#one of my favorite people forever for a decade

[wendichester]

omg this is by far my favorite acc! Could u do a part 2 of take one,forever? Set in the future when they’re married. Reader left the show in the early seasons but came back again towards the end.

But shes now married to Jensen. And they really act like those fun married couples. Maybe they even bring they’re kids on set sometimes ?

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ take one, forever²,

summary. you were once the star of the tvshow supernatural, alongside jared and jensen. eventually, you quit the show but you'll come to find out that a decade later, no much has changed.

pairing. jensen ackles x actress!reader genre. extra fluff!!

wordcount. 681

notes / warnings. oh, to be jensen's wife 🤭 thank you for the request sweets!

ᯓ★ read part 1

Years later, the forest's still freezing.

You’d think they’d have figured out how to warm up a damn set by now, but no—Vancouver’s still doing its icy, pine-scented thing. Only difference?

Now you’ve got his jacket and his ring.

“Careful,” Jensen calls from across the clearing, “you’re about to bust your ass on that moss.”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”

He laughs—deep, warm, easy. That laugh you’ve known for over a decade now. “Promises, promises.”

You flip him off, and he winks back like the absolute menace he is.

They talked you into coming back for the final season—“full circle,” they’d said. “Nostalgia,” they said. Really, it was just Jensen, smirking over his coffee one morning and going:

“C’mon, babe. Just one more run. For old time’s sake. Plus, the kids’ll love seeing Mom on screen again. We can make it a family adventure.”

And like always—like always—you’d caved.

So now you’re here. On the same damn show you started all those years ago. Same woods. Same demons. Only now, there’s a wedding band on your finger and a pair of tiny boots sitting by the craft services table, covered in mud and jelly donut glaze.

“Mom!” comes a squeaky voice from behind you.

Speak of the devil.

You turn just in time to see your youngest barreling toward you, arms outstretched like a missile of pure, joyful chaos.

“Hey,” you laugh, bending to catch her. “What happened to staying with Daddy?”

“She wanted gummy bears,” Jensen answers, jogging over with your son balanced on his hip and a juice pouch between his teeth. “And apparently, that was more important than, you know, listening to instructions.”

“She’s got your stubborn streak,” you tease.

Jensen huffs, shifting the weight of your son, who’s now trying to unzip his coat with sticky fingers. “She’s got your everything, babe. I’m just along for the ride.”

You brush a kiss to her forehead, holding her close while she babbles about a giant fake demon head she saw near the props truck.

Jensen watches you the whole time—fond, smug, like he still can’t believe this is real. Like he’s still falling for you even with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and applesauce on his hoodie.

“Y’know,” he says casually, “you in flannel again is doing things to me.”

You arch a brow. “Jensen.”

“What? I’m just saying. It’s nostalgic. Sentimental. Romantic.”

“It’s sticky,” you deadpan, pointing to a spot on your sleeve where your daughter’s wiped her face. “And covered in god-knows-what.”

“Still hot.”

You laugh, trying to swat him, but he leans in and steals a kiss anyway—quick and warm, just enough to make your heart flutter. Ten years in, and the man still kisses you like it’s the first time.

“Okay, people!” the AD shouts. “Places for rehearsal!”

“Duty calls,” you sigh, passing your daughter off to Jensen and smoothing your hair as best you can.

“You got this,” he says, squeezing your hand before he steps back. “Go remind them who the real badass of this show is.”

You flash him a grin, cheeks flushed, heart full. “Try not to get upstaged by a toddler while I’m gone.”

“She already owns me. It’s over.”

As you walk toward set, flannel flapping behind you, you hear Jensen whisper something to the kids. Then a tiny voice calls out:

“Go, Mom! Kick the monster’s butt!”

You look back—and there they are. Your whole world, waving at you with gummy-sticky fingers and juice-stained smiles.

God, how did this all happen?

How did freezing woods and flirty banter become marriage and two wild kids and a love story still unfolding?

You don’t know.

But as you step back in front of the camera, same forest, same show, same smirk from across the set—you know one thing for sure:

You’d do it all over again.

Even the Wendigo.

Maybe.

If there’s coffee.

