#do I have to end up like that again for some semblance of understanding that the people I know love me?

[roseofcards90]

I wish I could tell if people still care or not 😭

[radiance1]

"Mom, Dad. I have something to tell you."

Danny said, twin rings going up and down his body respectively as he went ghost. Then back as he turned back to Danny.

"Tada..?" He said, shaking his hands after he was finished.

Jack and Maddie sat silent on the other side of the table, eyes wide as they just... Stared at him. His mom's hands were over her mouth, while his dad's mouth just hung open.

Jack pushed himself away from the table, getting up and walking out of the room.

"Honey!" Maddie said, turning to look in his direction. She briefly glanced between Danny and the doorway, before getting up herself and following after Jack.

Danny looked down, placing his hands down on the table and interlocking them as an uneasy smile graced his face.

'Fuck.' He thought. 'I should've done this when Jazz was here.'

Now, Danny isn't scared of his parents per se. Having escaped from them multiple times up until this very moment, and having fought and won over ghosts that embodied concepts toughened him up considerably.

But, just because he isn't scared doesn't mean he isn't uneasy.

He really should have waited for Jazz-

"Danny," His mother's voice broke him out of his thoughts as she walked back into the room and took her seat. She rubbed a hand against her temple, looking down at the table. "Your father... Needs a moment. Just to collect his thoughts, alright?"

"Uh, yea I understand." Danny pulled his hands back and down into his lap.

Maddie gave the movement a brief glance, but chose not to comment.

"Listen, this..." Maddie released a breath, placing her hands down on the table and interlocking her fingers. "Is news that neither of us ever expected, and frankly it is hard to believe that you aren't just a ghost who took the body of my son-"

Danny's breath hitched.

"-But I want, no." Her eyes hardened, forcibly releasing the tension from her shoulders. "I need to give you a chance. This, a chance. Before I do something I might regret." There was something in her eyes that Danny couldn't recognize, and he fought to keep looking into her eyes.

"Th-That's good." He said, bringing a hand up to rub against the back of his neck. "Yea. Good. Good." He couldn't help but look down, digging his fingers into his thigh.

Fuck. Why was he trembling?

He's had way, way worse than this. Survived way worse than this. It's just his parents. Just his regular old, maybe a bit hyper fixated and ghost hating parents that threatened to dissect him on various occasions and tried to do the same to other ghosts-

Danny dug his fingers a bit deeper, forcibly exhaling.

Just. His parents.

"How long." His head snapped back up to Maddie as she spoke, it didn't seem to be a question. Something she seemed to realize as she softened slightly. "How long, have you been a ghost?" She asked, quietly, softly.

There was something there that Danny, despite everything, couldn't identify.

"Since," He started, before swallowing when his mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "Since you guys. Um. Built the portal." His fingers dug into his neck, and he felt something wet under his nails and a stinging on his neck before he pulled away and put it into his lap. "And, you know. Thought it didn't work."

Maddie's breath hitched, and her eyes screwed shut. Interlocked hands tightening on the table as her lip quivered.

"I..." She began, slowly. Voice trembling before she smoothed it back out, trying to restore some semblance of calm. "I see." She exhaled, slowly. Still keeping her eyes closed.

It... Hurt. To see her like this. To see his mother so shaken up.

He shouldn't have told them.

But it seemed to be going well.

Was it even worth it?

He hopes it keeps going well.

He should have just kept it a secret.

"The portal." She finally began again when her hands stopped shaking. "It opened on you, didn't it? And then you-" She paused, trying to get the words out. "You died. Didn't you?"

Danny nodded, before remembering that her eyes were still closed. "Y-eA." He said, voice breaking at the end.

He was glad her eyes were closed, just because she couldn't see the embarrassment on his face.

"I was hoping you would say no." Maddie said, reopening her eyes and looking down at her hands. "I so, so desperately want to believe this to be some trick by Phantom or- well, you. I want this to be a prank, or some nightmare, and to just wake up and know that you're still alive-"

"Well, I am." Danny shrugged, eyes darting towards a nearby wall. "Technically, half and half, y'know?" He said, making a so-so gesture.

"Are you?" She asked, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked up at him. "That would explain why you don't look like a ghost, but-"

She paused, eyes widening.

Okay, now this Danny could recognize.

Recognition and horror.

"Oh... Oh God." She looked back down hands breaking apart as one covered her mouth. She shook in her seat, hunching in on herself. "We-We chased you. Shot at you and said we would rip you apart." Her eyes grew wet, tears slipping down her cheeks. "We wanted to dissect you and said it in front of your face."

"Well, technically it would be a vivisection-"

Maddie closed her eyes, a sob ripping from her throat.

Danny shut his mouth.

Danny watched as his mother cried on the opposite side of the table. At this moment, for some reason, she looked so far from him. Like he could reach out, climb over the table, and still not reach her. Like there was some great, unfathomable distance, between them.

He looked down at the table, at his hands. One of them, the one he dug into his thigh, felt wet. He pulled away his hand, and saw... Well, blood.

Weird.

He didn't feel anything.

"I'm sorry." His mother sobbed, and for some reason her voice seemed so quiet even as he looked up at her. He could see her, yet why did she seem so far away? "I'm so, so sorry." She said.

And Danny...

Danny didn't know what to do.

[punkpandapatrixk]

❣️How Abnormal Are You in Love? ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

Don’t be too hard on yourself with this PAC. Everybody in this world’s pretty much abnormal anyway. We all want something that’s extremely rare in this world: Love. Sometimes, we go crazy after mistaking shit for Love. But we all heal. Eventually, we all learn to love more healthily and sanely. And really, that’s all that matters. The crazy is also part of the character development~♥︎

☆♪°・.

‘Hey, actually, when was it that I began to realise that there’s no such thing as forever? Even so, I’m prouder than anybody else about the fact that the days we spent together were at least not a lie.

Even though it’s true that the length of time we have lived is only slightly different, just the fact that we met, that we loved, though we may never love each other again… I won’t forget.

Hey, why do I still want you by my side, thinking that I won’t do without you, even though this is hurting me so much? Even so, I became a person who could be grateful for the smallest things in life. It’s because, even the most casual of words were so meaningful between us.

Because we met, because we loved, though we may never love each other again…I’ll be fine with turning all of it into proof that I’ll survive, whilst facing all of truth and reality.

I’m just glad that we met. I’m just glad that we loved. Though we may never see each other again… I won’t forget.’

☆♪°・.

Those are words from Ayumi Hamasaki’s legendary song, LOVE ~Destiny~. At some point in Life, Ayumi said in an interview, ‘I loved one man so much that I destroyed myself.’ I can’t help but think this song could be about…it? Maybe hahah Just a vibe, gals~♡

SONG: LOVE ~Destiny~ by Hamasaki Ayumi

MOVIE: Snakes and Earrings (2008)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – What I Can’t Let Go Of, Really, Is My Pride…

VIBE: kiss by Chara

what is, Love? – 4 of Swords

Well, it seems quite obvious your past was somewhat chaotic. I think throughout childhood you felt like you were crossing a battlefield or had to fight the stormy seas all by yourself. Because of this, you deeply crave a Love that can put an end to all of those noises. In fact, it’s only fitting. Deep down you’ve always known that Love is something that’s pure, sweet and gentle; that it’s supposed to put you at ease. You understand that the world is in chaos because nobody has Love in their hearts.

You, never wanted to be like those grownups who were fighting with their own spouses. Even if you’re young, you feel like an Old Soul—the only one who seems to truly understand what Love is and is not. And you see that 99% of people literally don’t know what Love is, let alone how to love right. And you’re afraid. What if you can’t find that one person who can love you right?

Deep in your subconscious, you have these standards and ideals you desperately want to maintain. But nobody you’ve ever met seems to understand where you’re coming from. What you want is something so pure. People are rarely pure of heart, so nobody gets it. And it feels incredibly lonely. And at some point, you might’ve begun to doubt if your standards are even fair…

why do you chase, Love? – King of Wands Rx

So you grew up a bit and began to wonder what might happen if you lower your standards…a bit? You want to experience passion, right? You’re seeing all these peers around you kissing and holding each other and you crave that, too. You know very well it’s not like they’re in love—they’re just silly, infatuated, hormonal fuckers; but you wonder how it would feel to be intimate with someone. To actually have someone want you like that. To be wanted. To be held. To be kissed. To be…loved. No matter how shallowly.

Now you’re willing to look for someone passionate. You could try with a puzzling character. You like that kinda shit. Any kind of an intriguing fucker with some semblance of a mystery; making you curious to dive deep into their side of crazy. How do I figure out your particular brand of bullshit? Anybody you can’t immediately figure out would excite you to a point of insanity. And you thought this was happiness. You thought, this level of excitement surely must be happiness. Perhaps…even Love? Otherwise…

How do you explain this feeling that suddenly strikes, rattling your heartstrings, making you realise that there’s somebody in this world you’d want to care for other than yourself? Just the idea that you even fantasise about growing older with this mysterious fucker… How is this not, Love? And if this isn’t Love…what is? How else are people supposed to know happiness if this excitement alone isn’t enough?

what happens when Love, dies? – 8 of Cups Rx

To begin with, you’re not one to trust easily. It takes a lot for you to allow someone to see your vulnerable side. And when you go in, you go all in. It may not feel like it immediately because you’re cautious, but once you’re in…because you feel sure of someone…you’re in deep. Too deep it feels like you’re drowning in this whole situation, if anything. And you’re proud of how much you’re able to give.

And…you’re generally proud of your boundaries and the standards and ideals you’ve imposed upon yourself and others. So, the fact that you’ve given so much, revealed so much to someone who wouldn’t be there for life, is beyond frustrating. It’s world-shattering, at least. What have I been in this situationship/relationship for if it ain’t gonna last?!?! I can’t just let it die like that! Maybe I’m doing something wrong?! I must’ve! Lest none of this would’ve happened…

When Love dies, it feels so shameful. It’s a shame you trusted the wrong fucker. It’s a shame someone was able to see you that vulnerable. It’s disgusting that you thought this was The One. What was I thinking? Now everything becomes clear. It’s not the loss of that person’s Love you’re crying about. If you’re being honest now, you couldn’t care less that such a loser’s gone from your world. If anything, it’s such a relief. It was just the shock from knowing you made a mistake that made you cry… It’s OK now.

MY HEART, MY PRIDE🔻💜

sacrifices I’d made – Green Magus (John Magus)

I’m glad I was able to love – Priestess of Ambition

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – I Can’t Tell If I’m Passionate or Just Immature

VIBE: Boys & Girls by Hamasaki Ayumi

what is, Love? – Ace of Pentacles Rx

To begin with, you’re not exactly a rational person. Not saying you’re dumb! You just have a lot of passion for something that’s unexpected or foreign. You like mysteries and you aren’t afraid to dip your toe in uncharted waters. This desire could’ve developed from having a childhood that felt constricted tho. I think you grew up surrounded by so many rules and laws and forbidden things and that’s how you developed a taste for, DANGER~

It’s exciting, from time to time, to think about throwing all your caution to the wind and breaking all rules. You want to disappoint. If you’re being honest, you’re damn tired of following everybody’s whims and concerning yourself with their expectations. What about what I want?? You want to live. You want to feel alive. There are so many exciting things outside of your everyday Life, why can’t you have any of that? At some point, you could’ve dreamt of being rescued from your Tower by a handsome daredevil of any kind of a fucker.

If that fucker happens to be handsome and rich, even better. But that doesn’t really matter. You just want someone brave enough to approach you and actually uproot you from your boring Life. Surely, Love can do that to a person…? I don’t need stability, let alone predictability; what I want is a romantic hero who’ll take me on a grand adventure of Love! And if that daredevil happens to be dumb…

why do you chase, Love? – 9 of Swords

In many ways, you’re totally not an innocent person. You want to hurt. If whoever daredevil tries to fulfil your fantasies of being rescued from your miserable Tower happens to be dumb, you’re gonna be having a field trip! XD You want to terrorise and traumatise a person, really. It’s vengeance for all the years that you were serving others. Now, it’s your time to be served. It doesn’t even matter if they don’t worship you. You’re ready to find another dumbfuck to toy with. You’re hardly ever sincere anyway~

Why bother with sincerity? Ever since you were a kid, you’ve observed that none of the adults you knew was ever sincere. What even is Love? I think you know of it conceptually. But what exactly is its purpose? What exactly is so good about it? And how? How exactly must one be in order to attain it? You don’t believe in it some days. You deeply crave it some days. You could die for it some days. You want others to die for your Love most days.

Life is confusing. Love is confusing. Sex is easy. Money is easy. Food and jewelleries are easy. Let’s live easily. Life is exhausting if you think too much about everything that could go wrong. I’m done feeling terrible about my own existence, so I want someone to spin me around and make me forget. That’s ideal. Is generally your motto when chasing… Love♡

what happens when Love, dies? – 8 of Wands Rx

You don’t care about it. You don’t particularly care about losing people. It’s expected. If anything, because you’re never serious with quite anybody anyway, ghosting is the best way to go about it. You’re the type to ghost, block, and you don’t even mind if you’re the one ghosted or blocked. Basically, you just don’t want any contact with someone you’ve lost interest in anyway. So that only makes it easier for you.

In many ways, I think you sometimes regret being this kind of a callous person. There are days you wonder if you’ll become someone more sincere. You’ve wondered what it would take to actually love someone. To actually be loved back. Surely that must be so nice. You want to be happy, honestly. But it feels like a distant daydream. You don’t particularly understand how two people can be happy living together. After all, you find people exhausting most of the time.

All you know is that you’ve lived with yourself for the longest time. And if you have to compromise or sacrifice anything…you’re not willing. You’ve sacrificed shit before, a looong time ago, and you got nothing back in return. You gave someone a rose and they gave you back thorns and strangled you with it. Surely that can’t be happiness. Two people who don’t know how to love can’t be happy together. Life is better lived alone.

MY HEART, MY PRIDE🔻❤️

sacrifices I’d made – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

I’m glad I was able to love – Priestess of Innocence

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Damn, Why’s Everybody Crying for Love?

VIBE: Sunglasses by Utada Hikaru

what is, Love? – 2 of Cups Rx

Uhm…you’re a comical Pile for sure. Your psychology is so complex, although it’s also super straightforward (to you), but some people are not gonna have an easy time figuring out if you’re sincere or not. Most of us have got a lot of exposure to tragical romance, right? A lot of people get deep and insane in Love. And here you are wondering why everybody’s crying for Love. Why is everybody suffering in the name of Love? That’s not Love. People are silly for falling continuously for the wrong people. It’s all a Game for them. Me? I don’t play games.

But you do! Everybody does when it comes to falling in Love, to various extents. That’s what’s really fun about falling in Love. If you could face yourself, you’d realise you have a bit of a God-complex within this context. In the sense that…because Love and romance actually aren’t such a big deal to you, and somehow, you have an almost all-too-natural inclination to attract the right people, you can’t really empathise with those who cry in the name of Love.

For some though, if the above doesn’t really resonate, you’re the type that has an innate understanding that you must protect yourself from falling into those tragical romantic setups. You have a highly developed sense of boundary and you keep high standards for what kind of a romantic relationship you want. You’re kinda similar to Pile 1 in this case, but you most likely haven’t experienced sacrificing your standards for, EXPERIENCE~

why do you chase, Love? – 10 of Wands

In comparison to certain types of people in the world, you’re not exactly a dreamy type. When it comes to relationships you think straight towards building a matrimony with someone. You’re a traditionalist in a sense. You’re the based kid who knows that a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship is a training ground for a marriage. You think long-term. You’re realistic like that. But the problem is…you’re totally missing out on the passion of Love itself.

You don’t really see your partner(s) for the person—the Human—that they are. You care only for the practical, pragmatic facts surrounding their reputation or status or whether or not their physical appearance is decent enough. Stuff like that. And the dreamy ones who look at you, look at you with a pang of sadness in their chest, for although you seem responsible and blessed…you appear to them as someone who looks at another with an eye of business.

