutes slipped by, sharing small pieces of your lives. With each word, Hyunjin felt himself becoming more and more captivated by you. It wasn’t just your words but the way you held yourself, the quiet strength and calmness that seemed to radiate from you. 

Eventually, you glanced at the sky, a reluctant look crossing your face. “I should probably head off now,” you said, standing up and dusting off your blanket. 

Hyunjin felt a strange pang as you packed up your things, an emptiness he hadn’t anticipated. He realised he didn’t even know your name, yet he felt as if he’d known you for far longer than these few minutes. He wanted to ask you to stay, or to at least meet again, but the words caught in his throat. 

With one last smile, you looked at him. “It was nice meeting you, Hyunjin,” you said softly before turning to walk away, leaving him under the willow tree with only the photo of you and the quiet ripples of the pond. 

As he watched you go, Hyunjin felt something inside him shift. This peaceful place had reignited something he thought he’d lost. For the first time in a long while, he lifted his camera again, capturing the scene as if to hold onto the moment forever. 

Hyunjin returned to the town that evening, trying to take more photos of the colourful marketplace and the winding streets. Yet no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his surroundings, he couldn't get you out of his mind. The memory of your gentle smile or your thoughtful gaze on the pond–you lingered in his thoughts like a haunting melody. As the evening shadows stretched off the cobbled paths, Hyunjin resigned himself to the quiet of his motel room, though sleep came slowly, the image of you at the willow tree etched vividly in his mind. 

The next day, he rose early and wandered the town again, hoping to recapture the inspiration he felt slipping through his fingers. As he meandered through the bustling plaza, weaving between vendors setting up their vibrant wares, he saw you. You were strolling near the far edge of the square, a woven basket hanging from your arms. Before he could even think, his legs carried him forward. Your eyes widened with surprise when you saw him, followed by a delighted smile. 

“You again,” you teased, your eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“Yeah, I… well, I couldn’t leave without another photo,” he replied, his voice uncertain but sincere. You laughed, and he felt the last traces of his nervousness melt away. 

“Well then, come on,” you said, gesturing for him to walk with you. You left the bustling plaza and wandered into the countryside beyond the town, a quiet path that opened up to a vast expanse of wildflower fields stretching out in every direction. The flowers were in full bloom, petals painting the landscape in rich hues of lavender, gold, and crimson. Hyunjin could smell their faint, sweet perfume in the air. The trail found its way through the field, and soon you arrived at a gentle stream where wild grasses leaned over the water’s edge. 

“Spring is special here,” you murmured, motioning to the lively stream, where tiny fish darted beneath the surface and dragonflies skimmed over the water. “It wakes everything up.” 

Hyunjin nodded, taking in every word, though he found himself more captivated by your voice than the scene you were describing. You pointed out small animals hidden among the reeds, such as a small family of ducks waddling near the shore, or the heron standing gracefully on one leg. He just studied you, noticing the way your face lit up with each new sight. 

“Do you know much about them?” you asked suddenly, your question breaking him out of his trance. 

Hyunjin realised he’d barely listened, too lost in watching you. You tilted your head, giving him a curious look, and he felt his face flush. He quickly nodded, managing a quiet “Mhm…” 

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, but you let it slide, continuing your stories of the stream’s wildlife as you walked. You seemed to know every detail of the land, from the tiniest insects to the habits of the foxes that visited at dusk. Hyunjin listened, caught between fascination with your words and the growing warmth he felt in your presence. 

After a while, his stomach growled softly, causing him to laugh in embarrassment. “I guess I should've packed a lunch.” 

You gave him a playful look before opening your basket and pulling out two neatly wrapped sandwiches, handing one to him with a smile. “Lucky for you, I came prepared.” 

You found a low tree with sturdy branches, and quickly climbed onto one with ease, patting the spot beside you. Hyunjin joined you, unwrapping the sandwich as you sat there, legs swinging like carefree children. You ate in a comfortable silence, surrounded by the soft murmur of the stream and the hum of distant wildlife. 

Once you had finished eating, you lingered on the branch, talking about the town and sharing stories and memories of your lives. He learnt that you spent most afternoons in the fields, seeking out little pockets of peace away from the noise of the town. You described how the landscape transformed with each season, your eyes lighting up with each memory you shared. As you spoke, he felt himself drawn more and more into your world, sensing the way you saw beauty in the smallest things. 

The hours slipped by until, eventually, you both realised you should head back. You hopped off the branch, brushing loose bark from your pants, and he followed you down the winding paths leading towards town. You walked slowly, the conversation more thoughtful now, until you finally reached the familiar streets. 

As you parted ways, Hyunjin felt a sense of reluctance, wishing he had a reason to keep walking with you, just a bit longer. But with one last wave and a smile, you disappeared into the busy street, leaving him with a strange ache in his chest and a new kind of inspiration stirring within him. 

For the first time in a while, Hyunjin felt the urge to capture more than just a photograph; he wanted to capture a feeling, a memory that would linger long after he’d left this place. 

The next morning, Hyunjin was up early, determined to find you again. He wandered through the village’s winding streets, scanning each corner and side street, hoping for a glimpse of your familiar figure. He checked the plaza, the cafe, even the quiet paths by the outskirts, but you were nowhere to be found. The entire day passed in a blur as he thought of little else, his mind replaying every word and expression, every smile and laugh that you had shared. That night he lay awake, formulating a plan — a way to spend more time with you — to capture this rare, exhilarating feeling and keep it alive as long as he could.

That night, sleep was elusive. His mind was a storm of excitement, anticipation, and a nervous energy that kept him awake well into the early hours. By the time he finally drifted off, the sky was already beginning to show its rosy hues. 