And if Jensen promises to keep looking at you like that—like you’re still the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[steakrogers]

sebastian scribbles from earlier , mechanical pencil gets tricky with drawing real people and also just in general i smudge everything with my hand TOO MUCH

[art-o-gant]

what the fuck is the janissary motif doing in the new puppetshades. genuinely i. i've not stopped thinking about this. can anybody hear me

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[baepsays]

i'm sorry but i'm still not over "ADORATION & AFFECTION" like AHHH 😭✨ i’m SCREAMING at him pinning us down like “nah u stay here forever”—SIR?? i’d fold so fast 🔥 it's like toxic but make it sexy 💦

hiii baby<3 omggg i am so happy you liked it!!! he is soooo crazy lol but he is really good at hiding it. here is something i wrote related to him lol just never thought about releasing it.

cw: descriptions of gore, mentions of blood, violence, fem reader, torture, he is very crazy.

Cult leader husband Geto Suguru, who does not hesitate to kill people in cold blood. And does not shy away from cutting a few limbs, or slitting a few throats, or unleashing unfathomable amounts of curses in a public space. Crossing him is like starting your own death clock, that ticks really slowly and painfully. 

But nothing comes first to his wife, he would not hesitate to pick up a call or maybe just flee the scene altogether, if you are involved. 

So when he is sitting in his torture room, all bored and slumped in his seat, head in his hand, leaning on the armrest of the chair—your voice calling him from the other side of the door, piqued more of his interest than the guy being tortured in front of him. 

“Sugu, are you there?” your hesitant voice drew him off his chair.

“One second darling.” He made his way over to the door, avoiding the whimpering man on the ground and the pool of blood on the floor. Thank god it was not a wooden floor, imagine cleaning that, not that he has to clean anything himself. 

As soon as he opened the door, he got a sash off his robe, and immediately blindfolded you; to lead you to the seat he was sitting on. 

“Careful there sweetie.” weaving you around the blood, mutilated limbs, and dead bodies, he carefully got you and himself to the chair. He reoccupied his seat, and pulled you down on his lap to take a seat on your rightful throne. With your back to his chest, his head on your shoulder, a smile on his face that displayed more contentment than being in heaven, with his eyes set on your face and nose nuzzling in your neck; he moved one finger for his henchmen to cut off that one half alive man’s tongue out of his mouth. So you don’t have to hear his pathetic whimpers of agony. What if it gives you nightmares like that one time you walked in on him making a man beg for his life, while Suguru’s curses chewed on his legs. 

“What do you need darling?” He kissed up the side of your neck and his teeth bit down on your earlobe.

“The girls wanted to go out for dinner, so i wanted to ask you if you can make it?” you focused on his kisses and the strands of his loose hair tickling the side of your face, instead of thinking about what happens in this room.

“How can I ever deny all three of my favorite girls anything? Hmm? ” and with one motion of his eyes, the bodies were gone, along with all the blood and severed limbs. After some room freshener, of course, he took off your blindfold to a now completely clean room. And it was not the first time, but it always surprises you how he can manage something like this. But after over a decade with your husband, you have stopped questioning him, and given up all of your soul and trust in his hands. 

“Go get ready darling.”

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources.

find 'adoration & affection' here.

[merriweather-boat]

I genuinely believe that one of the most intimate connections you can have with another human being is hatred, which is absolutely why I find Sephiroth and Cloud’s relationship so compelling, especially in its more derivative interpretations of hatred. Or, well — Sephiroth and Cloud’s relationship is what convinced me that hatred is one of the most intimate connections you can have. That’s a better way to put it.

With them especially, their hatred has blurred the line so that to hate one another is to love one another, because Cloud’s hatred for Sephiroth and vice versa is just — how do I put this into words? Imagine hating another person with such intensity that staying alive just to hate them a little more, a little longer, becomes your raison d’etre. Hating Sephiroth gave Cloud a sense of purpose. Cloud’s hatred for Sephiroth allowed the man to return from the claws of the Lifestream itself. Sephiroth’s hatred for Cloud and the vicious expression of it brought Cloud close to other people and pulled him out of isolation. Their hatred is destructive, it is anathema to growth, to a better future, and yet at the same time it’s what saved the planet, it’s what saved Cloud, it’s genuinely incredible.