You’re the type that thinks love is an investment. An investment of attention, affection, time and money, and all that shit. That’s not Love; that’s something to be exchanged at the market. The dating market, OMG~

‘Freedom and love go together. Love is not a reaction. If I love you because you love me, that is mere trade, a thing to be bought in the market; it is not love. To love is not to ask anything in return, not even to feel that you are giving something—and it is only such love that can know freedom.’ – Jiddu Krishnamurti

what happens when Love, dies? – 6 of Pentacles

When Love dies, you celebrate. You’re wise enough to know that Life doesn’t end just because you broke up with somebody, even in terms of friendship. You’re spiritually mature enough to know you’ve learnt from the experience, and now, you’re just going to prepare for the next big thing to experience. Life goes on without a hitch like that for you, for the most part. I can’t tell if you’re really that spiritually mature or you just don’t give a fuck about emotions LMAO

Not saying you’re a bad person, btw. It just seems like you haven’t got a lot of crazy in your birth chart or that you haven’t experienced a lot of sorrows and soul-shattering heartbreaks, so…it’s kinda just a matter of not having, PERSPECTIVE? Coupled with the fact that you take Life very unseriously seriously…? Like, you’re serious about not being an asshole and wanting to do the socially right thing, but in doing so, you become an annoying insincere jackass in the lives of those who have (or will) dated you XDD

Basically, you’re not the type to get super crazy heartbroken when a relationship ends. You’ve got all of these other blessings anyway. Why would you focus on just the negative, right? In a sense, I believe that’s an incredible spiritual maturity which others are still struggling to figure out XD But yeah…rather than this being something abnormal about you, I think it’s just that your Higher Self designed for you not to experience the dramatic highs and lows of immature romance HAHAH

MY HEART, MY PRIDE🔻🧡

sacrifices I’d made – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

I’m glad I was able to love – Priestess of Luck

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

[arc-misadventures]

The Popsicle Comparisons

Pyrrha: Jaune’s bigger.

Yang: Waaaaaaay bigger!

Nora: Thicker too.

Weiss: My singing career really helped me take it.

Blake: Took me a few tries, but I can reach the end.

Glynda: I can kiss the tip when I sandwich him.

May: I wanna do that…

Velvet: I love his carrot~!

Ruby: I can’t get my hands around it.

Coco: I can’t keep my hands off of it~!

Cinder: Oh, look, it’s my discipline stick~!

Emerald: Yeah, Daddy’s bigger.

Militia: It was fun when we sandwiched it between us.

Melanie: We have to do that again~!

Neo: 🥰🍆💦

Winter: The limp I got was divine~!

Harriet: I pulled so many muscles that day… Worth it~!

Elm: He picked me up like a twig when we did it.

Salem: My ex-husband was a shrimp compared to him.

Willow: I love how he remodelled me to fit him~!

Kali: I’ve never had a human before, but good gods~!

Raven: And, I thought I was a top~!

Summer: We need to do it again, the timing was off.

Sienna: Pro-Faunas on the streets, Pro-Human in the sheets~!

Terra: I’m gay, but when it comes to, Jaune~!

Robyn: I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t divine.

Fiona: The big bad wolf is coming to ravage the poor defenceless lamb again~!

Jessica: Yellow, my one weakness~!

Jinn: You think you know everything, but then you really know everything~!

RWBY Girls: AHHHHHHHH~!

Saphron: …

Saphron: Dibs. I go next.