The next morning, he woke up in a panic, immediately glancing at the clock. He’d overslept, and by the time he left his room, the village was already alive with activity. He strolled through the narrow streets, feeling disappointed and convinced he might have missed his chance. But as he wandered past the plaza, a familiar figure caught his eye. You were sitting by the fountain in the middle of the square, your head bowed slightly as you stared at the water, lost in thought.

A smile broke across his face as he watched you, your figure bathed in the soft glow of midday sun, and he couldn’t resist capturing the moment. Without a second thought, he lifted his camera, capturing your profile as you sat quietly, unaware of his presence. There was something in your stillness, an elegance that he couldn’t quite put into words but felt compelled to preserve in the frame. After a few shots, he put the camera down and made his way over, tapping your shoulder gently. 

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, feigning a casual air as though he were a stranger passing by. 

You looked up, surprised but pleased, your smile warm as you gestured to the spot beside you. “Of course,” you said, shifting slightly to make room for him. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in your own thoughts. The sounds of the town filled the air. Children laughing, merchants calling out their wares, the soft splash of the fountain’s water. 

Eventually, you broke the silence, your voice thoughtful. “It’s funny, isn't it? How the town feels so alice in spring, but in winter, it almost seems… frozen in time.” 

Hyunjin nodded, sensing there was more you wanted to share. Your eyes lingered on the fountain, and there was a wistfulness to your gaze. 

“I love it here,” you continued. “It’s my home, and it always will be. But sometimes… I wonder what else is out there.” Your words hung in the air, and Hyunjin could hear the faintest edge of sadness to your tone. “You're lucky,” you added, glancing at him. “You get to see so much of the world. I’m…well, I'm just here.”

Your honesty surprised him. He had assumed you were content with your quiet life, rooted in this picturesque town. But there you were, longing for places you had never seen, paths you had never walked. He tried to reassure you, saying “It’s not too late. You could leave, too.” 

You shook your head slowly, a bittersweet smile spreading across your lips. “No, I couldn’t. This is where I belong. I don't think I know how to leave, even if I wanted to.” 

Hearing the resignation in your voice stirred something in Hyunjin. You seemed bound to this place, your roots deep in the soil of your home, yet your heart ached for something more. He sensed a longing to share with you a glimpse of the beauty he had seen in the world. Impulsively, he reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours. Your gaze lifted in surprise, but you didn’t pull away; your eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and trust. 

“Come with me,” he said, a newfound confidence lending strength to his words. Without another word, he guided you away from the plaza, through the narrow streets and out towards the edge of town. 

You walked in a companionable silence along a hidden trail he’d discovered through a conversation with a local. He led you up a small incline, past dense trees and flowering shrubs, your hand warm in his as you journeyed through the soft underbrush. After a short but winding trek, you emerged into a secluded clearing. Before you laid a waterfall, cascading down smooth rocks into a clear pool below, its waters glinting in the afternoon sunlight. 

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight, a breathless smile spreading across your face. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” you murmured, “But I had no idea this was here.” 

Hyunjin watched you, captivated by your awe. You seemed to radiate with the same beauty as the scene around you, and for a moment, he felt as if he were seeing you for the first time. The sun casted a golden glow over you, illuminating the spark in your eyes and the subtle curve of your lips as you looked around in wonder. To him, you were the most beautiful part of the entire landscape.

You wandered closer to the water’s edge, laughing softly as you spotted a group of butterflies fluttering nearby. You crouched down, extending your hand as one of them landed gently on your fingertip. Hyunjin had no choice but to lift his camera, capturing your delicate smile and the sunlit waterfall shimmering behind you. He couldn’t help but take a few more photos, capturing your wonder and delight. Each slot felt like a small treasure, a memory he wanted to keep alive forever.

You wandered around the waterfall, watching the small creatures that made their homes there— a white rabbit sprinting into the bushes, a red squirrel darting up a tree, tiny birds fluttering their wings between branches. But Hyunjin could hardly focus on any of it. His gaze kept drifting back to you. 

Finally, you sat by the water’s edge, side by side, your shoulders nearly touching. The sound of the rushing water filled the air, but between you, there was a comfortable silence. You turned to him, a grateful smile on your lips, and he felt the weight of your gaze like a warmth that reached straight to his heart. 

“Thank you.” You said softly, your voice filled with an emotion he couldn't quite place. 

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm shine over the clearing, you made your way back to the town. Hand in hand, you walked together, Hyunjin feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in a long time. As you reached the village, he realised that this little corner of the world held something far greater than he'd ever expected. 

The evening air was tinged with the faint aroma of blooming flowers as you both lingered, just for a moment, beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp. You looked at him, your gaze steady and warm. “Meet me at the stream tomorrow around 11,” you said with a small smile, your voice carrying a hint of mystery. With one last glance, you turned to walk down the cobblestone road, leaving Hyunjin standing there, heart fluttering in his chest. 

That night, sleep evaded him. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the way you looked at him, the softness of your voice, the invitation in your words. Every thought of you filled his chest in a quiet happiness, and by the time he finally drifted off, his mind was full with dreams of the stream and the promise of seeing you again. 

He woke up at dawn, hours too early, unable to keep himself from the thrill of the day ahead. He got dressed slowly, choosing his clothes with great care, and ate a small breakfast to settle his nerves. Finally, as the clock ticked closer to 11, he set off, feeling the warm rays of sun on his back as he walked through the wildflower fields towards the stream. 