When Sephiroth says, “Fill your hollow heart with rage,” in this context — especially taking into account that Cloud’s hatred is nothing but a gift to Sephiroth, quite literally bringing him back to life time and time again — he’s essentially asking Cloud to love him in his own special, freaky way.

I also want to point out that being someone’s mortal enemy is the same as swearing a wedding vow — the concept is the same. “Til death do us part.” That hatred drives people in ways that define their lives for decades, if not forever. My favorite part? Not even death can separate Sephiroth and Cloud, which means that they are LITERALLY better than married. And it’s because of how much they hate each other. Mortal enemies swear to sustain a flame of raw, painful emotion within them for a lifetime, only to one another, and every day is a choice to wake up and keep… well. Sephiroth said it best. To fill their hollow hearts with rage and find wholeness in that hatred.

Another aspect of that which I appreciate so much is that in a way, hatred can transcend romance. I love romance, but reading fics where the relationships transcend everything and rise to the level of mortal hatred is just on another level for me. Cloud and Sephiroth hating each other with such dedication is an almost romantic sentiment, but it’s not — it’s just devotion. Hatred is devotion. And I find that so compelling, especially because it leaves so much room for weird relationships. Even when the lines are blurred, even when that hatred takes on decidedly romantic forms, sexual forms, any form, at the end of the day hatred is only absolute devotion.

[woongisi]

Fish Zoo Incidents // Kim Donghyun (Leehan)

vers!college!Leehan x vers!college!fem!Reader // SMUT

WC// 5.6k

Synopsis// The new transfer from across the country catches your interest and your heart. Discovered my means of fish and aquarium related incidents.

Warnings// smut, college au, pervy leehan, possessive leehan, pet names, gendered terms, some jealousy, leehan tries to maintain chivalry, panty sniffing, dacryphilia, rawdogging it (do not do), PinV sex, determined leehan, comfort

Author's Note// probably changing the title... tbh idek how to label the dynamics bc this is self indulgent and also i haven't written in forever so i hope it suffices xx

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

August. The month of your nightmares. It was your second year of college, and you'd been through this whole school thing for over a decade prior, but you never did get accustomed to wishing summer goodbye.

One thing you were grateful for? Common core classes were finally almost over, and you could begin the courses you really cared about. Your whole life you'd been passionate about nature. The way it worked, the creatures that inhabited it, and what you could do to save it. It was only natural you dedicated the remainder of your life to it.

The first day of class was the first and last time you actually cared to put any effort into your outfit. As far as you were concerned, first impressions were the only impressions you needed. You chose your favorite pair of jeans, a flowy top, and your best shoes. Only after fixing your hair meticulously into place did you grab your bookbag and dorm keys, meandering your way to the science building.

A surprising amount of your new classmates had filtered into the room rather early. Normally people snuck in about a minute before class. You scanned the room, giving everyone a quick smile, before claiming your seat. You never really had assigned seating, but it was a sacred unspoken rule that the seats you all chose today would stay yours for the remainder of the semester. Choose wisely. You aren't getting out of it.

It wasn't uncommon for you to see new faces around campus. Students transferred in and out all the time, not to mention the incoming freshmen. What was unusual was for one of these new faces to really catch your attention. Yet here you were, watching a man you'd never seen before peeking his head through the doorway, seemingly assessing if he was in the right room, proceeding to stand awkwardly at the front. This mystery student was quite tall and rather lanky from what you could tell. It worked for him, though. Despite being dressed casually in sneakers, straight blue jeans, and a baggy bang blue hoodie, he looked incredibly put together.

His hair was bleached blond, and rather long for a man. The locks stopped just above the shoulders in the back, fluffy and naturally wavy. His lips were rosy, full, and pursed analytically with his thick furrowed brows. His chin had the slightest cleft you could only really notice in the shadows cast by the dim classroom light. Those eyes, you mused, those were the cherry on top. The corners of his eyes drooped down a bit with long dark lashes, charming. You almost scoffed out loud thinking about the bullshit pseudoscientific modern eugenics TikTok slop that asserted you were ugly if you had a negative canthal tilt. You thought they were wrong before and you absolutely knew they were wrong now. That paired with the pitch back irises contained within made him look like somewhat of a scorned puppy with his facial expression.