RWBY Girls: Eh?!

~~~

RSNM: …

Mercury: D-Did you really…?

Jaune: Yeah…

Ren: A-All of them…?

Jaune: Yep…

Sun: One is surprising enough, but all of them?!

Jaune: Shocking, I know…

Neptune: How did that all happen?!

Jaune: Word of mouth.

Ren: Is that metaphorical, or literal?

Jaune: Yes.

Mercury: How can you manage that?!

Jaune: Semblance.

Ren: So… The whole team?

Jaune: Which ones?

Mercury: The bad girls?

Jaune: A few here, and there.

Ren: The teacher?

Jaune: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Sun: The moms?

Jaune: Not all at once. I think…?

Neptune: The faunas chicks?

Jaune: They tend to bite, and scratch…

Mercury: The green ring girl?

Jaune: I still don’t understand the yellow weakness bit.

Sun: The, Relic?

Jaune: There’s some knowledge for you.

Ren: Your sister-in-law?!

Jaune: Was my first.

Mercury: Your sister?!

Jaune: Another brocon. Joy…

RSNM: …

RSNM:

YOU ARE A GOD!!!

Jaune: …

Jaune: No comment.

[hyewka]

i hear you were taking recommendations so!! what if beomgyu and reader were out n about but the catch his beom has a vibrator in, and he just keeps on getting teased, getting hot n bothered to the point where he can’t take it anymore! and reader finally complies and tells beom that they can go home but he’s just too needy too, he wants to do it right then and there, dare i say in an alleyway?…

warnings. public, femdom, plug vibratorrr

perm tag. @yyeonzi

the alleyway’s only dimly lit so it offers some semblance of privacy—though you can still hear the bustling noise of the city in the distance. beomgyu’s hands are still tightly gripping yours, very clearly waiting on you to make a move. his pupils are blown out, restlessly picking at your hand— the vibrator inside of him must be driving him insane by now.

tilting your head, you brush your hand against his cheek to which he leans into pretty damn quick, sighing out softly as his eyes flutter shut. “you realise how crazy this is right? dragging me to an alleyway because poor you can’t wait to get home.”

he whimpers in response, his eyes snapping open at your teasing. “you don’t understand, i can’t. i can’t, please.”

it’s like a drug, his need for you in moments like this. you could almost believe it when he swears he’d die if you don’t push your hand down his pants.

so, you press him back against the rough brick wall, your body flush against his. beomgyu doesn’t disappoint, gasping at the sudden contact, his head tilting back slightly as he tries to stifle a moan. “good boy. you’re going to have to continue being quiet for me. can you do that for me puppy? can you stay quiet while i take care of you?”

“yes! yes i can, i swear to god i can. please.” his voice cracks by the end and so you trail your hand down his chest, satisfied with his eagerness. “please just let me fuck you.”

feeling his whole body trembling, hearing his heart beating rapidly while you slowly trace the outline of his bulge. “such a good boy,” you drawl, rewarding him with a kiss just below his ear that only serves to have him subconsciously buck against your hand, with yet another strangled whine.

his chests heaving when you eventually grip the front of his pants, feeling the dampness that's already gathered there. his stupidly big cock’s straining, hard and leaking, and you can tell he's been holding back for far too long. finally, you decide to show him some mercy, backing up until you feel the rough brick of the alley wall pressing against your back.

beomgyu’s adam apple bops and you can feel his hardness pressing against you through his pants as his hands frantically bunch your skirt up. “i’ll be good, i swear.”

you can feel his breath catch in his throat as his fingers slide over the slickness between your thighs. “you’re so wet,” he whispers, almost in awe. “guess i wasnt the only one really losing my mind out there.”

imagine when hes finally sheathed inside of you, the sound he cant help but make, the way his entire body jerks as that one choked moan escapes his throat before he could even think to stop it, you have to immediately press your hand over his mouth, muffling the sound. "shh,” you whisper against his ear harshly? "remember what i said about being quiet.”

hes pulling back to meet your glare, nodding with glassy eyes, his hips quick and shallow with their thrusts. his breath comes in short, ragged gasps as he buries his face back into the crook of your neck, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

with a smirk, you slide your hand down his back, tracing the curve of his spine until you reach the small of his back. your fingers find the base of the plug nestled between his cheeks and his hips stutter in their rhythm, a low, needy moan escaping his lips as you gently tug on the plug. “oh god, what the fuck—” he chokes on his spit, his voice breaking again.

his thrusts pick up again, and this time theyre even more crazed, more erratic, slamming inside of you furiously, making you lose slight control. he was just fucking you so, so good.

“what? you like that, don’t you? you slut.” you tease, out of breath yourself, giving the plug another firm tug before pushing it back in slightly.

you can tell beomgyu’s pretty head’s completely out of it, his thoughts hazy and incoherent because hes already panting with his mouth hung open and his tongue lolled out like an animal seeking relief— his hands a mind of their own as they dumbly grope every inch of your body he can get them on, especially your breasts. his fringe is disheveled, obscuring his vision, but you can still make out the strain on his face as it contorts, clearly trying not to lose himself.

when you arch into him, he shudders, and you cant help but mock him when he cant help but moan again. “you’re so pathetic. such a dumb, needy whore. do you need me to shut you up?”

you feel him shake his head immediately before he starts to press wet kisses on your exposed neck. “sorry…sorry, m’sorry.” he mumbles over and over again, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

its so primal when you both finally cum, his hips buck wildly, his moans growing louder and more desperate, muffled by the frantic kisses he presses against your neck. as his body starts to lose control, you tilt his face up, grabbing his chin firmly, forcing his lips to meet yours. immediately, he wraps his tongue with yours, his moans swallowed by your mouth as his release hits him hard.

the faint scent of rain and sweat lingers in the air when you finally break the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into his dazed, half-lidded eyes. his lips are swollen, flushed a deep pink, slightly parted with a fullness to them, glistening with saliva.

of course, you shower him with praises and reassurances. surprisingly, he didnt gather you a crowd and that was enough to give him everything he wants and needs<3

notes. send me your nastiest sub txt shit idc go all out im willing to write it today

[wraithdance]

Tf141 and the reasons their partners (you) get mad at them

Note: there will be a part two on reasons they get mad at their wives but it got too long lmao

Cw: mentions of extreme violence, afab!reader no gendered terms, explicit mentions of sex, slight dub-con, breeding, daddy & size kink if you squint, terrible British-isms and I’m not as funny as I think I am lol -not editing this so read at your own risk

Ghost will piss you off by: Wearing his full military get up (including the hardened skull mask) to intimidate anyone he thinks is interested in you.

It isn’t enough that you verbally decline less than polite or platonic advances, or show off your wedding ring proudly. He wants the weak fucks to know that he kills people for a living and would systematically break every bone in their body, reset them and break them all over again. That is before he stares them right in the eye as he fucks you until there’s enough cream leaking onto his cock to sail to the other side of the pond- thrice.

At least that’s what he told the local butcher who gave you his number last week. The man had been so frightened he burst into great weeping sobs and banned you both from coming into the shop.

You’d been pissed for a week straight and yelled at Simon every time you thought about it. It always ended with his large hands grasping at the back of your neck, damn near scruffing you, while you take as much of his cock down your throat. He’s letting you do the work of opening your throat and taking him as far as you can, but he glares in warning when you retreat. Your nose brushes the sprinkle of hair at the base of his cock when you take him deeper, watching a full body shudder wrack him. He’s close by the far off look in his eyes and the raspy hum/moans he does when he’s entered that space in his head you can’t reach. When his balls twitch as a tell tale sign of his release you plop him out of your throat and swat his hands off of you. It takes him a concerning amount of time to come back to earth and understand the haughty look on your face.

Before you flounce out of the room you tell him he doesn’t get to cum since he can’t learn to behave. That he can finish himself off or go apologize to the nice man. You’re only half surprised when he glares at you and takes his cock in hand tight to get back to that glorious sweet spot. He was such a stubborn bastard. The man was just trying to arrange the charcuterie order for your friend’s baby shower, for fucks sake!

But Simon didn’t give a fuck, his cuts of meat were shit anyways.

Soap pisses you off by: nearly burning down the house. You love him for his passion for life and you’d learned to navigate around his inattentive and reckless nature over the years. The problem of not landing ass first into the bottom of the toilet could be solved by simply looking before you go. but putting out multiple fires throughout the week because he got too caught up in whatever fleeting thing caught his interest, could not.

The last near fire was caused by him accidentally overcooking a package of Buldak noodles you’d hoarded from your last Asian food market trip. He’d run into your shared bedroom to show you a video of a ‘Bonnie little lass’ reciting the names of every country, which somehow ended up with you under him, with your knees locked up around your ears. he bullied his cock deep inside your cunt until it felt like a punch in the throat. Your wails doing nothing to cover his throaty moans as he asked you to say yes to giving him a baby

‘What do ye think about making me a Da, dove? Give me fat wee ones to chase after? Aye, you don’t have to say it I feel, you choking my cock. give me one more and I’ll give you what you want, Bonnie”

It was right when you were about to scream some semblance of an affirmation that you’d smelled the smoke. You’d screech for the dirty dog you called your husband to get off of you when he’d kept stroking into you with vigor, saying to wait one sec he was close. When you’d finally ran into the kitchen with a pussy addled Soap stumbling on your heels you came face to face with a blazing fire. The pot containing the ramen was bone dry and the blackened noodles were little more than kindling.

The process of putting out the fire was quick, you’d learned to keep multiple fire extinguishers on hand, but the kitchen still stank of smoke for weeks and the backsplash remained warped with the smoke stains. Soap wasn’t allowed to cook anymore or ask for a kid for at least six months as it was enough work keeping the house safe from his shenanigans.

Gaz will piss you off by: Having to have the last word. Your sweet man was perfect in nearly every way. He was attentive, romantic in all the right ways and made it a priority to make love to you to the point of tears. The problem was he was fucking petty.

The reasonably level headed man became an absolute shit when he felt slighted even a little bit. It didn’t matter if it was over something reasonable, like your overspending on a gift for a male co-workers birthday or a childish argument over who was the actual winner of a friendly Uno game during date night (he insisted you looked while he was in the bathroom), Kyle had to have the final say.

You’d been arguing for three days about, well you don’t even recall. You just hated the cold shoulder Kyle gave you and the space between you in bed where he’d normally be. You’d finally given up your pretense of being upset and stood before him as he sat on the couch with a solemn expression. You asked for you both to reach an impasse tired of arguing, for him to please come back to bed. He continued to pretend to read the stack of junk mail that collected on the coffee table with interest.

‘Don’t know luvie, wouldn’t want to get in the way of your alone time.’ He sniffed indignantly.

You stood confused, trying to decipher his tone and meaning before your eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Kyle are you fucking mad because I watched the final episode without you?’

His dead pan glaring made you stomp in indignation. In your defense, He’d been out in the field for six months and you couldn’t help it that Netflix kept playing the show you had both started while you were asleep. And so what if you did happen to keep watching when you’d finally woke up, he was on LEAVE for six whole months!

You spent the next hour arguing with him on the illogicalness of staying mad but he’d come up with snarky quips. It only slightly pissed you off that the only way he agreed to let things go was if you’d let him cum inside during anal. He’d agreed with a smug smile and shepherd you out of your pajamas and into your bedroom.

Price will piss you off by: trying to reprimand you like one of his soldiers. The key to a blissful marriage to a man like Price is having a willingness to pick your battles. Your husband is loyal and a provider through and through. it didn’t take much effort to just let him lead you both in decisions- you trusted him deeply. But, the man was gruff and prone to callousness especially after being away from home for long bouts of time. Weeks spent on classified missions taking down the big baddies of the world and being up to his elbows in blood and shit made him edgy.

During an impromptu shopping trip that he’d insisted on tagging along on, he’d turned into a nightmare. If it weren’t you in the situation you would be humored by the 42 year old military Captain acting like a toddler over how long you were taking to shop. But you were on the other end of his surmounting tantrum and it wasn’t cute how much he was reminding you of the big ass toddler you both shared. It all came to head when your son’s daycare teacher, Mrs. Hudson, spotted you and came over to chat.

You’d done your best to try and rush the conversation along, aware of the brooding bear of a man behind you. The sweet but a tad dense woman did not clue in to your subtle hints to speed things along. She was too content on telling you about your son’s acclimation to singing the potty song whenever he needed to go tinkle.

Just as you were going to politely interject, John had un-pried your hands from the shopping cart and promptly pushed/dragged you from the aisle without a word. You weren’t even aware of what was happening until you met the startled eyes of your son’s teacher as she watched your retreat, Your cart full of groceries left in the middle of the aisle.

Fuming you kept carefully silent all the way home, even as he barked at you to ‘get in the damn car’ and to buckle your seatbelt. Rage burned the hairs of your nostrils like a blacksmiths fire as you grit your teeth hard enough to hurt. It was much to your disgust that your seething husband lost his own anger midway through the trek home. His tensed shoulders loosened as he tapped the wheel of the car, having the audacity to hum softly to the radio station. Your eye twitched.

You really hoped your son didn’t grow up to be an incel with daddy issues and a podcast mic-because you were about to murder his father.

You didn’t wait for John to open your car door. You jump out and race across the lawn, slamming the passenger door behind you. You hadn’t looked back until you’d crossed the threshold of your home making sure to look your husband in the eye when you try to slam the ornate dark wood in his face before he entered. He’d pointedly narrowed his eyes when he blocks the door for closing and you knew he��d make it a thing later. It was rude but you hold tight to your self righteousness and venomous mood. It wasn’t until after you fed your son an impromptu dinner of cut up sausage patties and a handful of fish shaped crackers that you face a circling Price.

‘‘I can’t believe you! Why would you embarrass me like that, John!’’ You hissed.

He scoffed from his place at the kitchen island, he stretches into a stand. You’re irritated at needing to step back from his crowding, agitated when your thoughts get caught on the broadness of his shoulders in his tshirt. He’d filled out even more since he’d been gone. You loved his body in all forms but the last few years he’d gained a bit of belly fat from desk duty after having decided to cut back on field missions to help out with your young son. Now after months away he was all lean muscles and broad everywhere.

You know you’re already leaking at the thought of taking him and the arrogant twitch of his beard says he knows the same. But you’re not willing to back down. He can’t just bully you into doing what he wants when he doesn’t like something. You’re his spouse dammit not one of his men! At least that’s what you think you said to him. You don’t quite remember the concept of time or your own middle name when he traps you against the granite tower and fucks you until your eyes cross.

“Say it, darling. Tell daddy you’re sorry, love.”

You try to deny it with all your heart, you swear it. But his big hand snakes out in front of you to work your clit in tight circles before you can get the letter ‘N’ in no out. Behind you he leans back and down just enough to switch angles. It’s enough that every thrust is of him drilling his girthy cock into your g-spot with rapid succession. He doesn’t let your screams meet air for longer than a millisecond. He clasps his free hand over your mouth muffling your cries. He tells you not to wake his son and to take his cock like a good wife.

You sheepishly wave at Mrs. Hudson from the carpool lane the next time you drop off your son for school. You’d make a note to drop her off some flowers when you came back for pick up.

[crusty-chronicles]

Hiei Courting Headcannons

In honor of the Live Action series (Even though I don't Have High Hopes For It)

Now, we all know Hiei is a very stubborn demon. Especially when it comes to his feelings. When he realized he liked you and didn't just tolerate your presence, he fought hard to deny it.

So what if he spent most of his time with you? Who cares that the first place he goes to after coming back from the demon world is your house? It didn't matter that his eyes seemed to soften whenever you were around.

No not one bit.

But the second Kurama threatened to court you himself, well Hiei couldn't just sit down and let that happen. Didn't that fox understand he shouldn't touch what wasn't his.

1. Showing off to see if you're interested

Hiei may be a demon, but he has some semblance of manners. His pride wouldn't allow him to claim you until you accepted his advances. Any creature who dared force themselves onto another was the lowest of the lowest.

So, his first step is showing off during fights.

Letting the enemy bloody him up more to show that injury didn't affect him.

Using more spirit energy than was needed to end another demon with just one blow

Stopping you from fighting because he'll "take care of it. You humans are too fragile."

He'll also use his Jagan more frequently.

You lost something?

Well look no further, he can track it down precisely and easily.

Praise him even once or say in passing he's really strong, and he'll take that as you being interested.

Even if you're just trying to be nice.

2. Wearing Richer Colors

I firmly believe Hiei courts more like a crow than the usual beast. He's sleek like one anyways.

Now if you didn't know, most birds attract mates with their bright feathers.

In Hiei's case, he'll start to wear dark, yet rich colors to get your attention.

Strength is one thing. Any low-class demon can demonstrate strength and be happy about it.

What Hiei is looking for is to see if you're attracted to him. If you find him visually appealing.

Though he's not a vain creature, he still yearns for the confirmation that him and him alone captivates you.

He'll start with darker blues. Maybe change up his cloak a little.

And when that doesn't work, he moves onto purples. Getting teased by Kurama for 'changing up his style.' But he stays determined.

Eventually moving onto a burgundy. And the way you were immediately drawn to him then made it worth it.

Relishing in your compliments on how 'the color really suits him' and 'it matches his eyes perfectly.'

Letting you grab at the fabric and inspect it until he asks why you like it so much.

"Well I always thought your eyes were pretty. It's nice to see something that reminds me of them."

He's a prideful smug bastard after that. Not even comments from Yusuke can tick him off that day.

3. Bringing You Shiny Objects

Once again, he courts like a crow.

Now that you've shown interest in him, it's time to properly start showing his affections.

Hiei isn't one for flirting or compliments. He's more prone to showing rather than telling. And in this case the way to do that is to bring you little trinkets that catch his eye.

Usually, it'll be small gems he stumbles across in demon world.

Rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. All things he knows where to find thanks to his prior occupation as a thief.

He's not trying to buy your affection. He knows you're not that vain judging by the pushback you always give when he presents you with a jewel.

No, rather he's trying to show that he can provide for you. That you'd never have to worry about scrounging around to survive as long as he was with you.

A protector and a provider.

He also notices how you treasure the less valuable items with as much fondness and care as the others.

He had asked you why you slept with a chunk of pyrite on your bedside one time. And your response let him know he wouldn't give up on pursuing you anytime soon.

"Because it was one of the first things you gave me. Don't you remember? You said something along the lines of fool's gold for a fool's heart. I think it's sweet you even got me something at all."

You didn't care about what he brought you. All that mattered was that it came from him.

If that didn't mean you accepted his advances, then he didn't know what would.

4. Scenting

Ah, yes. Back to the classics

Once you've accepted the gifts he's continuously given you, Hiei takes it as you liking him back.

He's aware human and demon courting processes are very different from one another.

But he's exactly not human, is he?

When it comes to demons, once you've accepted their advances, your mates.

In a sense, it's like dating. Only except a dissatisfied partner will kill the other in most cases.

With this in mind, Hiei happily accepts the fact you're his and immediately moves onto the final stage of courting.

Scenting you so that other demons know to back off.

Think of it as your last out if you realize what's happening and actually don't have feelings for him.

The scenting process will start with Hiei showing up to your place of residence and staying with you.