When he reached the water’s edge, his heart sank. The gentle trickle of the stream was the only sound to be heard, and you were nowhere to be seen. He kept glancing around, his excitement quickly fading into disappointment. Just as he was about to turn around, he noticed a figure across the stream, lying on a soft patch of grass, gazing up at the pearly white clouds.

It was you. 

You laid sprawled out on the grass, one arm behind your head and the other resting across your stomach. Your eyes were closed and your face was relaxed, your expression almost serene. The sunlight cast a golden glow across your skin, and you looked as if you were part of the landscape itself, a piece of this quiet paradise. Hyunjin’s hand rushed to his camera, lifting it to his eye, capturing you from afar, framing the curve of your face, the peacefulness in your expression, the way the soft light danced around you. He took a few quiet shots, smiling as he lowered the camera, unable to tear his eyes away from you. 

There was something about you… a presence, a quiet strength, a beauty that felt otherworldly. Each day you spent together drew him further into your orbit, and he found himself marvelling at how effortlessly you seemed to capture his every thought. 

Realising he’d have to cross the stream to join you, he looked down at the wide body of water separating them, assessing his options. The rocks looked slippery, and the stream was deceptively deep in some parts. He considered looking for a branch or some sort of makeshift bridge, half-laughing at the lengths he was willing to go just to avoid wet feet. 

He was mid-search, crouched over a pile of sticks when he heard a soft laugh. Looking up, he saw you gazing back at him from across the stream, a curious smile tugging at your lips. 

“Need some help there?” you called out, amusement clear in your voice. A blush crept across his cheeks as he straightened, giving you an embarrassed smile. 

“Just… planning my route,” he replied, sheepish. 

You stood up, brushing bits of grass from your legs and waded into the stream without hesitation. The water lapped at your bare ankles as you moved towards him, your shorts rolled up just above your knees, your steps sure and graceful. The sound of the water splashing softly around you filled the air, and Hyunjin watched, momentarily mesmerised as you approached him. 

“Scared to get wet?” you teased, stopping just a few feet away, your eyes twinkling with mischief. 

He chuckled, quickly recovering. “No, just trying to protect the camera,” he said, lifting it slightly as though to defend his excuse. “Can't risk it getting wet.” 

You raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer, until your face was mere centimetres from his, your gaze looked onto his. Hyunjin felt his heart stutter, his pulse racing as he met your eyes. Your face was so close, he could feel your breath, warm against his skin, your expression full of intent. 

In one swift motion, you reached out, snatching the camera from his hands, and darted back across the stream, genuine laughter spilling from your lips. Hyunjin stood frozen in surprise, watching as you reached the other side, grinning triumphantly as you held the camera aloft. 

“Hey!” he called, his voice tinged with laughter. You flashed him a mischievous smile, the sun catching the glint of your eyes. 

“Should’ve just worn shorts like me!” you shouted back, waving the camera. Your laughter was harmonious, and Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile, feeling his heart swell with affection. 

With a sigh of playful defeat, he set his shoes and socks aside, rolling up the bottom of his jeans to his knees. Tentatively, he stepped into the stream, the water frigid yet refreshing against his skin. You watched him from your side of the bank, your laughter softening as he made his way across.

He took slow, tentative steps into the stream, eyes focused on the rocks beneath him as he playfully navigated the water, each step cautious to avoid slipping. The cool stream tickled his ankles, and he winced as the water seeped higher, inching towards the rolled-up hem of his jeans. You watched him with a smile, setting his camera safely on a dry patch of grass away from the water before coming to his side. 

“It's really not that cold,” you said, giving him an encouraging smile as you knelt down to scoop up a handful of water, letting it trickle through your fingers. 

He nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, it's nothing,” he replied, though the water’s chill was starting to make him shiver slightly. 

You looked at him with a delinquent glint in your eye. “What's that?” you asked, your gaze fixed on something just over his shoulder. 

He glanced back instinctively, only to feel a sudden splash of icy water against his back. The shock jolted him, and he straightened with a gasp, feeling the cold seep through his shirt as a gasp escaped your lips. Slowly, he turned back to face you, and there you were, grinning widely, your eyes dancing with pure mischief. 

He genuinely felt like his heart might burst as he looked at you, the playful glint in your eyes making him smile despite the chill running down his spine. You didn’t waste a second before gathering another handful of water, tossing it at him with a delighted laugh. 

“Oh, it's on.” He laughed as he kicked his leg, sending a wide spray of water your way, drenching you in a sudden wave. You shrieked, laughing as the water splashed over you, soaking the front of your shirt and sending your hair tumbling in wet waves over your head. Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh, the sound of your delighted squeals filling the air around you. 

You weren’t about to let him with that easily, though. Bracing yourself, you used your foot to send another splash in his direction, water arching towards him as he lifted his hands in mock defence. Before you could gather more water, he lunged forward, closing the distance between the two of you in an instant. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifted you off the ground, spinning playfully as you smiled, your laughter ringing out in joyous peals that echoed across the stream. 

He carried you into the middle of the stream, your laughter mixing with the bubbling of the water and the gentle rustling of leaves overhead. You kicked playfully, your arms wrapping around his neck as he finally set you down, your faces close as you both struggled to catch your breath between giggles. 

Just as he let you go, your foot slipped on a wet rock, and with a yelp, you fell back, splashing down into the shallow water, your arms flailing as you tried — and failed — to steady yourself. You landed with a splash, your clothes soaked, and for a split second, the laughter stopped. Hyunjin froze, watching you with wide eyes, worry etched across his face. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand immediately extended towards you, concern evident in his eyes. 