Before you could even register your actions you found yourself waving that shining balance of masculinity and femininity over to the empty desk next to you. None of your friends shared this class with you, and most of the other students were already hitting it off with the people near them.

“Hey! You're new, right? Welcome to campus. I know it's only the first day of the year, but I hope it's treating you well.” You flashed him a genuine grin, fixing your posture.

“Thank you,” He extended his hand in an awkward fashion that could be interpreted as asking for a handshake or a high five. “Campus is lovely. Very spacious. Oh, I’m Leehan… It's great to meet you.”

“I’m Y/N. The pleasure is all mine.”

Something about this Leehan boy’s demeanor was captivating to you. You spent the last 5 or so minutes before the period began chatting about your majors, schedules, and rudimentary life stories. By the time it was your turn to introduce him in some childish first-day “meet your peers” game, you even had difficulty choosing only one interesting thing to say about him. In the end, you made him promise to meet you after classes ended for the day. Outside the library. Someone had to show him around, and it may as well be you. You even figured afterward you could take him to the different dining halls and show him what items were most worth his money and what deserved to mummify in the kitchen.

As it turned out, you were housed in the same dorm hall. The floors alternated in gender, leaving him on the floor just below yours. In the following few months, you thought Leehan might spend more time in your room than he did his own. Thankfully, your roommate didn't mind much. She had many friends and extracurriculars, so she wasn't there often anyway. You were two very different people, but your lifestyles worked together like clockwork and she was always kind to you.

There were many nights you met up to study, to varying degrees of success. Tonight was one where you got sidetracked all too easily, opting to watch some god-awful romcom instead. There wasn't much space in the dorm rooms, so most often Leehan sat on your bed, back to the wall, while you settled between his legs with your head on his chest. Some of your friends poked fun at you for this. What kind of “just friends” ate nearly every meal together, had scheduled weekly hang-outs, and cuddled in bed? Largely, you brushed them off. It was just friendship… right?

You picked up your phone for only a moment to check the time, groaning at the brightness of the screen. It was already nearing 3 am.

“Leehan, It’s like 3 in the morning. You should probably head out.”

“Why?” You could hear the pout in his voice. “There's only like 15 minutes left in the movie. Give me 20 more minutes. Pleaseeee?”

You huffed in faux annoyance. “Fine, but if I fall asleep on you that's your fault.”

“I can live with the consequences.”

After maybe 5 minutes you were teetering on the edge of falling asleep. Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had fallen asleep or not. All you knew for certain was you were comfortable and glowing warm. The sound of Leehan’s calm heartbeat thrumming against your ear was enough to convince you it wasn't worth moving.

“Y/N?” You felt Leehan brush your hair away from your eyes. “You awake?”

You chose not to reply. You didn't have the energy to.

Leehan hummed in acknowledgment. “Thought so.” He pressed his lips against the top of your head, debating if he wanted to kiss you or simply linger. “Goodnight, sweet girl. I… nevermind.”

The following morning, you woke up in a daze. Alone, in your aggravatingly empty bed, you rolled over to see a piece of candy with a Post-it note nearby. Leehan texted you all the time, yet he decided to leave you a physical note. That was so like him.

“Hey,

You fell asleep on me last night

Idk how I managed to move you but you didn't wake up sooo

There's an iced coffee waiting for you in the fridge

See u later xx”

It ended with a tiny doodle of a fish.

That's when everything the night prior flashed through your mind. Hazily, unsure if you'd just imagined it or not. Either way, it made your cheeks flush. Picking up your phone, you fumbled your way through to Leehan’s contact, typing up a little thank-you message. His reply was almost immediate.

“hey, can we meet up >> i wanna talk to you”

“i mean sure… u ok pookie?”

“great,, meet me in the courtyard by the pear trees in 15”

Something rattling around in your brain made you nervous. Normally, Leehan didn't ask to meet up. He just gave you a time and place, knowing you'd show up. Perhaps you were just overthinking things. Whatever the status of your sanity, it took you far too long to get your eyeliner even on account of your trembling hands. You didn't even do your makeup to meet Leehan if it was off campus, so why did you feel the need to today?

Leehan perked up the moment he saw you in the distance, scrambling to his feet and waving as if he wasn't the only one there. Beneath him, there was a throw blanket. One of those shabby printed ones, straight out of y2k, expectedly with an ocean scene.