Not yet following you around, but making sure to spend time in each room.

If he has to leave somewhere, he'll leave either an article of clothing or his sword.

It confuses you at first and you think maybe he just trusts you.

But you start to think otherwise when he starts getting touchy.

Laying in your lap and ordering you to stay still, only to find out he's fallen asleep on you.

Or letting his face rest against the crook of your neck. Which you didn't mind all that much.

It was quite funny to see someone as tough as Hiei become completely docile around you.

You weren't too worried until he followed you out when you went to buy groceries.

"You don't like being around people. Don't you wanna stay home until I get back?" You asked him.

"I've already shown you that you're a very fragile creature compared to me. It's best I accompany you so you don't hurt yourself."

Usually you would have argued back, but it was clear something was off with him.

These past few months had been strange with him either trying to get your attention or trying to stay directly next to you.

You wouldn't figure out what it was until your other three friends showed up.

Kuwabara wanting to have a movie night and you offering your home to do it.

When the three of them arrived, you noticed Kurama and Yusuke hesitate by the entrance.

"Something wrong?" You questioned.

" I can't put my finger on it, but something's telling me I shouldn't go in." Yusuke responded.

Unawares it was Hiei's scent warding him off.

But Kurama knew. He'd known since you opened the door.

It seems Hiei had staked his claim on you.

Yet judging by your calm demeanor, you didn't know that yet.

"Have you noticed Hiei acting strange lately?" Kurama asked.

"Yes! I thought I was the only one. He's been really clingy. I mean at first it was odd he kept bringing me stuff like gems, but then he started following me around like a house cat. It's endearing, but honestly what's going on with him?" You ranted. Prompting a laugh from the redhead.

"I see. Good luck on your new relationship."

Before you could question him about what he meant, a gentle grip around your waist stopped you.

"What're you doing inviting these fools to our home. You know how long it took me to get rid of their scent the first time? It's like you want me to start the whole courting process all over again."

Courting?

Oh.

Oh.

You couldn't say you minded now that you knew what was actually going on.

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

masterlist || next || playlist

Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in. 

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza. 

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver. 

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime. 

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back. 

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves. 

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked. 

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up. 

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else. 

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap. 

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday. 

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice. 

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

 Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch. 

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out. 

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up. 

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full. 

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty. 

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream. 

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season. 

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest. 

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me. 

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master. 

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man. 

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat. 

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that. 

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh. 

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart. 

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them. 

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar. 

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself. 

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November. 

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother. 

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade. 

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently. 

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself. 

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips. 

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

 That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer. 

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others. 

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway. 

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment. 

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices. 

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me. 

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible. 

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled. 

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job. 

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched. 

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself. 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again. 

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company. 

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease. 

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more. 

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up. 

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out. 

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice. 

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family. 

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that. 

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags. 

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage. 

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long. 

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

���Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely. 

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down. 

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him. 

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same. 

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it. 

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[luveline]

hello!! your writing is so lovey !! i’d love to read about some hurt/comfort with Joel if you’re up for it!!

thank you for your request, hope this is ok! tw for attempted sexual assault and implied physical assault/ bruises/ traumatic event | fem!reader 1.1k

Joel's probably worried, you think. 

The skin of your arms and torso is rippled with goosebumps as another cold breeze whips past. Your fingertips are numb. Every new gale stings the welts across your stomach, shallow cuts from untrimmed fingernails. You'll need to wash them out when you get home, only home is a long ways away, and you're still shirtless. 

Joel's apartment is much closer. You know where you'll end up, even as you beg yourself to stick out the cold and the vulnerability. You don't want to burden him with this, but you don't want to carry it by yourself, either. 

The steps up to his apartment are cracked and filthy. Glass crushes under your ratty converse as you bump up each step, uncrossing your arms to hold on to the bannister inside. You pretty much sprint to his floor. You're not stupid, you know walking around half naked makes you a target for creeps. 

You stand in front of his door, shaking from the cold. You bruised knuckles ache as you knock. 

"Joel?" you say, crossing your arms over your bare chest again. "It's me." 

Please be home. 

"Joel? Are you–" 

The door opens suddenly, wisps of your hair dancing forward. You tighten your arms across your chest and can't make yourself smile at the man in front of you. Joel is rumpled, his clothes marred with dark mud, and he looks pissed. He must've just gotten in. 

He steps toward you and you step back. You're still in flight mode, but Joel's not gonna hurt you. He grabs your shoulder and shepherd's you behind him, looking down the hallway. 

"They didn't follow me." 

"They?" he asks stonily. His rage is quick to boil. 

You don't have any answers for him. You don't know who it was. 

Joel walks you inside of the apartment. His hand burns your chilled skin. Any heat feels like a relief to you, your body thrumming with an emotion you can't place as you press your back to his arm. 

He gets you on the couch, drapes a blanket over your shoulders. You're freezing up and not sure why, your grip on the present loosening as he crouches in front of you. The tip of his ring finger brushes against the gouges in your arm. 

"Is this it?" he asks. 

You press your lips together tightly and lift your arm so he can see the long welts over your stomach, beginning just under your chest and stopping before your navel. 

"Nothing else?" 

You look over his shoulder. "No," you say softly. "Nothing else." 

"Look at me." 

You look at him. You've known Joel for long enough to understand his expressions, but when you'd first met they felt like a puzzle. You'd thought him disdainfully detached, especially when his impassive lowbrow was accompanied by his silences. His glaring isn't at you, it's for you. 

A single tear races down your cheek. You try very hard to mirror his steadiness. 

"They pushed me up against a wall," you whisper, afraid that any sudden movements will spill another welled tear, "and they took off my shirt, and I– I think I hit him in the throat, and I pulled away even though he," —you gesture to your stomach— "tried to pull me back in. I tripped the other one." 

"You're sure they didn't do anything else?" he asks. 

"It's all surface wounds, Joel. My arm hurts, and I'm cold, but it's not as bad as it looks." 

He takes your cold hand like he doesn't mean to. He squeezes your fingers together, the bones aching for a millisecond, and lets you go. You curl in on yourself as he stands and leaves the room, his footsteps moving through the bedroom and the bathroom, where the tap runs. 

He returns with a shirt that won't fit you right and a first aid kit. He turns though he's seen it all now, letting you slip the shirt over your head and tug it over your stomach with a semblance of privacy. 

"I'm sorry for coming here," you say. 

He turns and shakes his head. "Don't say that shit. This is exactly where you're supposed to come. Do you want to stand up, let me disinfect scrapes?" 

You stand and reluctantly leave the blanket on the couch. He takes your arm into a much gentler hand than the one that left your scratches, disinfecting your cuts with a small piece of gauze and a splash of alcohol. You wonder if he thinks about the loss. Any sip is precious. 

He starts to pull up your shirt. You hold very still, let him pin it just under your breasts without so much as a wrong breath, and still he checks your face. 

"Alright?" 

You nod emphatically. Joel takes care to be gentle but he's still thorough — you wince at the feeling of wet cotton dragging down your broken skin. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

Joel doesn't say sorry often. You know he wouldn't apologise for something so small as the biting ache of disinfectant.  

"It's not your fault. It's mine, I didn't have my jacket, I was only–" putting out the trash. Trying to do something normal, but nothing's normal anymore. "I'm fucking stupid. I've seen one of them with Ronnie before, I should've known they were bad news." 

You really aren't expecting his hug. Any affection beyond a quick hand hold or pat on the shoulder is scarce.

"You're not stupid." Joel's hand moves up to your hair, cupping the back of your head. "You're not."

His touch brings an instant wave of heat behind your eyes. You screw them closed tight to stop from sobbing into his shoulder, your hands vying desperately for his waist, his back, pulling him as close as he'll let you be. He doesn't push you away, not for a second. 

"You're okay," he says firmly.

Joel is all encompassing. His presence numbs the last remains of your panic. His arms are tight behind you, his chest solid under your own. 

"My hands are so cold, they're hurting," you mumble. 

If he feels the tears seeping into his t-shirt, he doesn't mention it. "Yeah?" he asks, reaching back to pull one from his back. He wedges it between you, your fingertips aligned over his heart. 

You'd never know how angry he was at that moment. You won't realise how deeply it runs until night's fallen, and you wake alone in his bed to the sound of the door closing. When he climbs in beside you, his knuckles are an angry red.

[pit-and-the-pen]

I'll Crawl Home to Her- Chapter 3

A tiny bit of a shorter update here y'all. I promise there's a ton in the next chapter that I have planned but I just wanted to get this part out.

warnings: Drinking, slightly suggestive actions/thoughts

WC: 9.3k

Previous chapters: [prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2]

Feyre didn't make it to the prison that next day. Her and Rhys had not been gone for an hour before Rhys was winnowing her back into the living room. Feyre was as pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. The concern that laced Rhys’ face was enough to stop me from asking how it went, was enough to stop everyone in the room from asking. Feyre didn’t stay to talk, turning on her heel and stalking towards her room. 

I watched as she ascended the stairs, taking note of the stiffness of her shoulders. 

“She saw it was underground and couldn’t do it.” Was the only explanation I was given. I nodded, fully understanding. A variable none of us had even thought to consider, the prison was scary enough on its own. But add fifty feet of rock above your head, after that damned mountain, I Feyre didn’t come out of her room again that day. 

The next morning, I once again found myself outside her door too scared to knock. Too scared of her rejecting my company to bring her any semblance of comfort. It was the cowards move and I hated that I couldn’t bring myself to check on her. The tiny sniffles I could hear through the heavy wooden door let me know the full extent of the effect that place had on her. 

I sensed someone standing behind me and almost jumped when I saw Armen beside me. The two of us had a lukewarm relationship at best. She respected me only as much as was polite, I was her high lord's sister after all. But that’s where that relationship started and ended. I respected her as part of my brother's court, and quite frankly, I was terrified of her. 

“If you won’t then I will.” She said in a bored tone. “I know you heard her last night too.” I had. Feyre vomiting her guts out, screaming from nightmares, then more vomiting. It was something I was all too familiar with. The things that creep into our sleep, images from that vile place where she had lost her humanity. Amren simply rolled her eyes and strolled into the room, leaving me flustered at the doorway. I didn’t stay around to listen to their conversation. Instead I went down to the kitchen, finding my hands suddenly far too empty. 

In a matter of minutes I had pulled out all the ingredients to make breakfast. Grabbing a whisk to start mixing, I sensed someone else in the room. I looked up and was met with the eyes of my brother. A slightly worried look in his eyes, he knew I only cooked when something was on my mind. I just shrugged my shoulders at him, dismissing the concern. He didn’t say anything as he sat at one of the stools in the kitchen. Both of us content to sit in the other’s silence. Cassian came in only for me to shoo him out when he kept picking at the food as I made it. The action made the three of us howl with laughter. 

The next day, Feyre seemed to be in better spirits. I noticed her hand tracing over the necklace Amren had given her yesterday. Some random glittery trinket Rhys had gifted her one year for Solstice. I don’t know what the ancient fae had told her to make Feyre clutch it like it was a life line. Rhys eyed Amren who just waved him off with her usual casual coolness. 

“Ready then?” He asked Feyre. She gulped but nodded. And like that they were off. 

That’s when the waiting began. Everyone sat with perfect Fae stillness as we waited for Rhys and Feyre to return. All holding a collective breath for that information that could save us all. At some point I had lit a fire just to have something to do with my hands. The book that I had been trying to read all morning lay untouched by my feet. Mor was lounging next to Cassian. Azriel was brooding at the window, his wings twitching slightly at the tension in the room. Shadows a nervous flurry at his feet. Amren has slinked off the moment Rhys had winnowed away. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a crack cut through the silence in the room. The familiar smell of the prison lingered on Feyre and Rhys as they appeared in the living room. I couldn’t help the careful eye I ran over the both of them, assessing for any damage. A sigh of relief left me when I couldn’t find any. 

“How’d it go?” Mor finally broke the silence, trying and failing to keep her voice casual. Feyre was already splayed out in an armchair closest to the hearth. She stretched, rubbing at her arms, like she couldn’t get warm enough.  Rhys went to pick at a piece of invisible lint on his leathers. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“The bone carver is nothing more than a busybody.” He simply said. We all looked for him for a scrap of more information. 

“And?” I snapped. 

“And, he can be helpful when he wants to be. It seems we need to do what we do best.” His violet eyes shone with a flicker of mischief at his words. “Hybern has the Cauldron.” I couldn't contain the gasp that tumbled out of me. For the first time since my brother had left, Azriel moved. Perching on the arm of the couch I was sitting on. 

“What does that mean for us?” Azriel asked sharply. 

“It means that we finally know the cause behind all the destruction as of late.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering to Feyre who looked like she was about to pass out from exhaustion. “But it also means that we are severely overpowered.” 

“Did you learn how to stop it?” 

“The Carver mentioned two books that could nullify it, that Feyre could use to nullify it.”

“Those books haven’t been seen in centuries, Rhys.” I interjected. He nodded, hands again running over his hair. 

“The location was one thing that the Carver was nice enough to gift us.” I shuddered at the tone of his voice. I didn’t want to think of what he or Feyre had to offer for that bit of information. 

“One piece rests in Summer and the other with the human Queens.” Rhys continued. 

“I’ll reach out to my sources in Summer to see if I can track down the exact location. I can also personally visit the human lands and see what I can find on the other piece.” Azriel started immediately. Ever the busy spymaster. 

“No. I don’t trust this information with anyone outside of this room, save for Armen. Not before we know who will actually stand besides us. If that book were to get into the wrong hands, we might as well surender right now.” Azriel tensed at my brother's words. I placed a gentle hand over his knee. A casual gesture that had him relaxing his shoulders ever so slightly. He gave Rhys a small nod of agreement. 

“What does that mean for us?” Mor spoke out. 

“As far as I’m concerned, Hybern has already declared war. That was our temple he sacked last to get a missing piece of the cauldron.”

“We need to find a way to get to the cauldron then.” My words gained a nod from Rhys. “It will likely be heavily warded, more than you could even break through Rhys. And then there’s the issue of even finding it. Hybern’s land is incredibly large and there's no guarantee he wouldn’t stash it somewhere else in Prythian.” 

“We think that since the pieces are spelled by individual High Lords, their power can find it. Besides actually wielding the book, it seems like we might have our very own key to finding those pieces.” Four pairs of eyes all turned in sync to Feyre. She cringed when she met our eyes. 

“We don’t know that for sure…” She started. 

“But it would make sense. You contain a kernel of all of their powers. I saw it get transferred to you. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to find them.” 

“And there’s a way to test it.” Rhys said with a wicked grin. “It will require us going on a little trip, to see if you can find a very important thing that I have been missing for a very long time.” 

“Rhys..” I started but Mor’s echoing “shit.” cut me off.

“Where?” Feyre said, voice trembling. 

“The Weaver.” I spoke at the same time as Azriel. 

“You can’t be serious…” I started, voice rising at the sheer audacity of my brother. 

“The test will be to see if Feyre can detect something that has my magic on it. If she can find that then I am confident it’ll work with other objects.” I had half a mind to slap that dignified look off of my brother's face. Feyre might not know what exact object was at the Weavers cottage but the rest of us did. 

I sunk in on myself. Mind drifting far away, tuning out the rest of their conversation. 

I felt a prod at my mental walls. You’re unhappy. Rhys spoke into my head. 

You’re playing games. I responded. It’s necessary and this way I know she’ll be safe. You think I would ever put her at serious risk? I shook my head, pushing him out of my mind. He winced at the force behind the action. I couldn’t find it in myself to care. I picked at my nails until Rhys' voice pulled me out of whatever was stewing in my brain.

“Emissary. Emissary to the Night Court- for the human realm.” The sound that left me was a mix between a gasp and a scoff. I ripped my hand off of its place on Azriel’s knee. Simply unable to put up with my brother's game at the moment. Azriel mumbled out my name as I stood up, walking out of the room. I shot Feyre a sympathetic look to let her know my leaving had nothing to do with her. She didn’t even glance my way, eyes flickering instead between Rhys and Azriel, who were now arguing in full force. 

When I reached my room, I could already feel the edges of a headache creeping over my vision. My hand came up to rub at my temples. I didn’t hear anything from anyone the rest of the day, the only sign I had even received that the arguing had stopped was Rhys popping his head into my room to tell me we were leaving early in the morning. I merely gave him a vulgar gesture with my finger before he slammed the door on his way out. Grabbing a pillow from the edge of my bed, I held it up to my head and let out a loud scream. 

This was all too much. Prythian had barely survived one war. And that was when the entirety of it was fighting together and my stupid, oversure brother thought that we could win it before it even started. Throwing the pillow across the room in frustration, I flopped onto the bed. Mind already starting to race with the possibilities and outcomes. All the wrong moves that could see everyone in my family dead in a matter of minutes. We were playing a dangerous game and I didn’t like how carelessly Rhys was thinking about things. A small part knew Rhys would never let Feyre be involved if he thought we stood no chance, so he must have a better plan than the ones I was coming up with. I hoped. 