A wicked smile spread across your face as you took his hand, your grip firm as you tugged him down towards you with surprising strength. Before he could react, he was tumbling forward, splashing down beside you in the cool water. For a moment, he was stunned, the cold soaking through his clothes as you burst in laughter, your face alight with pure joy. He joined in, the laughter ringing through the clearing as you began splashing each other with abandon, the water flying as you playfully fought your way across the shallow stream. 

Minutes passed, all the laughter echoing in quiet solitude around you. Eventually, as your energy waned, you waded back to the grassy patch near the water's edge, both of you soaked to the skin, hair dripping as you flopped down onto the sunlit grass, lying side by side, gazing up at the sky. 

The warm sun beat down on you, drying your clothes slowly as you lay there, side by side, watching the fluffy clouds drift lazily across the sky. You exchanged stories, small secrets, and laughter as the sun climbed higher, casting its warmth over you. Together, you spoke of dreams and favourite memories, of fears and the quiet hopes you held close to your heart. You told him about growing up in the village, the little joys and the familiar rhythm of life there, while he shared stories of his travels, the places he’d been to and the adventures he’d had. 

As the afternoon sun reached its peak, Hyunjin felt an overwhelming sense of peace settle over him. Lying there on the grass, side by side, with no rush and no expectations, you simply enjoyed each other’s presence, as though the world beyond the stream had faded away, leaving only the two of you and this perfect, sunlit moment. 

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in an array of deep purples and warm oranges that stretched like watercolour strokes across the landscape. Hyunjin’s camera clicked rhythmically, capturing the last golden rays as you two bathed the town in a soft, dreamlike glow. He paused for a moment, turning his lens towards you as you stood by the edge of the path, your hair catching the evening breeze. You looked beautiful, framed by the colours of twilight, and he couldn’t resist reserving that fleeting beauty. 

As you made your way back into town, the gentle hum of the evening settled around you two. Streetlights began to flicker to life, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across the rocky streets. The town bustled with soft laughter and the chanter of people heading home, mingling with the faint melodies of a street musician strumming an old guitar. 

Hyunjin glanced at you, an unspoken question shimmering in his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to sound casual. “Would you stay with me tonight? We could watch the stars together and talk until morning.” 

You paused, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A hint of regret flickered across your expression, and you gave him a gentle smile. “I can’t tonight, Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice tinged with a quiet sadness. 

A brief pang of disappointment bloomed in Hyunjin’s chest, but he quickly swallowed it down, curving his lips into an understanding smile. “That's okay,” he replied, his tone light. “Maybe another time.” 

You walked side by side through the town, the comfortable conversation between you being punctuated by the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of leaves. Hyunjin’s heart ached a little; the desire to be closer, to cross that invisible line between friendship and something more was gnawing at him. Yet he pushed that feeling aside, content to be simply near you. 

The following days passed in a blue of laughter and shared moments that felt suspended in time. Together, you explored every nook and cranny of the village, from the bustling market where you sampled sweet pastries and admired handcrafted trinkets to the quiet meadow behind the old church where life bloomed in a riot of colour. The air between you cracked with a subtle electronic tension — each accidental touch and shared glance heavy with meaning. 

One afternoon, you tugged at his sleeve, a playful grin lighting up your face. “Come with me,” you said, excitement sparkling in your eyes. You led him through narrow, winding roads to a small, stone fronted bakery tucked between two larger shops. The scent of fresh bread and sugar wafted out to greet you, warm and inviting. 

“This is where I work,” you said, your voice brimming with pride. Hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise as you pushed open the wooden door, ushering him inside. The bakery was cosy, large shelves lined with golden loaves, pastries glazed with sugar, and cakes that looked almost too beautiful to eat. 

“Choose anything you like,” you said, slipping behind the counter, grabbing tongs before staring back at him. His heart swelled at the sight of you, framed by the warm glow of the bakery, the soft light catching in your eyes. 

He pointed to a delicate looking pastry, making you chuckle. “Good choice,” you said, handing it to him with a wink. You sat at a small table in the corner, sharing bites and trading sentences as the afternoon filtered through the windows, casting golden patches across your faces. 

The moment felt perfect — simple, sweet, and filled with an unspoken connection that made Hyunjin’s pulse quicker. As you laughed and talked, surrounded by the comforting scent of baked goods, he felt the romantic tension between the two of you deepen, like a song waiting for its crescendo. 

Every evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the village in warm hues, Hyunjin would pull out his camera, capturing the moments that made up these perfect days. But no photograph could capture the way his chest tightened when you laughed or the quiet longing that settled between you as you walked through the lit streets. 

Your days were filled with joy, yet the feelings hung between you like an unsaid promise, waiting for the right moment to be spoken aloud. 

Hyunjin could feel the weight of impending departure pressing on his chest, a dull ache that grew with each passing hour. The small town, once just a place on a map, had become a part of him, woven with memories that, at this moment, felt bittersweet. It wasn’t just the winding streets or the sun kissed fields that made leaving so hard — it was you. The one who had turned his days into something extraordinary. He wished, with silent desperation, that time would stop, but no amount of hoping could change the inevitably of his departure. 

The morning of his last day arrived, a cruel uncertainty settling over him like a shadow. He kept the knowledge buried deep, unwilling to burden you with the same weight that made his heart heavy. He moved through the hours as if in a dream, visiting familiar places and capturing their essence through the lens of his camera, but none of it brought him the comfort it once did. 

As the sun began its leisurely descent, casting the sky in the hues of amber that rose that he had gotten to know so well, Hyunjin made his way to the bakery. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and there you were, apron dusted with flour, a smudge on your cheek that made him smile despite the lump forming in his throat. You looked up, your eyes brightening as they found him, unaware of the storm brewing behind his steady gaze. 