It seemed he had the same idea with getting ready, having ditched his usual hoodie and loose jeans for a tighter-fitting pair complete with a silky button-up. Leehan grabbed your hand, collapsing onto the blanket and taking you down with him. You hit the ground with a thud and playfully swatted his shoulder. Absentmindedly, Leehan took a deep breath and nuzzled against you. He closed his eyes and let out a content sigh. You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

“Leehan… What’s gotten into you? You seem extra clingy today.”

“Hm?” His words slurred slightly. “Just missed you.”

“I saw you quite literally last night.”

“Are you saying you didn’t miss me?”

Leehan was frowning now, to the point you weren’t sure if he was exaggerating or not.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. You know that.”

Ignoring his tiny hmph, you tucked the stray strands of his hair behind his ear so you could see his face. He was blushing so deeply you started to wonder if he was running a fever.

“Well,” You started again. “What did you want?”

Leehan removed himself from you only so he could put one hand on either side of your torso and hover there. Despite the rather bold move, he wouldn't hold your gaze.

“Do you wanna go to the aquarium with me on Saturday…?”

“Duh. Just name a time. But can you at least look me in the eye? Do I look that bad today, hm?”

You smirked, knowing he wouldn't appreciate that last comment but with how shy he was being you just couldn't resist it.

“Quit that! You look…” Leehan whined, and you couldn’t help but note how his eyes briefly scanned your face and upper chest. “You look breathtaking.”

“Right… Thank you.” You smiled meekly.

Leehan moved away from you and landed onto his back harshly.

“Hey… Can we go, like… asadate!”

“Leehan, you're gonna have to repeat that.”

The few seconds of silence was deafening.

“Can… we go… as a date? A real one?”

Leehan hid his face behind one of his large hands, absolutely refusing to look you in the eye. You didn't think you'd ever seen him this embarrassed, and he wasn't sure he'd ever been this embarrassed. You stifled a laugh that scared the soul out of him for a moment's time.

“Yeah, sure. We can.” You slapped Leehan’s shoulder a little harder than you intended. “You're not sly. I knew there had to have been a reason you worked up to this so much.”

A relieved sigh left his lungs, almost comically heavy. Suddenly, he rolled himself over with enough velocity he could get himself mostly on top of you. He truly did smell good. Normally you were both laughing at the same time, but now he was the only one giggling. You were simply too shocked. Shocked… and mesmerized. For the first time you noticed that when Leehan laughed, only his top teeth showed which brought out his smile lines, and his eyes turned upward in crescents, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle up in the most endearing manner. He really had the smile of an ahjussi.

“Thank god.”

*

A couple of days later, the two of you pranced into the aquarium surrounded by laughter. There was a time when he took one of your dresses from your dorm closet when you were asleep. One of your white ones, short yet flowy with puffy sleeves. It had gotten stained and ripped at the hem on one particularly eventful night out. When he returned it you accused him of being creepy, though you were only a little serious. He left dejected anyway. Only once you unfolded it did you realize he'd worked the large juice stain out of the fragile material and embroidered tiny blue fish along the bottom edge of the dress, neckline, and the openings of the sleeves. You chose to wear that today.

Leehan’s face lit up brighter than ten suns once he saw it. Blushing and running his fingers along the hem, he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

“I thought you trashed this!? I never saw it in your closet again.”

“I put it in a box I found. I didn't want it to get stained or wrinkled.” You hooked your pinky finger with one of his. “Uhm… I'm sorry I never thanked you. My ego got the best of me and I felt too humiliated to tell you I shouldn't have been so rude.”

“Hey, don't even. Seeing you in it now is enough of an apology.”

He was compartmentalizing every aspect of your outfit today. The white sandals with little blue embroidery, your matching blue purse. The pearl jewelry and blue headband. Leehan was wearing navy blue dress pants complete with some random keychain hanging off a belt loop and a white, short-sleeved, button-up that he'd also embroidered some little fish on the collar of. Of course he did. He had told you the dress code was blue and white but never in his wildest dreams did he expect you'd match so well. He especially didn't expect to see that dress on you.