The morning came far too quickly. I feel like I had just fallen asleep when a shadow had crept into my bed, whispering nonsense into my ear to make me up. They ignored my swats in protests. I groaned, pulling myself up into a sitting position. “Busybodies.” I muttered as the shadow creeped back out of my room, most likely letting Azriel and Rhys know I was awake. 

I dressed slowly, pulling on each layer of clothing with a practiced sort of focus. Hands nimbly fastening the many buckles of my fighting leathers, like I had done a million times before. I reached for the daggers that Cassian and Azriel had gifted me, one from each of them. Their handles encrusted with gems that matched their siphons. The third I slipped in had gems that matched the first diadem I had been gifted from my mother. I tried not to think about all of their significance as I strapped them to the holster on my thigh. I tied my hair up in an updo, one that required as little pins as possible to keep it out of my face. And I went to find my brother. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out why Rhys wanted me to accompany them. Having both of us there would be an extra layer of protection in case this all went to shit. The little bit of my power that had returned combined with Rhys’ would be more than enough to stop the Weaver. I couldn’t fully dampen a room but I had successfully snuffed out a candle or faelight more than a handful of times. Darkness did nothing if you were already blind, but the Weaver relied on scent and hearing. Both of which I had been successful in cutting off from Rhys. Not a hint of my full power but enough to give Feyre time to run if need be.

Once we winnowed into that ancient woods, I had started walking towards the cottage. Having no interest in listening to the distraction my brother had warned me he would be giving Feyre. I tried not to vomit as I listened to his shameless flirting. 

Eventually the trees had thinned out. All rustles of surrounding animals faded into nothing. I held up my hand singling to Rhys and feyre to stop moving. Feyre’s breath caught behind me. The cottage was just in view. The smoke from the chimney is still lingering in the air like a blanket. Rhys gave Feyre a dramatic flourish and bowed, letting her move on her own. She flipped him off which brought a smile to my face. 

I held my breath as I watched her walk into the front door, flinching when it closed behind her. Like an invisible hand had pushed it shut. My head whipped to Rhys and I saw that he had not planned for that. When I went to take a step forward, he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. I threw it off but stayed put. No interference. Those were the rules. He said in my mind. 

So we sat and waited. “It’s taking too long, Rhys she can’t find it.” He shook his head. 

“No she has to.” 

“Not right this minute, it’s not like…” A blood curdling scream cut off my words. My dagger was in my hand faster than I could think. Body tensed for whatever had caused that scream. Some part of me knew it wasn’t Feyre. No, I had become all too familiar with the sound of her screams under the mountain. 

Faster than a streak of light, Feyre was bounding across the roof. At the same time the front door of the cottage flung open, The Weaver screaming for Feyre. Rhys and I shot each other a look before we were running after Feyre. Chasing her through the tree branches that she was running over. Rhys was able to climb up and perched on the end of one of the branches she would find herself in front of any second. 

“What the hell did you do?” He said coolly. Feyre skidded to a stop. Blood rose to her cheeks and I saw the pure fury in her eyes as she hissed at him. He cut her off before he wrapped an arm around both of us, winnowing the both of us back to Velaris.

I was able to winnow enough to get me on the balcony of the house of wind, I landed just in time to see Rhys’ wings appear. When I opened the door, Cassian and Amren had my map sprawled out in front of them. Clearly in the middle of an argument. 

Feyre had barely stepped into the threshold of the house before she vomited on the floor. Cassian cursed and Armen had it cleaned up with a quick flick of her wrist. 

Feyre had explained what had happened in the cottage. Anger creeped through me as she explained. I shot Rhys a glare that said I told you so. 

“And where were you two?” Amren hissed at my brother and I. I felt shame creep up through the anger. 

“Far enough away to help if need be. But she got out.” Rhys answered evenly. Feyre yelled at him. 

“I’m training with you, if the offer still stands.” Feyre said, ignoring Rhys. “I want to have another option besides running.” 

“Running very well might have saved your life today.” I said in return. She gave me a nasty side eye. 

“I want to be useful if it ever comes down to a fight.” Was all she said and Cassian nodded. 

After that, she seemed to remember something and she all but threw the ring at Rhys, who scrambled to catch it before it fell to the ground. Even I flinched towards it. The motion wasn’t lost of feyre and she raised an eyebrow at me in question. 

“How’d you lose it anyways?” 

“I didn’t. My mother gave it to me, then took it back when I reached maturity and then gave it to the Weaver for safekeeping.” I rolled my eyes at his half truth. She looked like she was about to lay into him before Rhys was grabbing her hand and left out the window. Probably getting them far enough to winnow back to the townhouse. I didn’t follow after them. 

Cassian let loose a heavy sigh and I nodded along. 

“He’s got it bad.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“So your mothers ring…” 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Cassian.” I waved him off. Grabbing a bottle of wine out of the cabinet before I walked towards one of the empty rooms in the house. 

“Training with me, tomorrow morning.” Cassian was not asking. And my only answer was the sound of the cork popping out of the bottle in my hand. 

Cassian stuck to his words. He dragged me out of bed at sunrise despite my protests. He was having absolutely none of it. 

“Feyre’s coming and I want you to be there.” Bastard. He was playing dirty and knew it would work. He smirked as I pushed him out of the room so I could get changed. 

Feyre joined us a little after we had gotten warmed up. 

“I want you to watch for a little bit. Before we get into the basics.” Feyre made a discontent noise. “I can’t just throw you into the ring with one of us without having some foundation. Sure you can use a bow, but in hand to hand, you wouldn’t last a second.” Blunt. But true. Feyre’s face showed that she knew this. So she hung back as Cassian and Azriel squared off to each other. 

It was nearly impossible to follow their movements. They eventually slowed down enough to follow. To track the perfectly timed punches and dips. Cassian and Azriel fought with an easy grace. The sign of centuries of practice. My eyes tracked every roll of muscle, Azriel being shirtless didn’t help my gawking. Eventually they broke apart and I had to remind myself how to close my jaw. Unaware of the way it had parted slightly. Even Feyre looked overly interested. 

“Alright. Now, time for princess to get in here.” I groaned and he shot me a withering glare. “She’ll be the best example for you to follow Feyre. Just polished enough to not get hurt and do some damage along the way.” 

“Thank you for the glowing compliment Cassian.” He just smiled at me, gesturing for me to get in front of him. I pushed myself off the rock I was leaning against. I gave Feyre an overly sweet smile that had pulled a small laugh out of her. 

Cassian didn’t waste a second once I found my footing. He was relentless. Throwing powerful punch after powerful punch. I willed myself to follow his movements, trying my best to predict them. His movements far too fast for my mind to keep up with. So I took a deep breath and pulled from that same spot I had been practicing with Rhys. Cassian cursed loudly and I know it worked. The thin black mist that reached out to him even further proof. He stumbled slightly as I took his sight. It was just for long enough that I was able to grab his fist as he swung blindly. I used my hold and his unstable feet to flip over him. I had his arm pressed against his back. The perfect angel that with a simple twist would break his arm. He shouted at me and I pulled back my powers, granting him his sight back. 

“Not fair.” He panted out as I pushed him out of my hold. He caught himself with a fighter's grace, pulling himself onto his feet in one fluid motion. 

“Oh suck it up you baby.” I said with a laugh at his outraged expression.

“You never told us you got your powers back.” Azriel spoke from the sidelines. I shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. And truly it wasn’t. I could already feel the toll that little bit had taken on me. 

“Fine, you want to play that way…” Cassian started. “Azriel.” He finished. My head whipped to look at Cassian who was wearing a shit eating grin. I looked back to Azriel who just raised a challenging eyebrow at me. Never one to back down so easily, I gave him an exhausted wave of my hand. Singling him closer. We stood across from each other. Sizing each other up. Azriel and I haven't ever really sparred like this. Not hand to hand. Since we both favored daggers, it was always with weapons. I don’t even know if I could hit him. But I tried not to let that show on my face as I made the first move. He easily stepped out of the way, dodging my lunge at him. I whipped around and went to sweep his leg but he managed to dodge it again. A small smirk on his face as I looked up at him. My eyebrows set in a determined line and I forced myself to swing for his stomach. He grabbed my arm with ease, pushing it to the side and making me wobble trying to regain my footing. 

“Stop dancing and actually fight.” 

Cassian’s words had his head snap to him for just a second. But it was all the time I needed to flip him onto his back. His hands instantly grabbed on my hips as we fell to the ground. I heard the breath whoosh out from him, mostly in surprise as he stared up at me. Hazel eyes gleaming with something I didn’t want to think about. We just sat looking at each other before I leaned down and whispered in his ear. 

“I think I like having you on your back. I should do it more often.” With a graceful swing of my legs, I suddenly was standing above him. He seemed to still be in shock and I nearly doubled over laughing. Rolling my eyes , I offered him a hand to stand up. He could have gotten up by himself. But I wanted to touch his skin, feel the warmth of his body again. My hips still felt the ghost of his touch like he had burned his touch into the skin underneath. He took my hand and instead of pulling himself up, he pulled me down. I yelped in surprise as he quickly flipped me over. Hovering over me, his arms caged around me so no parts of him were touching me. A far more restrained move than me straddling his hips just  a few moments ago. I went to shove his chest and he caught my arm, pinning it above my head. All of my focus zeroed on that exact spot, his hand on my wrist. It took every bit of restraint I had to bite back the whimper building in my throat at the action. I shifted under him, trying to wiggle out of his grasp and that only made him grab my wrist tighter. 

“What are you going to do now princess?” He rasped near my ear. Mirroring my early actions of leaning down close to me. That stupid nickname, the way it dripped off of his lips had my whole body heating up. It was too much. I could only suck in heavy breaths of his scent and it lit my whole body on fire. I ignored the urge to wrap my leg around his back and pull him against me. Instead I pulled my leg up and used my knee to push him off of me. Probably a little harder than necessary. He clearly wasn’t expecting it as he fell back, hands resting on either side of him. We both sat, chests rising and falling with heavy breaths, unable to look away from each other. I said nothing as I stood up, brushing the dirt off of my pants and walked over to where Cassian was standing. I might have added a little extra sway to my hips. 

“Close your mouth, you’ll let flies in.” I all but growled lowly to Cassian as I approached his side. 

“So we’re just going to ignore whatever that was?” Cassian said, his eyebrow raised at me. I wanted to ignore him too.

“We’re absolutely going to” I absolutely would not. But I wasn’t about to talk about it with Cassian of all people. As it was he was probably never going to let me live it down. I tried my hardest not to think about what Azriel had felt like underneath me. How his hands seemed so sure as they gripped my hips. The small quiet grunt that left his lips from his back hitting the ground. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to think about his gravelly voice in my ear. No, I would absolutely not think about Azriel for the rest of the day. 

I passed Feyre from her position on the outside of the training ring. She raised an eyebrow at me before falling into step next to me. “If training always looks like that, I might have joined you all earlier.” She playfully hit my shoulder with her own and I fought the urge to groan. The action was so similar to Rhy that it was almost funny. They were absolutely perfect for each other, if he would only ever tell her they were mates. “So you and Azriel…” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrow at her. She gave me a dramatic roll of her eyes, “How long have two been together.” My legs froze. When her words had fully sunk in, I started roaring with laughter. I doubled over and rested my hands on my knees. I was finally able to compose myself, I stood up and wiped the stray tear from my eye. 

“I was serious.” She said, a confused look on her face. 

“Sizing up the competition are we?” I said to her,

“Dodging the question, are we?” Her smile only grew as mine faded. “So not together then, I just thought…” I raised my hand to stop her, unable to hear anymore. 

“He’s my brother’s best friend, his brother.” Was all I offered her. She looked like she wanted to press the issue but thought better of it. I left out a small sigh of relief as we walked back up to the house. 

Somewhere in the day, after  I cleaned away the sweat and grime from training, Mor came into my room. “We’re going to Rita’s tonight, if you want to come along?” Her eyes shone with mischief and I knew even if I didn’t want to, I would be going.

Mor didn’t even bother knocking as she came back with an arm full of dresses for me to try on. I had no shortage in my own closet but who was I to deny her the opportunity to play dress up. 

She held up the first one for me to see, a striking red color that looked like it would show more than it covered. I laughed at the idea. “That’s far more your color than it is mine.” She beamed a smile at me and put it in a separate pile. Dress after dress was pulled out and presented to me, each one more and more revealing. I groaned inwardly at the scrap of a black dress she held up for me. I shook my head.

“Maybe I should just stay home.” I sighed. She gave me a dramatic pout.

“You haven’t seen the last one yet.” She held it out and I knew that was the one she had been saving. 

It wasn’t exactly his shade of blue, and that made it even more perfect. Far enough off that it could be written off as a coincidence. The look Mor gave me told me she had that very thought when she picked it out. A deep scoop for the neck line, held together by a silver ring, a similar cut out right below it. It looked like it would stop about mid-thigh. Mor threw the dress into my arms and pushed me into the bathroom. 

“We don’t have all day so get your cute ass in the dress.” She said as the door closed and I laughed loud enough for her to hear it through the wood. I stripped off my pajamas and realized the dress would not allow for any type of bra, so I took that off too. Wiggling slightly to get it over my thighs, I smoothed the dress down. It was nothing super out of the ordinary from what I’ve worn to Rita’s in the past but I suddenly felt very shy looking at myself in the mirror. The dress hugged my curves in all the right places and had enough support in the bust that it made up for the lack of a bra. I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves to walk out and show Mor. 

When I walked out she gave a dramatic whistle. “That’s the one for sure. No one will be able to look away.” She raised her eyebrows at the suggestive comment and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Both of us knew I only cared about one specific male's attention. One that would hardly give me a second glance. 

She started on my makeup next, lining my eyes heavily with kohl. Blush wasn’t needed in this case, the sheer amount of alcohol we’d be consuming would do that for me. She swiped a red tinted gloss over my lips and turned me to face the mirror again. The black made the purple in my eyes pop, even I was unable to look away from my reflection. The gloss doing its job of making my lips look plump in a way that bordered on seduction. “You have outdone yourself” I complimented Mor and it was her turn for her cheeks to ting red. She shrugged off the compliment. 

“I trust you to do your own hair. I’m going to get ready. We’re leaving in less than an hour, so be quick.” She snatched the discarded dresses off their spot on my bed and strolled out of the room. 

I decided to leave my hair simple. The dress was enough of a statement on its own. My hair was still slightly curly from my bath earlier so I just left it down, twisting and pinning one side of it against my head. I pulled out some longer bits for the front and that was that. Giving myself a quick once over in the mirror, I started heading downstairs to meet the rest of my family. 

It was late enough that Feyre had already gone to her bedroom for the night. But I was surprised to see my brother dressed and waiting, impatiently, for Mor and I. I walked down the stairs and three pairs of eyes turned to me at the sound of my heels clicking against the floor. My eyes found Rhys first, slightly disapproval at my outfit but he’d get over it. I rolled my eyes at him and then caught Azriel’s gaze. 

I tried to ignore the way his eyes roved greedily over my figure. Blocked out the blush that rose all the way to my ears. His mouth was slightly open like he was going to say something but Cassian cut him off. 

“You clean up nice, princess.” Another roll of my eyes. 

“Who knew you knew how to put a shirt on Cas.” I teased back. I couldn’t find the courage to look over to Azriel again, scared of whatever look he was giving me. A look you certainly don’t give to friends or family. When I finally did glance over his way, I noticed his eyes were still on me, following my every shift with an intense look, like a hunter following prey. 

“Let’s go, we’re burning moonlight.” Mor said, breaking whatever tension was in the room. She all but ran down the steps until she was on even ground. She wrapped her arm around mine and pulled me to the door, the males following behind us. 

We laughed and pointed out things on our walk over to Rita’s. Mor and I walked a few steps ahead the entire time. The handful of times I risked a glance backwards, I noticed Azriel making a point to look anywhere but me. Which only brought more laughter from me. 

Rita’s wasn’t super packed tonight, but the music could be heard from outside of the bar. The five of us strolled in the doors and I could already feel the music in my chest. A sultry rhythm that had me longing to pull Mor to the dance floor. But we first headed to the bar, ordering the strongest drinks that they had to offer. I winced slightly as I took my first sip. 

No sooner than that sip did I do exactly that, pulling Mor by her hand into the crowd of bodies. I was slightly out of practice but I just let my body feel the music. Head tipped back with laughter as Mor and I danced together. 

We only lasted a few songs before both of us needed new drinks. This time we stayed at the booth the others had picked out. Her and I slid into the seats. She rushed for the seat next to Cassian and Rhys, leaving me to sit next to Azriel. Fine, perfectly fine. I told myself as I sat down next to him. The booth was tight enough with three pairs of wings that our thighs were touching. My mind instantly flashing back to earlier in the day, the way my thighs had been slung over both of his hips. I squirmed in my seat and tried my best to focus on the conversation being had. 

“No word from summer yet?” Cassian asked between sips of his own drink. Rhys sighed before shaking his head. He emptied his own glass and Cassian was already pushing another one towards him. 

“Which means we will go to the humans tomorrow.” He kept his voice low, although it was unnecessary over the music. Cassian sucked his teeth but kept quiet. Mor stiffened ever so slightly before speaking up. 

“I’ll stay in Velaris.” Her tone left nothing to be argued with. We all turned to our drinks, a comfortable silence falling over us. More drinks were consumed. My chest felt very warm and I knew a dopey smile was stuck on my face. At some point Azriel’s hand had slipped onto my knee as the conversation flowed. 

“By the mother, she’s infuriating.” Rhys lamented into his glass, his response when Cassian asked how that relationship was going. “She has all of this power that I can sense, but she refuses to try to learn how to use it.” Cassian let out a roaring laugh. 

“She’s gotta be stubborn if she’s ever going to deal with you. Someone here has to be able to tell you no.” 

“ I would argue, you all keep me in check perfectly.” He laughed back. All of us joined in. 

Mor went to get the next round of drinks and I downed mine, probably too quickly. The room started to spin just a little and I laid my head against Azriel’s shoulder. His arm instantly wrapped around me. Shadows wrapping around the two of us.

“You okay?” He said slowly to me. I looked up at him and gave him a small drunken nod. The motion made a laugh rumble through him. “I think you’ve had enough. I’m cutting you off, princess.” I pouted at him, my bottom lip sticking out. I could only blink up at him as he raised his free hand to untuck my lip, a scared finger lingering on my face. I suddenly couldn’t hear anything else in the room. All of my focus zeroing in on that hand on my face. I swore he was leaning in more than a second ago, his face a lot closer to mine than it had been. Rhys cleared his throat loud enough to make me jump. Azriel’s shadows retreated back to his side. My cheeks heated up as I pulled my eyes away from Azriel’s face. I had completely forgotten the others, who were now giving Azriel and I confused looks. All except Mor who had a self satisfied grin on her face. 

We didn’t last much longer than that. All deciding that it was time to call it a night. We would need to be up in only a few hours to go to the human realm. 

During the walk home, Azriel wouldn’t so much as look at me. Letting Mor and I once again led the way, albeit on slightly more wobbly legs. By the time we got to the house, my shoes were in my hand, feet screaming at the height of the heels. We all quickly said goodnight and headed towards our rooms. Walking up the stairs, my foot caught the edge of one of them and I would have fallen face first into the marble if not for a warm hand that wrapped around my arm. Azriel was standing beside me, my arm held lightly. I could only gawk at him as he pulled me upright. 