“Ready to go?” you asked, untying your apron and setting it aside. The warmth in your voice and the way you looked at him as if he belonged there — it made everything harder. 

“Yeah,” he managed, his voice softer than usual. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as you walked out into the golden light of the evening. 

You wandered down the familiar path that led to the willow tree, the leaves rustling in the soft breeze as if whispering their secrets. The pond mirrored the warm colours of the sky, it’s surface glistening with a gentle shimmer. It was where you had first met, where the story between you had begun, and now it seemed it would be where it came full circle. 

You settled into the roots of the tree, the quietness between you not uncomfortable but thick with meaning. The sun dipped lower, casting a halo of light that danced across the water. You leaned back, your eyes tracing the leaves as they drifted lazily, unaware of the truth he was about to speak. 

Hyunjin looked at you, the words tangled in his chest, each one sharp and aching. Finally, he let out a breath and said, “This is my last day here.” 

The silence that followed was different, sharp and brittle. You turned towards him, disbelief shadowing your expression. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” your voice trembled. 

He swallowed hard, searching your eyes and finding a mixture of hurt and confusion. “I didn’t want it to be real,” he said, his voice cracking with the weight of it. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t come true.” 

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you brushed it away with an angry hand. “That’s not fair, Hyunjin,” you said, a sharp edge to your tone. “I deserved to know.” 

“I know,” he whispered, guilt lacing through him. He reached for your hand, but you pulled away, the movement breaking something inside him. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. 

“Well, you did,” the rawness in your voice matching the ache in your chest. The willow’s leaves swayed around you, casting dappled shadows that seemed to echo the heaviness of your conversation. 

A tear welled up in his eye, blurring his vision as he looked at you. “I don't want it to end like this. I care about you more than anything, and it’s tearing me apart to leave.” 

You stood up, the movement abrupt, your eyes blazing with a mixture of heartbreak and frustration. For a moment, Hyunjin feared you were going to walk away without another word. But then, you turned back to him, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, eyes glistening as you asked “Are you sure you care about me?” 

The question struck him like a physical blow. “Of course I care about you,” he replied, his voice low but urgent, filled with concern and confusion. “How could you even think–” 

“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you interrupted, tears brimming your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Why did you keep this from me if I meant anything to you?” 

“Because I was scared,” he admitted, the words tumbling out, raw and exposed. “I didn’t want to see that look on your face! The one you're giving me now.” 

You laughed, a bitter and broken sound, and the tears finally escaped down your cheek. “And yet here we are,” you said, wiping your now wet face with a shaky hand. Your gaze dropped for a moment before coming back up, piercing him with its intensity. “You never even asked for my name, Hyunjin.”

His heart clenched, guilt twisting through him like a knife. “It’s not that I didnt care enough to ask,” he expressed, taking a step forward, trying to close the space between you. “It’s just… I felt like I already knew you. Like your name wasn’t just a word but something I already carried here.” He pressed his hand to his chest, eyes pleading with yours. “I was too afraid that asking would make it feel real, that acknowledging it would make me fall even harder, and then this —” he gestured helplessly between you two, the air crackling with unspoken words,��–- would hurt even more.” 

You turned, taking a few uneasy steps away from him, and he felt his chest tighten with panic. He reached out, grabbing your hand before you could move any further. The touch froze you in place, and though you didn’t turn, he could see your shoulders shaking as more tears fell. 

“Wait!” his voice cracked with emotion. “Please, just listen.” He drew in a breath, his throat tight, his heart pounding with a mix of desperation and raw honesty. “You have to know how much I care about you. I know the sound of your laugh, how it changes when something really makes you happy, and how you tilt your head just a bit when you’re really listening to someone. I know how your eyes catch the sunlight when you talk about your dreams and how your smile softens when you’re lost in thought.”

He took a shaky breath, trying to keep the surge of emotion in check. “I remember every time you tucked that stray piece of hair behind your ear, not knowing how much it made my heart race. I know the way your voice wavers when you’re about to admit something close to your heart, and the way you hold back tears even when you don’t need to be strong. I noticed the scent of freshly baked cookies that lingers on you from the bakery, the way your fingertips are dusted with flour when you’re in a rush.”

Tears welled up in his own eyes as he spoke, each word a step deeper into his vulnerable heart. “I know the way you pause to watch the sky as if you’re searching for something beyond the clouds and how your entire face lights up when you’re caught up in a story or memory. I know all these little things because every second with you, I’ve been memorising them, afraid I’d have to leave and forget even one.”

You stood frozen, tears now streaming down your cheeks as you absorbed the weight of his confession. He stepped closer, his voice trembling but resolute. “Leaving now feels like tearing away from everything that's made me feel alive for the first time in so long. I never asked for your name because I was terrified that knowing it would make it impossible to let go.” 

Your eyes softened, the wall of hurt between them crumbling under the weight of his words. Without saying a word, you took another step closer, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. All you could find was the unguarded truth, etched in every line of his expression. 

With a suddenness that made his heart stutter, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The first touch was tentative, almost hesitant, as if testing the fragile connection between you. Hyunjin’s breath caught in his throat, and the world seemed to still, holding its breath around you. The taste of you was both familiar and sweet, a mix of warmth and the faintest hint of cinnamon from the bakery. 

As the initial shock melted away, he responded by deepening the kiss with a slow, careful intensity that spoke of every unspoken word and unfulfilled wish. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as though it was the most delicate thing he’d ever touched. You leaned into him, your own hands trembling as they came to rest on his shoulders, holding on as if to anchor yourself in the moment. 