Leehan was so damn smooth it took quite a few exhibits before you noticed how he kept getting closer to you. The entire duration you were meandering about up to this point, he inched in. With his chest nearly pressed against your back, it was only in this moment you became acutely conscious that all the times you thought you felt him staring at you instead of the fish wasn't in your head, and the multiple occasions his hand brushed against yours wasn't a lack of spatial awareness. This in its entirety made you painfully aware of the blush rising on your cheeks.

“Mm, there's a group of children headed this way. Let's move on.” This time as you set off to the next room, you grabbed Leehan’s hand. After leading him to the jellyfish you not so nonchalantly threaded your fingers with his. Lord, they were long. You may not have been looking directly at Leehan, but in the deep blue water you could see his face reflected faintly back. Eyes darting back and forth from the jellies to you, donning a huge smile that he was miserably failing to conceal. His thumb caressing the back of your hand made your stomach flutter.

Roughly two thirds of the way into the aquarium the pair of you decided to drop by the cafeteria and manhandle the vending machine into letting go of your items. Leehan insisted that you let him feed you your fruit snacks, horribly domestic. A few snacks in you threatened to bite him, leading both of you to erupt in laughter.

“Haha, you're so beautiful, really!” Slipped from his mouth mid laugh and judging by the way he went right back to laughing you didn't think he even noticed he said that out loud. Not even the look on your face queued him in.

Dropping the bag of gummies to the table, you took both of his hands and shook them back and forth. You couldn't handle seeing him this gleeful, it stressed you out in the best possible way.

“Me? Psh!” It was slightly hard to breathe. “You're the most handsome human I've ever had the joy of seeing with my own eyes, and-”

The room suddenly felt eerily empty, just the two of you across from each other.

“And I never ever ever want you to lose that shining smile.”

The atmosphere was now heavy, exchanging sheepish glances. Leehan had never felt so shy around anyone before. Breaking the tension he motioned for you to follow him and sprang right out of the seat.

Hands locked back together, you soon found the main attraction of the entire joint. One sprawling exhibit that spanned from floor to ceiling, stocked like a coral reef complete with small sharks. The only thing you felt was awe, until you looked at Leehan and felt your heart skip a beat. Kiss him, a metaphorical little devil sat on your shoulder. No no no, too fast. What if I upset him? Now you were arguing with the imaginary manifestations of your own mind. Come on. His arm is around your waist. He’s been longing for this. Are you ever going to have such a chance again? Kiss the boy. You couldn't win that debate.

“Leehan?” You whispered, softly enough you weren't sure if he could even hear you.

“Hmm?”

Standing in front of the massive fish tank, Leehan looked more beautiful than ever. Reflected blue lights and water patterns danced across the room. Leehan looked at it with admiration, you could see it in his eyes. You always could. Even in the lowest light, his downturned eyes always glimmered like the ocean waves. Without saying a word you knew he was silently analyzing every fish he saw, naming them and noting what made them each unique. Yet you noticed the fondness in his eyes didn't change when he turned his attention to you with that gentle boxy smile of his.

“Leehan… Can I kiss you?”

A small noise of surprise left Leehan’s mouth. He turned to face you fully, pushing his forehead against yours with no hesitation.

“Please. I thought you'd never ask.”

It was like a scene out of a movie, you thought. His lips felt impossibly velvety soft against yours. The first kiss was brief, exploratory. It made your stomach fill with electricity. Leehan gave the smallest chuckle, you could feel him smiling against you. He hooked his arm around your waist and pulled you closer against him, nuzzling his face into your hair. Only then did he put his hand on the back of your neck and steal another kiss. One that was more confident and full of intent.

“Not here, alright?” Leehan spoke with a pout. “Let's not get kicked out for PDA.”

“Mhm. We’ll pick up where we left off later.”

The next half an hour or so was the closest to hell Leehan felt he'd ever been. For all the date he'd been focused on how pretty you were or how excited you got when seeing a fish you particularly liked. It was so fluffy, so cute and pure. The kiss changed things drastically.

Now, his inner thoughts were seeping through the cracks of his psyche and plaguing him. Fish were his favorite thing in the universe but now he could only focus on the sensation of your lips pressed against his own and your hot breath hitting his face. Guilt panged deep in his chest, but it couldn't dislodge that he now felt this wasn’t so innocent anymore. Your cherry chapstick transferred lightly onto his lips and it made him upset to think that at a point in the near future he couldn't lick his lips and remember the taste of you.