“Maybe I should walk to your room so you don’t hurt yourself, or the house.” He spoke softly, a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. I nodded, my tongue unable to find words. 

So he did exactly that. We reached my door and I turned to him to say good night but he was much closer than I anticipated. Our eyes locked and we both stood frozen, unable to look away from each other. Before I could think of something else to say, he reached out a gentle hand and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered on my face. I felt my breath catch in my throat, mouth parting to say something, anything. 

“Good night.” He spoke before I could. His hand dropped to his side and I tried not to pout as I echoed the words back to him. I stood outside my door and watched as he turned on his heel and walked down the hall to his own room.

I got dressed for bed in a daze. Nearly forgetting to wipe off the makeup on my face. I crawled into bed and let thoughts of the shadowslinger lull me to sleep. 

I felt funny wearing the clothes that Feyre had picked out for me. Everything felt itchy and heavy against my skin. Gone were the typical cobwebs from the night court attire. Instead, Feyre helped lace me into a corset that she informed me I’m supposed to wear underneath my clothing. We compromised on a long sleeve shirt that had sheer sleeves but went up to my neck. It all felt very stuffy and Feyre laughed when I pointed that out to her.

“It’s supposed to be. Humans are a lot more…modest than high fae.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that. That was an understatement for sure. She helped me pin the simple linen skirt and tied up my hair in an intricate braid that rested on the top of my head. “There, you could pass perfectly for human, if it wasn’t for the ears.” She teased and I stuck my tongue out at her. Pulling my hair down in front of my ears. Thankfully, she turned her attention to Mor who was studying the clothes intensely. 

“No fighting in these clothes.” She muttered, low enough that I wonder if she even meant to say it out loud. 

“Women are expected to get married, have children and then plan the same for those children. Some might work, if they’re poorer.” Feyre explained. Mor nodded along to her words. 

“Fae are the same in some places. Feyre slipped behind the screen in her room to start changing her own clothes. 

“In the Court of Nightmares, females are…prized.” Mor’s voice had gone ice cold. My eyes drifted to her, remembering her own family. “We’re only valued for our ability to produce offspring. And being the most powerful in my family, everyone could see it, the day I first bleed it was over for me. I was hoping I could escape the same fate as the rest of my cousins, shackled into a loveless, and sometimes cruel, marriage. But when my power unleashed itself full force, I was suddenly the most sought after female in the court” She shuddered slightly. I tried to keep my face as those old memories resurfaced. 

“What about your parents?” Feyre asked from behind the screen. Voice shaking slightly. 

Mor gave out a cold, flat laugh. “They were beside themself. They could have a pick at any of the top ruling families. My pleas fell on deaf ears.” She took a steady breath. “The rest of the story is long and awful and this isn’t the time for it. But I say all of this to let you know I’m not coming with you.” I of course already knew this but I never gave much thought to the reasoning behind it. How the way humans treated females would open old wounds for Mor. Ways that she did everything in her power to avoid. 

I tried to busy myself with fixing the layers of my clothes as they talked, letting them have a little bit of privacy. 

“There are good days and hard days for me-even now. Don’t let the hard days win.” Mor said, giving Feyre a slight squeeze on the shoulder before she walked out of the room. 

With Mor and Amren staying behind to watch Velaris, that left the five of us, Cassian, Azriel, Rhys, Feyre and myself. I had already walked up to Azriel’s side before Feyre blurted out. “I’ll fly with Azriel.” I couldn’t keep my face neutral, even as Azriel simply bowed his head. I tried to stomp down the jealousy at the way his shadows wrapped around her when Azriel scooped up Feyre into his arms. Tried not to think of the way those very arms had been wrapped around me last night. Cassian was at my side giving me a wink he said, “Guess you’re stuck with me. Try not to look so disappointed.” 

“Elain.” Feyre’s voice broke around the name. The housekeeper had been giving her a hard time when the girl had appeared. The rest of us merely waited outside as Feyre walked through the doors of the manor. 

I held my breath as Feyre greeted us at the doors. She led us into a large room in the house and I couldn’t help but look around. In awe of the manor before me. The resemblance between the three sisters was uncanny. The slope of a nose, the curve of full lips. Wide eyes that followed every move the Illryians made. The tallest took a small step in front of the other timid girl when she spied the two winged males. I fought the urge to scoff and stepped closer. Feyre simply introduced all of us to each other. The other’s didn’t dare move. 

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Rhys said with a bow. The perfect example of a diplomatic high lord. Nesta’s welcome was less than ice cold. We followed her into the dining room and all took our seats. 

The males, per usual, began scarfing down the food. Where they put it all, I would never know. Feyre ate with a look that would lead you to believe she was eating glass. 

“Is there something wrong without food?” Nesta asked coldly. I fought the urge to shiver at her tone, the sheer discontent in those few words. “So you don’t eat normal food anymore- or are you too good for it?” Rhys and I put our forks down in sync. The way her voice dripped with challenge. How Nesta was related to Feyre, well if it wasn’t for their face, I would never have guessed it. 

“I can eat, drink, fuck and fight just a well as before. Better, even.” At her words, the room seemed to heat up ever so slightly. Feyre herself being the source. I felt my eyes go wide at the thought of what could happen. Tempers flaring from both sides of the room. 

“Can you really fly?” Elain asked Azriel. Trying to break the tension.

“Yes. We’re called Illyrians, a race of winged warriors.” 

“Is it not frightening to be up so high?” She all but batted her eyelashes at him. I might have put a little bit more behind my fork as I picked at the food in front of me. He kept an even tone as he answered all of her questions. I could quickly tell Nesta was losing her patience, however small it was to begin with. 

“If we’re all done eating then this meal is over.” She said as she walked out of the room. Leaving the rest of us reeling. 

“Three rooms was rather generous of her.” I joked with Feyre as we walked around the house.  

“If you want to go back, try to ask Nesta…”

“We’ll make it work.” I cut her off, I would never admit it outloud but there was something unnerving about Nesta. An intensity that set my teeth on edge. Plus, the clear disdain she holds for her sister ticked a certain nerve in me. How someone could be so callous towards a sibling that had sacrificed so much for them, I couldn’t imagine. 

“She tends to have that effect on people.” Feyre said with a private laugh. I really did try to keep my tone neutral 

“She seems very…” I didn’t have a kind word to say. My anger at the female clouded over anything else I could say about her.  Feyre just nodded at me. 

We both went to our separate rooms for the night. And I had just fallen asleep when a knock at the door woke me up. I was surprised to see Azriel at my door, expecting Rhys or maybe Feyre. “Cassian snores. Really loudly.” Azriel said in a softer tone that I knew he could use. I covered my mouth to hide the laugh that escaped me. He smiled my favorite lopsided smile at me and I opened the door to let him in. 

This wasn’t out of the ordinary. Azriel and I had shared a bed many times, and had fallen asleep on each other even more times. I still remember me begging him to stay when my screaming had woken him up. But for some reason, the heat of his body behind me felt very different this time. We weren’t touching, not even his wings brushed up against me. His shadows curled around the edge of the bed like a sleeping dog. He might have well been right on top of me for how much I could sense his presence. I turned over onto my side, pulling my side of the blanket tighter around myself and tried to even my breathing with his. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to escape his smell as it wrapped around me. It only added to the overwhelming feeling of him. I squeezed my eyes tighter, pleading with myself to ignore him. To act like nothing had changed in my feelings for him. That my simple crush was crumbling out of my control into something more. Something I did not want to think about with him merely feet away from me. 

I woke up warm. So warm that I burrowed myself back into the source of the warmth. Eyes shut, I basked in the feeling with a small content noise leaving my throat. The slight shift under me had my eyes flying open. Remembering exactly what had happened last night. Squinting the morning light out of my eyes, I took note of the arm wrapped around my waist. The way I was pulled tight against Azriel’s chest. My whole body flushed suddenly his body heat threatened to smother me. I tried to subtly slip out of his hold, but the motion only made his arm tighten around me more. I was pressed tight enough around him that I could feel every plane of his chest, every bit of muscle pressed up against me. I closed my eyes and said a prayer to whatever god would get me out of this situation. I struggled a little bit more, I felt my backside make contact with his hips. My actions caused a groan to echo in his chest, the noise making me freeze completely, scared to even breathe wrong. 

I waited for a few moments before I continued my actions, being extremely careful of where exactly I was putting my weight. I let out a heavy breath when I managed to wiggle out of his hold. Azriel only rolled over and grabbed the pillow I had been half resting on. A smile snuck onto my face at the action. His shadows, up until then ignored, circled around my arm and that only seemed to make him stir more. He groaned again, moving over onto his back.

 My eyes landed on his face and I nearly jumped out of the bed when I heard him rasp, “You’re staring princess.” I was thankful that his eyes were still closed as I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. Moving ever so slowly, I reached for one of the discarded pillows by the foot of the bed. His hand had already come up to stop it before I could toss it at his head. 

“Now that wasn’t very nice.” His morning voice finally hit me, Azriel’s voice had always been on the lower side but laced with sleep, it bordered on sinful. The slight huskiness to it had me scrambling out of the bed, all but running to the bathroom. His light laughter hit my ears as the door closed. My head landed against the wooden door, running my hands over my face. I decided a cold bath would be in my best interest. 

My mind kept wandering to the male outside the door as I peeled off my night clothes, thankfully Feyre had convinced me to bring longer, sturdier nightwear than I normally would have worn or else I think I would have lost my everloving mind last night. That groan running through my mind again had me all but diving into the bathtub. 

I sat in the bath like a coward until I heard the door open and shut. I waited a few more moments before I finally pulled myself. I wrapped a towel around myself and walked timidly out of the bathing room, peaking out first to make sure it was all clear. Luckily, it was empty. A stupid twinge of disappointment runs through me and I push it aside. There were bigger issues for today. 

I was thoroughly impressed with the progress Feyre had made. She had been able to light, drown and relight the candle a handful of times. My job was really only to stand as a buffer between her and Rhys. Be able to control the situation if she lost too much control of her powers. 

“Maybe you should go.” 

“Why?

“I can’t concentrate when you’re breathing down my neck.” She snapped at him. Before this could get any more flirty, I tugged on my brother's arm. Leaving the candle with her. 

“Why do you insist on godding her like that?” I asked when we had gotten some distance. 

“Because it’s fun.” I shot him a glare, “Alright, because it gets her out of her own head. It works. Plus I won’t deny it’s fun.” 

“There he is.” I mutter. An hour or so had passed and I saw Rhys gathering a small bundle of food and a piece of paper to send along to Feyre. He hastily scribbled something on it but I didn’t care to read it. Barely a moment passed before the paper returned. Back and forth it went until it remained with her.A second passed, then another. My stomach sank. Rhys was already grabbing my arm to winnow us back to that clearing. 

Nothing could prepare me for the sight in front of us. Feyre held by the neck by an Attor. Neither of us hesitated. It was as simple as breathing, blinding the Attor. It howled in rage as Rhys’ power exploded out of him. Feyre kicked her way out of its arms and I was instantly at her side. Crouching to pick her off the snow covered ground. The Atorr was bound in tendrils of inky-darkness. 

“I was wondering when we would see your ugly face again. Answer my question and you can go back to your master.” Rhys all but purred. 

“Whore.” Was all the answer he received. I reached out to my powers again, the Atorrs scream echoed through the clearing as he lost both his sight and hearing. Rhys nodded his head and I let it fade back into me. Breathing heavily, I knew I didn’t have another time in me. 

“I was sent to get her.” the Attor paused. “I don’t know why.” Words did not stop spilling from the Attors mouth. A small satisfied smirk graced my face as I felt Azriel and Cassian land beside me. 

“Next time you go after her, I’ll kill first and ask questions later.” Rhys said before Azriel and the Attor vanished. I shuddered at the knowledge of what was to come. How when I found Azriel later, he would be cleaning truth-teller until the blade gleamed again. 

Cassian grabbed my hand and scooped me up in his arms. The distant shouting of Rhys and Feyre was enough to make him laugh. “Let’s leave them to kill each other in peace.”

“Who do you think would win?” 

“My money’s on Feyre.” I laughed as he took off, flying us back to Velaris.

Taglist:@nickishadow139 @tothestarsandwhateverend @quinzzelx @durgenyx @i-am-infinite @mariahoedt @acourtofbatboydreams

I think that was everyone that asked to be tagged, as always let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[moonsaver]

Good day moon! Okay I normally don't do asks when it comes to yandere cause it's not my usual thing but seeing the last post you made of Yan!Sunday and his darling, that one where he just desperately wants to have that normalcy in their relationship but couldn't ever have it because of what he's done, made me think of something rather angsty; like how the darling's backlashes against his affections would probably go turn for the worst as time passes on, they don't hate him in a sense because he's really trying hard to not make them hate him and they can see that his love is real (just really fucked up) but that deep urge to hurt the person who took their freedom away is still there, it wouldn't just go away just because he loves them so much that he wouldn't dare to break them. Oh that satisfaction on seeing Sunday looking so hurt after yelling at him, they know it doesn't make them any better than him but at that point, what else is there for them to lose? Maybe in hurting him so subtly, they may find some pity in themselves for him to actually give him some semblance of love but until then, all Sunday ever receives from them are either silent treatment or backlash

Such relationship could only thrive in the worst way possible and maybe Sunday knows that but even then, he still holds out that little (delusional) hope that maybe his darling will still love him someday

Sorry for the rant, it's just that I feel for Sunday but his method will never work and it'll just deeply hurt him and his darling in the end asgfjgsfg also if it's alright, I'd request this but I'll leave it to you with how you write it, be it an imagine or anything else since I'm fine with it!

- Elys

Hello Elys! Im so sorry it took a long time for me to get to your request lol, tons of things got in the way but I remembered this request for a while.

In any case, I feel you've summed it up quite well!

Sunday isn't harsh or as brutal as I imagine him. Unlike my [i have to self advertise here, sorry HAHA] soft yan!blade, Sunday most likely wouldn't even need a bit of working around to be a softer yandere.

He's so loving, it's painful. His love is like despaired poetry for a lover who is still alive, just further than their reach. I imagine his love to be very tender, even as a yandere, if he doesn't become even softer.

And it's hard to convince him he's wrong – mainly because he already knows. But rather that's a bit distorted in his view; instead he thinks it's a wrongdoing against your nature as someone who wants to be free, but correct in the context of the situation rather than actually understanding it is absolutely wrong in general. And he doesn't budge. He's stubborn, almost infuriatingly. And instead of getting angry, I imagine he rather looks disappointed or disgruntled, which somehow does more damage/strikes more fear than anger.

And it's still heartbreaking; frustratingly for both of you, not just yourself.

You lash out, you scream, cry, wail, argue, relentlessly push and resist against him. it's your only way of getting back at him, you're sure as hell you're going to strike the hardest that way. And you relish the hurt you see in the eyes of your captor, but something more sympathetic tugs at you when you see his lovingly sad eyes. It's this cacophony of guilt, frustration, anger, and utter despair at the loss of your freedom. Sunday feels all of it, aswell, and you want to be relieved that he does – if it weren't for the fact he still wasn't letting you go.

He continually withholds your freedom from you. That single injustice to you is enough to weather your patience over time – your anger only burns hotter and hotter, pushing away any semblance of sympathy or reasoning, and it only hurts Sunday more, until you realise what you're doing, and quietly give in to sooth him for the time being. Just a little. Until that little injustice starts bothering you again. It's a toxic cycle.

And it hurts even more when Sunday tries to find normalcy in your relationship; he's trying so hard to be your lover, to hold you gently and bathe you with care, to dry you off and still love you after seeing you bare. He wants to come home and see you smile, be happy, elated that he's there, just as he feels when he sees you. But that's not what happens. His delusions and flimsy expectations are shattered the moment he steps into the dimly lit room, your form refusing to even look at him. The silence is strangely stronger than his hopes.

Anyways, that's all i can think of at the moment. I love angst yandere sunday time.

[harleyquilt]

Misreading Touka (Tokyo Ghoul Meta)

For some reason, I've been seeing more dung being thrown at Touka's characterisation in the series, and since I've been wanting to write a meta for a while now, I decided to do a short one addressing some of the criticism I've seen around. This won't go into everything, of course -- the series is far too dense with analytical potential and I am a busy bee. Just know that I do want to dive deeper into Touken/Kanetou at a later point.

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

Touka is not reduced to a simple, meaningless housewife, and I do not understand why this perspective is used to undermine her character so often in the fandom. For the sake of this argument, I will be mostly focusing on her characterisation in ;Re, as that is where this criticism is mostly rooted. Yes, she is less active in the first part of the second series, but between all the other characters, events, and plot points, it is bizarre to me that people see so little in Touka, despite all that she does. 

I could dive into how Touka as a whole symbolises key themes throughout both series, and how that relates to Kaneki’s development, but I think I will save that for a separate meta. For now, I just want to discuss how Touka is positioned in the second series, and how it does not weaken the characterisation Ishida set up in the first. 

Following the end of the first series, which set its tone as a tragedy, Touka opens the ;Re café to act as a refuge for ghouls, just as Yoshimura did beforehand. To clarify, Yoshimura saved Touka from her miserable life on the streets, giving her the chance to live with some semblance of normalcy following the tragic consequences of her childhood. And now, as an adult, and with Yoshimura gone, Touka strives to recreate that environment once more. There are those that think she has done this for Kaneki and Kaneki alone, but that is clearly not the case, even if she does hope for Kaneki’s return one day; she allows Nishiki to take refuge there while he tries to find Kimi, she saves Tsukiyama after the Rosewald operation, and before anyone argues that she was still not directly involved in either case, she actively takes part in Ayato’s mission to save Hinami. It is there that she then sees Kaneki and allows him a place to stay too, following his battle with Arima. She even provides Akira and Amon a place to stay, reconciling their differences in the process, (underrated chapters, I think).

Up until this point, Touka has been forced to ‘live while losing’, and whether she decides to fight or not, it is an unavoidable outcome when it comes to war. She is simply trying to do what she can without trying to kill herself in the process – a flawed sentiment she has seen in her father and Kaneki before, and even to some extent, Ayato and Hinami.

She fights when she can, runs if she has to. She is forced to make this choice again and again, especially when the underground ward is attacked, and for the sake of her unborn child and other weaker ghouls, she must retreat if she doesn’t want all of them to needlessly die. 

That said, it is not as if she leaves without trying to fight first, she just isn’t stupidly overpowered like her opponents, (and that isn’t a jab at Ishida, I’m simply clarifying that she can’t defeat these foes with just Hinami at her side). Even then, she manages to stand her ground for a long time, despite the pregnancy and her hunger. Moreover, her kagune has developed since the first series, and like Ayato, she’s able to create more advanced structures with her ukaku. You just have to read in between the lines to see that Touka has never allowed herself to grow soft in the years Kaneki was away, and that only now, during this battle, can you see more of her capabilities.