Time felt irrelevant; the cool breeze rustling the leaves above and the golden hues became a backdrop to the raw emotion between you. The kiss shifted from hesitant to certain, your lips moving together in a dance that spoke of longing, desperation, and a promise that defied the reality of your impending parting. It was a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t said, a final bridge between two hearts that had found each other by chance and were now bound by something neither could quite explain. 

When you finally broke apart, your faces lingered close, breaths mingling in the space between. Hyunjin’s eyes searched yours, finding them still wet with tears but now shining with a new depth of understanding. He reached up and gently wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on your skin. 

“You have no idea how much this moment means to me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his words seep into your heart before opening them again, your gaze tender but filled with the bittersweet truth that this moment, however perfect, might be your last for a long while. 

As your breath steadied and the weight of the moment settled, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him in an embrace that felt like it could seal the cracks of your heart. Hyunjin hugged you back, pulling you close as if he could imprint the memory of your warmth into his very being. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the world around you fading into the background — the rustling of the leaves, the distant hum of the town — all a mere whisper compared to the quiet thrum of your shared heartbeat. 

When you finally pulled apart, it was with an unspoken understanding that the night was yours. Hyunjin gently took your hand, guiding you down to the soft grass beneath the willow tree. The moon had risen higher, casting the world in a dusky glow that seemed to embrace you in its shallow light. You lay side by side, your fingers brushing against each other as you stared up at the sky through the leaves, which now began to shimmer with its first hints of stars. 

A gentle breeze played with his hair, helping you smile softly when a strand ticked his nose. He turned his head to look at you, memorising the way your eyes crinkled at the corners and how the curve of your smile seemed to brighten even the coming night. 

“Remember when you tricked me into thinking there was a festival happening in the square, and it turned out to be just you with your basket full of pastries?” he asked, his tone light and the memory evoking a shared laugh. You nodded, eyes glistening with amusement. 

“You fell for it so easily! But it was worth it when you kept guessing what kind of pastries I'd brought,” you replied, the mirth in your voice softening as you continued, “I’d never seen anyone so happy over cinnamon rolls.” 

You talked about more moments like these — you showing him secret corners of the town where the wildflowers grow in vibrant clusters, or your afternoons spent by the stream tossing stones and sharing stories, and the impromptu dance in the rain that had left you soaked and laughing under the stormy sky. Each memory unfolded between you like chapters in a book, your voices mingling with the chirp of crickets as the sky turned from twilight to deep indigo, scattered with stars. 

“Why do these memories feel so big, so… heavy?” you asked, your voice barely above a winter as you turned to him. 

Hyunjin reached for your hand, your fingers intertwining as he looked at you with a tender smile. “Because they mean everything,” he said. “Every moment, no matter how small, it all matters.” 

Silence fell between you again, comfortable and profound. You laid there, hands clasped, eyes drifting from the sky above to the features of each other’s faces, illuminated by the soft starlight. The night air cooled, but neither of you rushed to go inside; you were content to stay, to hold on to every second of this final night, filling it with whispers, stolen glances, and the unspoken wish that time could somehow stand still. 

Hyunjin shifted slightly so that he could draw you even closer to him. The night air whispered through the leaves of the willow tree, but in each other's arms, you felt only warmth. You nestled into his chest, draping one leg over his, as if to anchor yourself to this moment that neither of you wanted to let slip away. Your bodies fit together naturally, the rise and fall of your chests synchronising like a silent conversation spoken only in heartbeats. 

With one arm wrapped securely under your head, Hyunjin lifted his other hand to gently trace the line of your jaw. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if committing each contour to memory. He tilted your face upward, your eyes meeting in a gaze that held everything. The stars above seemed to watch over you; their light pale in comparison to the spark that flickered between you. 

Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft yet full of the intensity of leaving. It lingered, carrying the weight of the promises you wished you could make, the longing that neither voice. When you broke apart, he kept his eyes closed for a moment, savouring the feel of you so close, the taste of a dreadful goodbye. 

With a soft smile, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger as if to imprint the gesture into the space between them. You sighed contentedly, nuzzling further into his chest; the sound was like music to his ears — a melody he'd keep long after this night. 

You both settled back into the embrace, limbs entwined, and your bodies bolded together as if you were two halves of the same whole. The surrounding sounds faded into the gentle rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic murmur of your breathing. Your fingers traced light patterns on his chest as your eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally overtaking you. 

Hyunjin felt your body relax, and he smiled as sleep began to claim him too. The last conscious thought he had was of the way you felt against him — safe, cherished, and heartbreakingly fleeting. He tightened his hold just slightly, as if to keep the dawn from stealing you away too soon, and then, with your hearts beating as one, together you drifted off into a sleep that felt both peaceful and poignant. 

The first rays of dawn filtered through the thin, whispering branches of the willow tree, casting a dappled golden glow across the ground. Hyunjin stirred, his eyes fluttering open as the memory of the night before settled like a bittersweet weight in his chest. The warmth that had cradled him as he slept was gone, replaced by the cool, empty space where you had been.

He sat up quickly, scanning the small clearing. The dew-damp grass was undisturbed, and there was no trace of you — not even the soft indentation where you had laid. A pang of loss shot through him, sharp and sudden, catching him off guard. His breath hitched as the realisation sank in: you had left.

The silence around him was deafening. The soft rustle of the leaves seemed almost mocking, a gentle reminder that the world moved on, indifferent to the ache that now gnawed at his heart. Hyunjin ran a hand through his tousled hair, the gesture rougher than intended, as if trying to shake the emptiness away. He wanted to believe that you’d left to spare you both the agony of goodbye, but it didn’t lessen the sting. If anything, it made it sharper, more personal.

Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced back at the willow tree, its long tendrils swaying gently as if bidding him farewell. The place that had held so much joy and hope now felt hollow, like an echo of what had been. He swallowed hard, a bitter taste in his mouth, before turning away and walking back toward the town.

The streets were already beginning to stir with early risers. The bakery was opening, the familiar scent wafting into the crisp morning air, but it brought no comfort as you weren’t there. Each step felt heavier as he approached the small motel where he’d been staying. It all seemed so mundane now, so void of the magic that had filled his days with you.

Packing his belongings was mechanical. The room that had once felt like a safe haven now felt suffocating. He stuffed his camera into his bag, careful not to let the precious film be jostled, each roll holding memories that were already starting to feel like dreams. His eyes stung, and he blinked quickly, unwilling to let the tears fall.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Hyunjin took one last look at the village, the place that had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. Then, without a word, he walked to the bus stop, the weight of departure pressing down on him.

The journey back to Korea was a blur, punctuated only by the steady thrum of the plane’s engines and the hollow ache that seemed to grow with each passing mile. When he arrived home, the familiar sights of Seoul did little to lift his spirits. The bustling city, with its endless energy and noise, felt strangely detached from him. It was as if he were walking through a film, present but not truly there.

Hyunjin dropped his bags in the corner of his apartment, pausing to glance at the framed photos on the wall. Images of friends and family stared back at him, but they failed to spark any joy. He sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. The echo of your laughter, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention — it all replayed in his mind like a haunting symphony.

The emptiness settled deeper, and for the first time, he realised just how much you had become a part of him. And now, without you, Seoul — the place he had always called home — felt strangely foreign.

Days in Seoul blurred into each other like a monotonous painting. The once-vibrant city, alive with lights and the hum of possibility, felt devoid of colour. Hyunjin walked through the bustling streets, surrounded by people yet feeling utterly alone. The familiar sights of cafes, street vendors, and neon signs barely registered in his mind. The laughter of friends and the clatter of car horns seemed muted, as if the world were moving at a distance, separated from him by an invisible barrier. 

A week passed in this haze of emptiness, the weight of memories pressing down on him like an anchor. He avoided looking at his photos, afraid that seeing you would unravel him completely. But one night, when sleep refused to come and the silence of his apartment became suffocating, he gave in. Pulling out the small stack of printed photos, his fingers trembled as he sifted through them.

His heart thudded as he glanced through the images, expecting your smile to leap from the film or the sparkle in your eyes to cut through the gloom that had wrapped around him. But as he flipped through one photo after another, confusion began to cloud his mind. The meadow with its sea of wildflowers, the sun-dappled stream, the towering willow tree—they were all there, captured in their vivid beauty. But you weren't.

Hyunjin’s breath caught in his throat as he went through the photos again, this time slower, more deliberately. The bakery where you’d shared secret smiles and laughter was absent. The quaint cobblestone streets of the village, the small square with its fountain—none of it was there. His photos were filled only with sweeping landscapes, untouched by any sign of human presence.

He sat back, the photos slipping from his hands and scattering across the table. A chill ran down his spine, and he pressed a palm to his forehead as if trying to steady the storm in his mind. How could you not be there? How could the town, as real as the warmth of your touch, not exist in any frame?

The unanswered questions gnawed at him, pushing him to action. The next morning, with barely a moment’s hesitation, he found himself in the public library, searching for maps and old records. The smell of aged paper and ink surrounded him as he pored over books, their yellowed pages filled with histories and lists of places he had known since childhood.

He traced his finger over the worn map of the countryside, finding familiar town names, but there was no mention of the town where he had spent those unforgettable weeks. No quaint bakery, no vibrant market. It was as if the place had been swallowed by the earth, erased from existence.

A feeling of dread unfurled in his chest, cold and insidious, snaking through his veins until it gripped his heart in a vice. It spread to his stomach, coiling and twisting until nausea surged within him, threatening to pull him under. His mind raced with questions, each more unsettling than the last. Had he imagined it all? The doubt whispered like a traitorous voice, chilling him to his core. Were you nothing more than a figment of his longing, a cruel trick played by his own desperate heart? The notion made his skin prickle with an icy sweat, and the room seemed to shrink around him, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

Hyunjin's hands trembled as he pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to still the storm of confusion and fear that buzzed in his head like a swarm of angry bees. He felt lightheaded, as though the ground beneath him were shifting, pulling him further away from any sense of reality he could hold on to. The world around him blurred, the distant sounds of pages turning and the soft murmur of voices dissolving into a muffled hum.

His chest tightened, each breath a battle as doubt gnawed at him, insidious and relentless. It left him feeling hollow, as if the foundation of everything he had believed had suddenly been yanked away, leaving him suspended in a void of uncertainty. The pounding of his heart was loud in his ears, a frantic, dissonant drumbeat that matched the frantic thoughts tearing through his mind.

But deep down, buried beneath the avalanche of fear and questions, where logic could not reach, he clung to the unwavering truth that you were real. Your laughter—bright and free, wrapping around him like a warm embrace—had touched a place in him that no illusion ever could. The way your eyes, with their depth and unspoken secrets, could convey a thousand stories in a single glance was not something his imagination could conjure. Those moments were etched into his soul with a permanence that no doubt could erase, as vivid as if they had happened just moments before.

He swallowed hard, the sick feeling still churning in his stomach, but determination began to glimmer through the haze of dread. Whatever this meant, whatever reality had slipped between the cracks, he needed answers. He wouldn’t let you become a ghost, a beautiful and tormenting figment lost to the shadows of memory.