Were you wearing a bra under the loose fabric of your dress? Leehan. What about your panties, did you take the time to match those too? Leehan, quit it. Maybe you'd even found some with fish patterns and cute little bows. Fuck, did you want him to see? Leehan, you're a gentleman. Don't. Much as you were earlier, it was Leehan’s time to bicker with himself. Leehan, you don't want to ruin this. Don't be such a man. You don't want to lose her, you- No. Leehan cut his own mind off. He had to know, he craved to know, to push your dress up and quell his perverted curiosity.

Leehan came back to reality at the feeling of you pulling on his sleeve. “Ow, Leehan. Loosen your grip a little.”

He opened his mouth to apologize for being inconsiderate but it fell on deaf ears. Once you locked eyes with Leehan it was like the world disappeared, even the sound of his voice. You could only describe the expression on his face as pathetic and hungry. Pupils blown wide, cheeks colored a deep red, sore lips that he'd clearly been biting, and his tongue poking anxiously at the inside of his cheek.

“Can we go?” He was truly too gentle to make a demand of you, but the intent and directions laced in his simple request weren't lost on you. Leehan’s vague gesture toward his pants only confirmed your suspicion.

“You must not feel well,” You chided. You knew the truth of course but so desperately wanted him to verbalize it to you. “Let's go.”

*

The ride back to the dorms was abnormally quiet. Leehan was entirely dedicated to getting home as quickly as possible without breaking the law. You were focused on keeping yourself level headed and not rubbing your thighs together.

As soon as you got inside, Leehan locked the door to his room and shoved a chair right beneath the handle. His roommate, should he come home, would just have to go somewhere else.

While his movements were feverish, Leehan was no less careful than usual. Caging you back first against the wall, Leehan captured your gaze and hyped himself up internally. “You can say no. I won't get mad. I promise, but please.” His voice was deep with desire that made your spine tingle. “Please let me kiss you again.”

That was exactly what you hoped to hear.

“Why would I ever deny you? I’m the one who initiated our first. So. Indulge.”

It was no more than a second from the time the final word left your mouth that Leehan had encased you. The arm cradling your lower back was firm, a stark contrast to the caring hold he had on your cheek. Leehan kissed slow, he kissed deep. Passionate. To him there was nobody else in the world right now. Every small noise you made was greedily swallowed.

“Leehan,” You whimpered. “You're good. Have you ever kissed someone before?”

“Yeah.” He peppered kisses along your jawline, making it a bit easier for you both to talk. “A lot. Just with one person.”

You let a disappointed huff rise from your throat.

“Don't be like that, hm. It doesn't matter now. It was before I transferred here. I'm sure you've kissed plenty of guys before.”

“Maybe… maybe a handful. Only once each…”

“Then you and I aren't so different, and your record is broken. Am I special?”

You knew Leehan had a wicked grin across his face. A particularly harsh nip on your collarbone made you help.

“I guess so.” You bit your lip. “Well how about this. Have you ever had a handjob? Maybe a blowjob? Gone down on a girl?”

“All of the above. A few times.”

You hated in every sense of the word how this new knowledge made jealousy flare up in your stomach. You shouldn't care. All while making you feel so hellish, Leehan never once stopped ruining your poor throat and stealing kisses from you between words.

“Why are you asking? You're just making yourself jealous, Y/N. It's ok. Just shh. That was the past and this is now.”

“I just- Hmph. Well do I get to be anything special to you? Your first ever?”

“You're already special. Please, get that idea out of your pretty little head. But… if you have to know.”

Leehan’s hand on your waist was now rhythmically groping at your ass. His next sentence was low, whispered in your ear. “I've never truly fucked someone. Never had my dick in a girl’s pussy.”

Now, for the first time outside of his sleep talking ramblings, did you get the privilege of Leehan talking dirty. The first lewd utterances.

“O-oh. Well I've-”

“Quiet, you don't have to tell me. I don't need to know how many boys you've spread your legs for. I don't care. I just care that right now you're in my grasp.”