And when Kaneki is trapped within Dragon, she finally decides that she cannot lose him – she refuses to lose him, because to do so would bring on too much despair. Just as Kaneki has prioritised Touka, Touka, too, will prioritise him, and so, even with her exhaustion, she battles against Mutsuki, digs through the Dragon’s flesh until her fingers and nails break, and almost succumbs to grief at the thought that he was already lost to her. The chapter is overlooked far too often, her desperate determination conveying to the reader the importance of love as a driving force.

Again, we saw this with Kaneki, who pushed himself past his limits in hopes of reaching Touka. Whether you like it or not, love is a powerful thing, and that has been shown throughout the series with many, if not all the characters. And for Kaneki and Touka, their love is their hope, and to lose that love is to lose their hope. So they fight, again and again, for each other and the light they bring into each other’s lives. 

Now I can argue all day about how Touka is far more active in the series than people care to admit, but I do not think that is why Touka is labelled as a housewife. I’ve been in the fandom for a long time and this label has been around long before their relationship was canonised, and I think it’s to do with the fact that Touka is clearly more feminine in ;Re. 

I’ve already explained that in terms of action, Touka still has plenty of moments to speak of, and personality-wise, I really don’t think she’s as different as people claim her to be. Yes, she’s calmer, but that shouldn’t be seen as a bad development. She’s an adult now, and with adulthood comes maturity, (or it should, anyway). She doesn’t need to fight anyone and everyone to prove herself, that is simply a childish perspective to take. Besides that, she’s still curt in the way she talks, is sarcastic and blunt, though not as harsh as she was before, and she still carries herself with plenty of pride and dignity, which was what was so appealing about her in the first series. Ffs, she confronts the whole CCG and tells them to eat shit because their arguments were annoying her. It’s ridiculous to me that people think she is a shadow of her former self, when there’s plenty of great moments involving her. 

As for her more maternal depictions, that is also something that has always been present, if you take a moment to connect the two series together. She was forced to grow up quickly when she became responsible of Ayato, and she effortlessly took Hinami under her wing after the death of her parents. This is an attribute that she continues to exhibit throughout ;Re, watching over the children and trying to comfort them. It’s a touching image, one that circles back around to her pregnancy. And to deem this progression as detrimental is rather…strange to me. In a time when we see women as strong and powerful for everything we represent – our hardships, both physically and emotionally, as well as our strengths – why is it seen as weak when female characters are utilised to represent the strength of womanhood. Because she’s a woman married to a man? Don’t be so childish. If you respect her characterisation at all, you will acknowledge how she continues to exhibit her strengths as an adult, whether that be in battle or beyond it. 

After all, Ishida could have easily written it so that she is no longer involved in anything past the discovery of her pregnancy. Except he doesn't, and instead, she fights even more, even harder, in spite of her pregnancy. Because of her pregnancy. And yet, this is somehow weakens her character? She is quite literally going beyond her limits to fight for her future, I see nothing weak in that.

It might be that readers dislike how she changes aesthetically, and that’s fine, but from that comes arguments that excuse why they don’t like her character. I could argue against every little argument I’ve seen about her, but at the end of the day, I feel like most of these points are made just to excuse a personal preference. And that is not an effective use of critical reading. You can’t make the story something it isn’t, and you can’t assume Touka was going to be a character she wasn’t written to be. If you don’t like that or disagree, then maybe this series isn’t for you and it’s time to move on. For now, at least, please give her characterisation the respect she deserves. Her role is so much more than the shallow labelling this fandom tends to give her.

[stellari-s]

Omfg ithaqua centric tumblrs exist/j

I don't know I'd your still doing requests but can I request ithaqua with a reader who's rlly sweet and nice and everything, but the manor did like a swap with the survivors and hunters so that the hunters are the ones that run from the survivors and when Reader is picked they go NUTS. Like everyone's out and injured in like 2 minutes. After the event reader goes back to normal but if people look closely, Reader's picked up a bit of a hunger for blood sometimes...

✨

haha, ikr, and gosh, i’m really slow, i hope you’ll forgive me! but i will try my best with your request! i don’t end up describing the details of the match much rather than implying what happened, so i hope that’s ok.

request; yes, by anon! requests are currently closed, but my commissions are open if you’re interested.

wc; 945.

tags; default! ithaqua, gn! survivor! reader (who becomes hunter), reader treats ithaqua’s injuries.

summary; miss nightingale had come with a sudden announcement — survivors and hunters were going to switch places! and so, you are put into a match with ithaqua as the last one standing…

this very day was like a fever dream — but would it be a dream if one could see a subtle, yet irreversible change?

“a switch?”

ithaqua stayed silent, but he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. though he said little, his feelings reflected that of everyone else’s in the room where miss nightingale had gathered all the hunters on a whim to make the very announcement of a role switch. he honestly harbored mixed feelings on the prospect of being the one chased, rather than the one doing the chasing, but more than that...

he thought back to a certain face among the survivors. a seemingly innocent face, whose kindness knew no bounds. would they be up for the task, he wondered?

robbie’s enthusiastic voice dragged ithaqua from his thoughts back into reality.

“oh oh, does this mean we get to play something like reverse tag?”

“seems like it,” ithaqua muttered in reply.

miss nightingale nodded once everyone had settled down (or, displayed some semblance of having settled down). “i’m glad we are on the same page. gather in lakeside in one hour if you are called upon, and take care not to be late.”

when miss nightingale left, murmurs immediately broke out among the hunters.

...there really is something off with her. i don’t like it.

nonetheless, ithaqua had no right to refuse; he could only sigh and wait for an hour to pass.

“survivors will become the hunters?”

this was news to you. what in the world could have brought on this change in the manor owner’s heart?

...not that you could really understand him. in fact, many things in the manor had been intriguing.

little things piqued your interest, and whispered rumors became a source of curiosity.

“i’m not sure i feel comfortable facing against hunters... as a hunter,” helena said, “wouldn’t you agree, (y/n)?”

“hm?” you looked at helena, who had a resigned smile on her lips.

i suppose it would be difficult for her, considering she can’t see. then again, she has a cane, so maybe she’s fine, and her personality is just too kind?

some survivors were fit to be a hunter, but helena was not one of them. it wasn’t a bad thing; it simply wasn’t her strength.

you flashed her a gentle smile of your own. “it is definitely a sudden development. i can understand the difficulty in processing it.”

you neither confirmed nor denied it.

—— 20 minutes later.

there was only one hunter left now: ithaqua.

you had noticed this in previous matches against him when he was hunter, but even with those stilts that looked so easy to trip in, ithaqua was very quick on his feet. there was clearly a lot of skill in maneuvering around with those.

you would spot him, and you would chase after him, only for him to slip between your fingers like locks of hair.

while his appearance resembled that of a supernatural creature to be feared, you found through spending time with him outside of matches that he was not a bad person. in fact, he was quite nice behind that colder facade.

if it were other survivors, they would probably be more cautious around ithaqua.

finally, you caught up to him in the small boat in lakeside village. “you’re the only one left standing, ithaqua,” you said, “yet you won’t surrender. do you think two hours will pass before i can catch you?”

ithaqua chuckled. “i’ll take your words as a compliment.”

“as they are meant to be. but i think two hours is quite a long time, so will you allow me to catch you before then?”

“if you’re going to catch me, do it with your own abilities.”

you shrugged, a resigned smile playing on your lips. “i suppose it can’t be helped then.”

it turned out you didn’t need him to “allow” you.

after the match, which had lasted around half an hour total, ithaqua hissed a little in pain as you wrapped the bandage around his arm, where he had cut himself.

“would it hurt to be a little more gentle treating my wound?”

“oh, don’t you know? it’s better to wrap the gauze more tightly. i do sincerely apologize for the... slightly rough handling toward the end of the match though. so please just think of this as repayment.”

ithaqua fell silent. this was one of the rare times he had his mask off, so you could see his eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed, and his lips pursed as he averted his pale blue eyes.

“what’s wrong?” you waved a hand in front of him.

“i don’t know. but is it just me or do you just look... a little different?”

“hm?”

he turned to look at you for a brief moment before retracting his arm. “it’s nothing. thanks for treating my arm.”

ithaqua stood up and tried to walk out of the room, but you called after him as his hand made contact with the knob.

“hey, ithaqua.”

he stood in frozen in place like a statue, as if contemplating whether or not he should turn out. in the end, he stayed still as he replied, “what?”

though he wouldn’t be able to see it, you flashed a smile his way.

“i look forward to the next match.”

you could have sworn you saw his shoulders twitch slightly upon hearing your words. he then turned around (to your surprise) and, with a sharp tone, shouted “well i don’t!” before shutting the door behind him.

you couldn’t help but let out a lighthearted laugh — he kind of reminded you of a cat.

a cat surely worth chasing, you reckoned.

[planetnini]

ONE — MAYBE I COULD FIX HIM ?

with the week you're having, you don't have it in you anymore to deal with anymore bullshit and take it out on your asshole of a roommate gojo satoru (3.8k words)

content. cheating (we don’t do the cheating), named ex: hiroto, shoko is an extremely good judge of character, geto suguru the man that you are, gojo is a bit of an asshole, reader goes off at the end (rightfully so) <33

Whoever said that if you do what you love, you'll never work another day in your life was a liar. Sure it was a well-meaning sentiment and while it filled your soul with some semblance of hope on some days, it was the main reason you were struggling with your degree and drowning in work. 

So much for dreaming big…

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” the girl questioned. The smoke from her cigarette created an odour that permeated the air as you let out a sigh, leaning back on the wall.

“That shit’s gonna kill you one day.” you muttered moving your head toward the cigarette in between her fingers as you turned your attention to the scene in front of you, waiting for her to finish.

“Make sure I have a nice funeral.” she chuckled before puffing out a cloud of smoke as she pulled the cigarette away from her mouth. When you didn't laugh at her comment, she just stared at you. Your eyes were closed and breathing a little jagged as she observed. Did you think she wouldn't notice?

Ieriri does not reveal much about herself, but everyone that was friends with her knew she was deathly loyal and cared for her friends in a unique way. She put the stick up to her mouth inhaling as she spoke, "You look like shit.” 

“You know how my afternoon lectures are.” she sighed.

She put out her cigarette in the ashtray bin and tucked her hands into her pocket. She was not at all convinced by your story. 

“Hold it Missy.” she demanded and of course your feet stopped in its tracks before her, “Tell me what’s wrong now.”

“I’ve been hearing things about Hiroto.”

You don’t think you’ve met someone that hated Hiroto more than your best friend herself. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as you mentioned your boyfriend or as she called him ‘he-who-must-not-be-named’. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, her lips pulling into a pout. She always had a thing for the dramatics.

"What else is new? Hiroto is a scumbag."

"Ieiri!" you scolded, frowning at her choice of words. 

She scoffed with a shrug before she linked your arms in hers and started walking toward the cafe. You had no idea what she had against Hiroto. He was the most popular guy in your university, and he was the one everyone wanted to be with, but it came as a surprise when he chose you. He had eyes for you, and you couldn't understand why anyone would want you of all people so he asked you out one day and you didn't have the heart to say no. Even if you had liked him at the time, which you didn’t, you still couldn't have said no, it would have been an opportunity wasted. He wasn’t the nicest guy but you would say he treated you well so you defended him every time.

“I still don't understand what you see in him.”

You smiled faintly, “As much as you doubt him, he really does care about me."

You could tell that Ieiri didn’t approve. She never made her opinion on him a secret, and you don’t expect her to start now. 

She rolled her eyes again and sighed, "Yeah, well you should really find someone better, like a certain someone."

It was your turn to roll your eyes at the thought of who she was referring to: a certain white haired roommate of yours. 

“I hope you’re not trying to suggest who I think you are?” you stated as she gave you a sly smirk before shrugging.

“Have things with Satoru been better?”

You paused, contemplating on how to respond as you both walked into the cafe. You turned your attention to the menu as you stood in line. Your eyes scanned over the pamphlet you received when you walked in as you also looked at the assortment of baked goods and pastries. 

"I still can't quite figure him out." you muttered as you stared at some of the menu items.

Her curiosity was piqued as you said this, already knowing what she would order as she stared at you now. "What's he up to now?" she asked.

When you got to university, you opted to follow your dreams and your heart and while you looked forward to finishing your degree, reaching your dreams and goals was expensive, which was something you had known as a teen. It explained why you had to get a job that definitely does not pay minimum wage and why you had to room with Satoru Gojo, as per Ieiri’s request, just to be able to do what you love.

At first, you had thanked Ieiri for convincing the prestigious Gojo Satoru to be your roommate at the start but when he moved in, you were less than grateful.

Gojo Satoru was a scion of a wealthy and successful family making him the epitome of privilege: rich, handsome, and effortlessly at the top of his class without ever needing to study– he pretty much had everything handed to him on a silver platter. 

The first few months were turbulent, to say the least. Gojo acted like a spoiled prince, which was not surprising, always expecting things to be done for him and showing little regard for your personal space or boundaries. Arguments were frequent and inevitable but you shouldn't be complaining, he was the one paying most of the rent. 

Entitlement dripped from his every pore but then something shifted. With you trying to assert your own space and independence against his behaviour and actions, it was as though he had picked up on your growing frustration and decided to turn over a new leaf or whatever. 

It started with small gestures- he'd clean up after himself, occasionally ask if you needed anything from the store, and even helped out with chores around the apartment. These moments, though rare, caught you off guard. You couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act, a facade he put on simply because you were sharing a living space. Deep down, you were convinced that the 'nice' Gojo was just a pretence to keep the peace.

Yet, there were times when you couldn't ignore the fact that he seemed genuinely concerned about you, though these moments were fleeting– hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and his usual arrogance.

“He is just utterly unpredictable." you sighed as you put a hand over your eyes in frustration.

"Sounds like Satoru." she chuckled.

“I don’t know, it just feels like he’s nice to me because I’m friends with you.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, a hint of concern in her eyes. "Are you saying he's being fake around you because of our friendship?"

"Yeah, sometimes it feels that way. Like he's just putting on a show."

Shoko's lips pulled into a small frown, her eyebrows knitting together, "That doesn't sound like him at all. Maybe he's just trying to be friends with you."

You had been so focused on the topic at hand, you hadn't realised you were at the front of the line.

You shrugged, "It's probably nothing.”

"Stop thinking about Satoru, you’re holding up the line." she scoffed as she smiled at the cashier.

You gave the worker an apologetic smile before turning to the person behind you, "Sorry, about that."

After ordering your favourite drink and some pastries, you approached a small table to sit. “I don’t know. I mean I guess Gojo and I are friends but still, I’m a bit suspicious.”

“I don’t think he would do something like that for my sake.”

"It just feels like you're trying to get him on my good side, I wonder why that is." you hummed with a tilt of your head, raising your brows at her.

"I think my best friend just deserves someone better." she shrugged with a pout.

"And Gojo is 'someone better'?" you scoffed.

Her hesitance was telling and you could see the gears shifting in her head, "That's like asking if apple juice is better than orange juice."

You rolled your eyes at her and looked around the café. The coffee beans alongside the soft humming of the machine, muffled speaking, jazz that played through the speakers really defined the atmosphere. Perhaps this place would become a regular study spot if they nailed just how you liked your drinks. 

“Thank you for coming with me by the way.”

“No problem.”

You had a small smile on your lips as Ieiri decided to fold the receipt she had in her hand into origami, your eyes leisurely scanned over the cafe's charming layout but then, as fate would have it, your heart suddenly felt like it had been gripped by an icy hand, causing it to skip a beat.

The cafe that once felt spacious now seemed to shrink around you, constricting your senses. Your gaze, once idly roaming the room, had fixated on an all-too-familiar figure.

There, amidst the warm, cosy ambiance of the cafe, sat Hiroto. He was not alone. He was sitting across from another girl, their faces close. A rare smile was etched across his features, who was she to be able to make him look at her like that? He had never looked at you that way… 

Maybe it was a friend?

Ieiri, perceptive as ever, noticed the abrupt change in your expression. Her eyes followed your gaze instinctively, and when she locked onto what you were seeing, her face transformed from one of carefree enjoyment to sheer disbelief and anger. 

Their smiles were flirtatious and you could feel the creeping feeling of fear settle in your bones.

They were completely engrossed in each other, oblivious to the world around them as they leaned in for a kiss. Definitely not a friend.

Ieiri was right. He was a scumbag.

Your mind couldn't quite grasp what was unfolding before your eyes, reality not even seeming real for a second.

Confrontation was the last thing on your mind. You didn't want to cause a scene, not here, not now, even if every fibre of your being screamed for justice.

Shoko's fingers tightened around her origami creation, crumpling it as her anger flared up. Her eyes locked onto the two with an intensity that could have scorched the room. 

She had always been vocal about her disdain for him, and this seemed like the perfect moment to let it all out. Without hesitation, Shoko started to push her chair back, her intention clear: she was going to confront Hiroto, give him a piece of her mind, and let the whole café know about his deceit. To berate him for everything he did to you, everything he did that you were too blind to see. You sat there in silence, your heart heavy with disbelief and betrayal but instinctively your hand reached out for hers. You shook your head ever so slightly, silently pleading with her not to make a scene.

“We can't just let him get away with this." she whispered back, her frustration growing by the minute.

Shoko's anger was palpable, and her lips quivered with the words she wanted to unleash but she respected your unspoken plea, if only for now, and reluctantly sank back into her chair waiting for your order number to be called out. Once you received the drinks and pastries, the two of you continued walking back to your shared apartment, the weight of the situation heavy on your mind as a tear slipped from your eyes. You had no goddamn appetite now.

The evening had taken an unsettling turn for you. After returning from a troubling encounter at the café that you wished you could just forget, you found yourself back in your cosy apartment that you shared with the Satoru Gojo, the most popular boy on campus.

As you pushed off your shoes and set them by the door, you overheard some of Gojo's friends chatting in the main area. Forcing a smile, you greeted the people in the room as Ieiri followed behind you, making her presence known as she greeted them as well. You placed the bag of pastries on the table, knowing that for certain, Gojo would inhale them when he got his hands on them.

“Hey, do you have a smoke?” Geto asked Ieiri as he looked over his shoulder. Next thing you knew, Geto had moved to sit across from you at the island counter while you sipped at your glass of water, mind wandering back to your jerk of a boyfriend. “How are you?” he inquired, patiently waiting for your response.

“I’m alright, thanks,” you mumbled, trying to muster a genuine smile in response to his concern. 

Geto waved a hand in front of your face as your thoughts drifted. Suddenly, you were locked into eye contact with him. Leaning down to eye level, he asked, “You sure you’re okay? You look a bit tired,” a playful chuckle escaping his lips.

You sighed a little before shaking your head resolutely, “Just had a terrible fucking week.”

Geto chuckled, “Tell me about it.” he scoffed, commiserating with your struggles. Although he didn’t know the full story, it didn’t matter, you were seen for a second and it felt good, "I swear they have it out for us."

Ieiri was best friends with both Gojo and Geto in high school. You never really understood their dynamic at all but the brief interactions shared with Geto had been enough for you to come up with a comprehensive answer. 