He had to go back. The need was so overwhelming, it left no room for second-guessing. With a heart pounding hard enough to echo in his ears, he booked a flight for the very same day, every passing moment stretching unbearably thin. The hours in the air were a blur of anxiety and hope tangled together, each heartbeat a whispered plea that this time, reality wouldn’t betray him.

When Hyunjin finally stepped off the plane and onto the familiar soil, he felt a pulse of something close to relief, though it was soon replaced by a gnawing unease. He hurried to the bus station, breathless, as he approached the driver and gave the name of the village. The driver looked at him with a furrowed brow, confusion darkening his features.

“I’m sorry, where?” the driver asked, his tone laced with doubt.

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped, but he forced his voice to stay steady as he repeated the name, this time adding details and directions etched in his memory like the lines of a map. The driver’s expression softened with reluctant understanding, and after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll take you as far as I can.”

The ride was steeped in silence, the bus rattling over the winding road as the landscape turned from bustling streets to rolling fields and dense woods. With each mile, Hyunjin’s chest tightened, the unease blooming into full-blown dread. Every bend in the road seemed to taunt him with the question: What if it was never there?

Finally, the bus halted. The driver gave him a cautious look, as if unsure whether to leave him alone in a place that seemed to exist only in the past or imagination. Hyunjin muttered his thanks, his legs unsteady as he stepped off and felt the crunch of gravel beneath his feet.

Hyunjin’s eyes swept frantically across the landscape, searching for the familiar details that had once filled his world with warmth and belonging. He looked for the narrow paths that twisted between stone cottages, the soft glow of lanterns hung from doorways, the flower boxes brimming with wild blooms. But instead, an expanse of untouched green stretched before him, an endless sea of grass swaying gently under the afternoon light, mocking him with its emptiness. Not a single trace of the village remained.

The silence was suffocating, pressing into his ears until all he could hear was the thundering of his own heartbeat. Panic bubbled up from deep within, sharp and wild, clawing its way up his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one feeling like an attempt to swallow shards of glass. The air thickened, heavy with disbelief and a dread that threatened to choke him.

He stumbled forward, feet tripping over themselves as if they could outrun the reality taking shape before him. With each step, the ache in his chest tightened, coiling around his ribs and squeezing until pain radiated through every nerve. He was running now, the world around him blurring into a smudge of green and gold, desperation urging him forward despite the screaming in his mind: It’s gone. It’s all gone.

Suddenly, he stopped, heart still pounding as his vision cleared. There, rising like a guardian from the past, stood the old willow tree. Its sweeping branches dipped toward the earth, the leaves dancing with the same gentle grace he remembered. It swayed as if greeting him, as if acknowledging his return. A shiver raced down his spine, cold and electric, and for a moment, he could barely breathe. The tree was the only remnant left of what had once been so alive, so tangible.

Confusion flooded him, crashing over the fear and heartbreak like a storm surge. He pressed a hand to his chest as if trying to hold the pieces of himself together. How could this be real? How could everything else be gone, as if it had been nothing more than a dream, an illusion spun by his longing heart?

His legs buckled under the weight of it all, and he sank to his knees beneath the tree’s canopy, his hands gripping the grass as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality. The ache in his chest erupted, raw and uncontrollable, and a guttural cry tore from his throat, echoing into the silence around him. His pain spilt out in waves, a sound filled with loss and longing, shaking his entire body.

He stayed there, unmoving, his head bowed as tears traced hot, stinging paths down his face. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, time frozen in a painful stasis. The whispering of the willow's branches brushed against the silence, a sound so soft it almost felt like your voice, gentle and familiar. Each rustle seemed to echo with laughter, the kind that had once filled this very space when you had spun around in carefree circles, hair catching the sunlight like spun gold.

The memories clawed at him, vivid and relentless. He could see you leaning against the tree, eyes bright with mischief as you teased him, daring him to catch you in a game only you understood. He could feel the warmth of your fingers entwining with his when you sat together, your touch grounding him in a way nothing else ever had. The way you would tilt your head, eyes searching his face as if he were the only thing in your world, made his heart ache with both joy and loss.

He remembered the mornings by the stream, where the sun would paint your features in gold, your laughter bouncing off the water as you splashed him and ran. The scent of wildflowers that clung to your hair, the soft hum of your voice as you sang under your breath while tending to your work at the bakery. Each memory pressed into him, sharp and bittersweet, until the weight of them made it impossible to move.

Time stretched endlessly, each second punctuated by the ragged sound of his breathing, each breath feeling like a battle to reclaim air. The quiet closed in, oppressive and suffocating, pressing against his chest until it felt as if it might shatter. The wind swept through the willow’s leaves, carrying the final notes of his broken cry into the void, leaving him in a silence so deep it threatened to consume him.

The minutes ticked by, or perhaps it was hours. He couldn’t tell; the line between past and present blurred in the flood of memories. His vision swam with the ghostly images of your smile, the light in your eyes, the way you would say his name, drawing out the syllables as if savouring them.

He stayed there, head bowed, the pain carving deep, unrelenting lines through his soul. The world remained unmoving, frozen with him, until the stillness itself seemed to breathe, waiting for something neither of them could name.

And then, cutting through the suffocating stillness, came a sound that made his breath catch.

“Hyunjin?”

quite a long one :3 i actually wrote this story a while ago and then deleted the whole the thing and restarted 😀 this version is actually so much better tho it just took me foreverrrrrr 🥲 BUT ANYWAYSSSSS I hope you guys enjoy it and please tell me what you think :) OH and pls let me know if u find a mistake somewhere!