Many people around had said that Geto was like the sun personified, radiating this warmth and light wherever he went. His presence had an undeniable magnetic quality, drawing people toward him but he could leave an indelible mark on anyone in his presence. It was quite possible that what was true, made you smile a little.

Gojo's friends continued their lively chatter, sharing stories and laughter and it wasn’t until you heard the tap turn on that you realised Gojo is standing right next to you drinking water aswell.

“Hey. You smoking or what? I don’t have all day, Suguru,” Shoko chimed in, her voice cutting through the conversation.

“That shit will kill you one day Suguru.” he muttered next to you.

“Funny. You said the same thing to me today.” Ieiri commented and you could feel all their gazes land on you.

“I guess we’re a lot alike.” Gojo joked and you feel yourself smile at his words as Geto and Shoko shared a look.

Geto cleared his throat, a hand coming up to your shoulder, “Things will get better, I promise.” he smiled as both he and Shoko exited the apartment for their smoke.

The atmosphere inside the apartment shifted slightly as you were left alone in the kitchen with Gojo.

“What was that about?” he spoke, regarding the comment that Geto had just made. 

You turned your attention to Gojo and shook your head dismissively, “It’s nothing.”

“You sure? You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know,” you nodded, “It’s nothing, really.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” he took another sip of his water. 

You paused for a moment, “If I knew you had guests over, I would've brought them some as well.” you stated, pointing at the pastries from the café in the bag.

Gojo raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "So those pastries are for me?" he inquired, his playful tone evident.

"Don't push it." you scoffed, your heart warming at his teasing for just a second. There is suddenly a nagging feeling that tells you he is just being nice to you due to the circumstances.

You clear your throat as you tear your gaze away from him, "Are your friends staying for dinner? If they are, I might skip."  You weren’t exactly feeling like yourself, and would rather not be spending time around people you hardly knew. You were just getting warmed up to the man next to you anyways.

“They’re not staying over. Even if they were, I don't really encourage skipping meals.” Gojo replied, his tone shifting between genuine concern and playfulness.

You can’t even force yourself to smile at his concern, you wanted to keep the discussion going, but your recent experience at the café had left you feeling on edge. "I guess I’ll see you at dinner then." you teased, your playful tone masking the underlying curiosity you had about his intentions. Did he truly want to be friends with you or was he doing it just out of pity? 

He nodded at you and you retreated back into your room to grab some clothes but the voices of his friends drifted into your ears.

“Was that Hiroto’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” you heard the familiar white haired boy reply.

Their conversation had been about you, and you knew it. Trying to push yourself to stop them from eavesdropping, you shook your head and continued at finding some comfortable clothes for tonight. You needed to do something to take your mind off the events from earlier.

"Wait, seriously? I thought he was dating someone else."

Their words cast a shadow over your thoughts and only amplified your bad mood. You clenched your fists, trying to push down the mixture of anger and hurt.

“I don’t know how she’s still with him.”

The weight of their judgement had hit you harder than ever, especially after what you had witnessed earlier. As you contemplated confronting them about it, you could hear the hushed murmurs growing louder, escalating your frustration as a couple of voices interject. 

“She’s kind of pathetic. Don’t you think so?”

You weren't ready to hear them belittle you any further, so you decided to retreat to the sanctuary of the shower, hoping the water would wash away the bitterness. 

You turned on the water, stepping into the shower trying to drown out the sound of their voices echoing in your head. You wished you hadn't noticed how little effort Gojo made to defend you. Perhaps you were wrong to think the two of you were friends to begin with and considering his track record, maybe you shouldn’t have been so lenient to think he was different.

As you emerged from the shower, refreshed but still vulnerable, you were in the confines of your room as you messaged Shoko about what had happened. You knew she would give her a piece of her mind when she saw him next. You laid in bed, letting out some breaths steadying your heartrate as you heard Gojo call for you from outside your door. You weren't prepared for this, not after what you just heard between him and his friends.

With your emotions still raw and your nerves on edge, you slowly opened the door to find Gojo standing there, his usual confident demeanour softened.

His presence in the dimly lit hallway was both comforting and disconcerting. You met his gaze, your eyes holding a mixture of anxiety and frustration.

Gojo's voice was gentle but laced with concern as he spoke, "I sent my friends home.”

You nodded, not even bringing it in yourself to even berate him for being an absolute asshole to you when he thought you weren’t listening.

“I noticed you've been quiet since you got home. Is everything okay? Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?"

Your emotions, a turbulent whirlwind of hurt and anger, surged within you. With a deep breath, you finally found your voice, but your words came out sharp and accusatory, "I don't appreciate it Gojo," you began, your tone wavering but determined, "I know what you and your friends say about me when you think I'm not listening."

Gojo's brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," you continued, your voice quivering with anger.

You could see Gojo's expression shift from confusion to realisation, and a pang of regret flickered in his eyes. His usually playful demeanour had vanished, replaced by a sombre and sincere expression.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, his voice sincere but unsure of how to proceed.

You felt tears well up in your eyes replaying the pain of your boyfriend cheating on you and the callous things they said behind your back. The disappointment of his apology settled in- he’s only sorry because he got caught. 

“That was the last thing I expected from you.” you spat out. "I thought…” you let out a deep breath, your words hanging with every ounce of pain that you’d felt today. You shook your head as you continued, “I thought we were friends."

"We are." he declared, his eyes wavering now. With guilt or concern, you couldn't tell but you knew he didn't really care.

"We're not." you emphasised, still burning with the fury of all the events that transpired today. "Every day, I see you look at me with those eyes that say how pathetic you think I look."

Gojo's brow furrowed in frustration with himself. He wanted to say the right words, to offer comfort, but he struggled to find them. He stepped a little closer, his hands outstretched towards you. You stepped back, your heart pounding erratically, and he instantly retreated.

“You have no idea how much it hurts but I guess I shouldn’t have trusted you to begin with.”

Without giving him a chance to speak, you shut the door with trembling hands. You felt a thud against the door on the opposite end and you could hear him muttered a few curse words as you slid down the surface defeatedly.

His face that was etched with guilt and regret. That look was embedded in your head as you let the tears slip down your face. He gave a resigned sigh before turning away and trudging off towards the kitchen to make dinner– alone.

You stayed in your room until you heard the door to his room close after a couple hours of distracting yourself: with studying, messaging Shoko how much you hated Gojo, and cleaning your room. Retreating from your bedroom as quietly as you can, you see a plate of food he made for you wrapped up with a small post it note on your favourite drink next to it.

I know you're still mad at me, but I hope you don’t skip dinner. Eat well, you'll need the strength... ᕙ(‾̀◡‾́)ᕗ

You scoffed at his note, scrunching it up, putting it in your pocket. It was all just lip-service.

As you sat there alone, your eyes welled up with tears, and you could feel your composure slipping away. The weight of the day became too much to bear. Your heart ached, the hurt and betrayal coursing through you as you sobbed softly.

What a terrible fucking week.

tags! @stsgluver @pandoraium @cottonheadedninnymugggins @satoryaa @bbyxxm @itsthemodelinme @sattosugu

notes. this is not proofread. i don't think the last half of this is as good but... we move!!! i'm sick and wanted to give back with the first chapter since i have some free time to write now <3 it gets better i promise, please comment and give me some love (or feedback), thank you :)

[chosokamosbf]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖋 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖙.

☆ 18+ only/no minors. | jason todd x gn! reader.

SUMMARY: a nsft fic about brat taming with a needy jason who's trying to make up for an argument. in his own way.

WARNINGs: 18+, dom! gn! reader, sub! jason, no penetration, brat taming, shoe humping/grinding, (minor, on reader's part) degradation & praise, (minor, on reader's part) slapping, partial nudity & begging on jason's end.

WORD COUNT: 1700+

NOTEs: second person & no plot. first smut & not beta'd. this insert is more of a mean type until the end. [guy, and no pronouns used to refer to the insert/reader.]

It's never easy to get him into that 'sub' mindset. He's always catching on to exactly what you're doing. At every turn, he's struggling against you, making sure there isn't a moment of vulnerability with how easy it can be to crack down the tension into something enjoyable. Sometimes.

The mere thought of giving away someone else that control is enough to stir nausea in the pit of his stomach.

And it stays there. For days, if it wants. Jason's head never makes it easy. Even through the fog that wraps around him in the most gentle manner that can be mustered, the worst possibilities always stand at the back of it. It makes him regret even letting himself be touched; no matter how much he's reassured you'll never take advantage of what's given.

The other half of the time, he craves it like air.

Finally, it's not only the ache. His head doesn't have to be caught on solely about how bad his legs are still burning up on the inside, be it from patrol or whatever the hell else he was doing, because he can grasp onto the sweat-slicked memories that came with the previous day despite it. 

The sting remains, and yet. Wounds are carefully tended to afterwards, and bite marks from a completely separate source are kissed until enough is enough, and you are pushed away with whatever laughter his sore throat can still give.

Today is one of the better ones.

The earlier thoughts aren't biting away at what can be considered rational. His heart isn't running a marathon in the cage around it, but Jason's breathing is still one of the loudest sounds in the room, other than the bed creaking under your weight as the space between the two of you is closed.

Under thick lashes, hazel eyes stare up at you from the floor, and you groan at the obvious intent to get back into good graces. "C’mon, don’t look at me like that."

The argument that brought up the act was, honestly, not the worst. Another misunderstanding, something taken out of context. Words were left unsaid, and the 'wrong' ones were spoken out without much thought other than they'd dig deep. Compared to the start of the relationship, it's been getting better.

Jason tries with what little he knows and pushes past the urge to cut everything off at the roots. He could've left for weeks—leave entirely without a single message. Instead, he's not going to put you through that again, but it'll never be easy for him. And so, he takes a different approach.

He's on his knees in front of the bed with a wounded, puppy-eyed expression. With the bottom of his outfit stripped, he's left all alone in a hoodie and jockstrap as dark as the night outside your guys's little hideout. The black straps stretch around his thighs, and with his pants forgotten somewhere around the apartment, the bulk of his scars are out in the open.

His underwear gives away at the bulge underneath. Even kneeling in front of you alone made him unreasonably needy.

The remark has Jason nuzzling his head on top of one of your legs. Black curls envelope your knee.

"'M sorry. I wanna be good, I swear," He purrs, and he wants to try and smile to play the part, be cute, and let anything else fade into background noise, but he's not suited for that. Eyes scan over your face, looking for some semblance of understanding. "Feel good. All for you."

Your foot presses against the bulge enough for him to feel it down almost the entire length. A hiss breathes through his clenched jaw, and he lets a whine slip and curls forward, resting his cheek on your leg.

"Hmm—don’t know. You sure you can do that without barking at me like a dog tonight?"

He takes full advantage of the indulgence, dragging his face against you in slow motion while he pushes down the edges of his lips. Well aware he's won, his hands come up around your leg, palming at you for the chance the contact might be taken away as easily as it was given.

The act drops instantly.

"What, you can’t handle it?" His eyes shut for a second before staring back at you with heavy, glassy lids, mouth agape as he practically drools in panted breaths. "I'm not a fucking dog."

In small, janky movements, so it isn't obvious, Jason rocks his hips forward. He stops complaining, though, when your hand comes down to pet his curls.

As much as your boyfriend's merciless begging and apologies are usually enough to get the better of you in these quiet moments, it hasn't been hard to notice how he's been exploiting the niceties to compromise with you over every act in bed.

It's difficult to get him to let go of control despite the obsession and encourage him to rest in a healthy manner once in awhile if it's just so easy to swindle you into doing what he wants. He seems to think he'll get everything he wants with a few pretty sounds, and that's been cemented in his head.

So, tonight—maybe if the cards are played right—can be a good teaching point. Just to show you aren’t going to put up with his bullshit.

“You can cum with my shoe, right, Jay?”

His brows furrow, but then he dips his back to the floor while his eyes flicker close.

Yeah, no. The summer heat isn't kind to the city, leaving your shared room smoldering apart from the fan in the corner, so every motion forces him to suck in more heated air. At the very least, he could be up there with you. It wouldn't be some plain clothes sticking to his skin from the sweat.

The floor, though padded with carpet, is getting uncomfortable real fast.

"Please—please, can you use your mouth or hands?"

And much to his surprise, you press on his dick uncomfortably hard. He tries not to shift in place as it happens, taking in a harsh breath all the while listening to you—listening to the words sink in through his racing head.

"What, is my foot not good enough for you? Little brat."

All his plans turn into nothing. He thought it'd at least take awhile before you'd get this harsh. He wasn't even trying to be that, but it's good enough.

The lump in his throat is swallowed past, and nothing sounds out. Jason shakes his head lightly, refusing to even lift his bottom lip from where he has it pinned under his teeth.

"Good. Then hump my foot." He lets out a pitiful whimper, hoping to coax some sympathy out of you.

It doesn’t work. So slowly, he pushes his hips forward and back.

And he does that for awhile, and it doesn't even feel that good. It's embarrassing being forced to listen to himself heave through every breath.

Gradually, pre-cum soaks through the jockstrap. It makes it easier, but it's still a fucking shoe. It's all he can focus on. He struggles to not dig his fingers into the thick of your leg, to get his mind to focus on anything else but the sting that comes with moving them at all. His knuckles are pressed firmly against the wrap around them—his knees hurt.

He's cursing himself out in his own head. It doesn't help with the burn at the edge of his lids, obviously.

He wipes the beginning of the waterworks against your pants, doing it along with each drag so it isn't too clear what he's doing while his forehead is pressed to your knee, but it doesn't stop. So, he spares himself a bit of the shame and tries to use it to garner some pity.

"Please, please—"

"Do you even know what you're begging for?" You know what he's doing. As hard as it is to ignore the pretty sobs that always distress you, you continue, "What are you crying for, brat?"

He really should've taken that glass earlier without letting his thoughts get the better of him, forgetting everything else you've done for him in the years you've known each other in favor of an intrusive thought.

Jason's voice sounds as rough as it feels as he wails and grips your leg tighter. "Please—touch me. Touch me; I'll be good."

"You sure? You going to listen for once?" You lightly push down on his bulge once again, and that just gets him to grind more frantically in the moment.

A light slap comes over the side of his face, and finally he peers up at you while your hand comes around to tilt his face up by the jaw. Your thumb runs over the streaks of tears, drying that part as you make sure his attention is on you alone.

"You gonna be a good boy for me and listen to me?"

His eyes seal after a moment.

And then a groan slips by undeterred. He leans into your hand, nodding while he does. His hips buckle without any protest, grounding against the leather of your shoe, because if he doesn't do something fast, the heat building up in his stomach is going to burst into nothing but a spark.

Your voice draws him in further: "Alright then, then do what I said."

The last few stray drops are dried by your pants. And just like that, he is cumming. You rub against his clothed cock, coaxing him through the short scene of euphoria as his cum leaks through the underwear.

It's not much, but it helps to glide your shoe nicely over the twitching length.

You don’t stop the stroking, and he begins to hiccup at the overstimulation. Jason doesn't do anything but shudder in response; he can't bring himself to. As much as it'd be nice to pull away now, the top of your hand is inching into his hair, your fingers brushing through it just barely.

Your foot eases off.

Once he catches his breath, the long sleeves of a hoodie wrap around your leg wholly, and during that, he uses it as a clutch while practically collapsing forward.

"There’s my boy."

With the exhaustion wrecking him altogether, Jason lets himself smile without punishment for once. His head begins to nuzzle into the warmth of your hand.

[slowlysoluminary]

after that wack-tastic piece of media i figured we could all!! use a break!!!!!!! so!!!!!!

(more) doodles below the cut. and some commentary! Hurray!

^^ Post game is interesting. Most of the timeloop is about figuring the deal with the memories, some of it is about sif comng to terms with the king, and the very very end of it is about everyone regaining their memories.

so i say it again post game is REALLY interesting!!! because everyone, collectively, is trying to balance their old memories and their new memories. everyone except siffrin. who is not 1:1 old siffrin but is the closest to it, considering how much loop's been through.

loop??? becomes corporeal at some point in the end.

it's very bittersweet! i think! the whole of the party does an "i want to remember!!!" sequence, fighting with their own minds to fill the gaping holes they'd always ignored.

-- loop, after realizing the extent to which they're familiar with the party, had tried desperately to get the party to remember them throughout the loops. in hopes that something would change. they never remembered.

at the same time, siffrin is talking to the king - they're fighting with eachother physically and verbally, desperately trying to get the other understand. resetfrin is not the siffrin the king hated so earnestly, not the siffrin he tried to snuff out.

over the course of many conversations with the king, siffrin caught on. the king is the major lore dump here and is who causes most of the narrative development because i say so !!!!!!!!!!!!

actually. about post game. do you know why their designs are like that

resetfrin hated the lack of autonomy he had over their own body so they decided to. cut their hair. it's a bit curlier now that there's not a lot weighing it down

they decided not to keep the star stuff the king gave them. yada yada character development or whatever.

they gave their cloak to loop!! who is. siffrin again. physically at least. both siffrins are siffrin but with clear differences! like hair length and hair texture! and ohhhhhhhh no what do you mean the universe gave them the wrong body?? what?????? how cruel!!! how blasphemous!!!!!!!

loop hated the idea of keeping her hair darkless (mirror pronouns for loop btw!!! remember that!!!). it reminded them of what it was like to be ghostloop. which they hated!!! but they couldn't have their hair be lightless because that was resetfrin's new thing, so... they just. kept dying the bottom parts of it lightless. it's a compromise

how does the party distinguish the two siffrins, name-wise? uhhhhhh. ask me that question later. idk.

if.... if i have pre-game planned out. and post-game planned out.

then the inly thing I don't have planned out is the ACTUAL time loop bit

it's quite daunting because? that's like the entire point of the original game? it feels like i hve to live up to so much and like fhe loops have to have such a packed, coherent story

though, to be fair, most of what I'm writing will just be. the time loop bit. so i guess I'm figuring it out as i go

anyway, actually talking about the two sketches above, ghostloop is for SIFFRIN'S EYES ONLY!!! she can hit things but things can't hit her and all that.

after figuring out, through past loops, that the King can't see them, they realized siffrin was their only connection to the physical world. The Last Piece Left of them, physically and metaphorically. the whole time they longed for something else to acknowledge their existence. acknowledge theyre real

they also realize they can do Fuckery

the king has a Sixth Sense for loop's Fuckery,,, flipping him The Bird resulted in a rather quick death for Siffrin. whoops!!!!!

this au is. more closely revolved around gloop than i thought. don't worry!! i have a lot of gloop content planned! but. but you need to understand the pain of resetfrin and the king. the misery snd desperation fhe king felt about his country. siffrin pleading with the king, countlessly, hoping to see some SEMBLANCE of the man he once knew. you need to know the missing pieces the party finds, a hollow feeling settling itself around their hearts. you need to know so bad.

so you'll get gloop content! i am a big fan of the little guy myself, really. but !!! this au is not ONLY about them, believe it or not! hehe. haha. giggles. ok ill stop