Honestly, you thought, you shouldn't be so turned on right now. Sweet, courteous, silly Leehan was before you, fighting to keep from rubbing himself through his slacks. On second thought you had every right to be insane.

“I want you to call me something you never called her.” Perhaps your jealousy could be of use. “I mean it when I say never, not even once.”

Against your expectations, Leehan let you go and stood back. You were worried you upset him until he took your hand, motioning for you to come to the edge of the dorm bunk bed and get right up in his lap. You obliged without a word.

“I can do that.” Leehan brushed your hair back behind your shoulders and ears, looking you in the eyes entirely vulnerable before pressing his forehead to your just as he'd done at the aquarium. “My sweet girl. My. Mine. You're my sweet girl, and I… If you'd give me the time of day… I want you to be my first.”

Suddenly you felt giddy. It took every ounce of control in you to not let it out by grabbing Leehan by the shoulders and shaking him as hard as possible.

“You called me that the other night. When I was falling asleep on you. I thought I dreamt it.”

“You remember?” He was uncertain as to why but Leehan felt shy again, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“Yeah.” You pulled back to peer into those dark wet eyes fondly. “What were you going to say… before you changed your mind?”

“I love you.”

“Huh?”

“I love you. I love you and I want to be with you for real. Not whatever we've been doing. I want to be your boyfriend. I think a lot of girls have gone after me for my looks and they get put off by me not being a fratty asshole. But not you.”

Your head was for all intents and purposes in the clouds.

“So, will you be mine? In my head, you already are. Let’s make it official.”

“You loser. Of course I'll be your girlfriend.” The kiss you gave him feigned innocence, revealed to be anything but when you slid your hand up Leehan’s thigh to cup the bulge straining against his pants.

How patient. You thought, realizing he'd likely been at least half hard since you kissed him a couple hours prior. It probably hurts, but here he is.

“To reply to your earlier comment, love, yes. I'll let you shove your cock up my pussy for the first time ever.”

“Oh, don't put it that way.” Leehan sputtered. “That's… too vulgar. Let me be respectful.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes at him. “Be my guest.”

Without another word said you were sitting on the edge of the bed, and Leehan was knelt down on one knee sliding off your sandals. From this angle he caught a glimpse of your panties and it made his breath catch.

“What? You wanna see?” The question posed was rhetorical, your legs parting as you pulled your dress up to your waist.

Navy blue. Little white fish silhouettes in the pattern of what would otherwise be polka dots. Complete with thin white ribbons that tied together on either side like a bikini.

“I was right…”

He was right? Leehan was more of your typical man than you thought, but certainly not in a negative way. You extended your leg, using the tips of your toes to lift his chin up so he'd make eye contact with you.

“Pervert.”

Leehan didn't love that his neglected cock twitched at that accusation.

“Maybe. You don't seem to mind.”

Right, he did have a slightly vain side to him that rarely showed up. Leehan pushed your leg down back against the bed frame. Next thing you knew his nose was dangerously close to the wet fabric of your panties, head resting on the inside of your thigh and giving him leverage to take a deep sniff. He couldn't be bothered to choke down the throaty groan that followed just after. A thought broke through his hazy mind. Shit, I really am a perv.

Leehan grabbed the ends of the bows on your underwear, effectively untying them and revealing you to him entirely as soon as he pulled the front piece of fabric away. His hands trembled enough you could notice them shake when he swiped two fingers up the entire length of your hole.

“Shit. Shit, I can't wait any longer, baby.” Leehan stood up and pulled his shirt overhead, normally he thought he'd have asked you to remove his belt but there was no time for that now.

You took it upon yourself to lay flat on the mattress, bunching your dress way up to your tits and squeezing your eyes shut. You heard Leehan take your underwear away, but suspiciously never heard them hit the floor. Part of you couldn't believe you were about to let him inside of you without even having his cock in your hand, another part of you was absolutely exhilarated. He'd never been so eager for something in his life, climbing onto the bed.

Leehan put one hand on your waist, the other coming to grip the base of his cock and slide the tip through your folds just as soon as you have the go ahead. Once he deemed himself sufficiently slick, he lined up with the entrance to your pussy. Only having the tiniest portion of his aching length inside you was driving him nuts already.

Painfully slow, Leehan pushed inside with a grunt. You gasped, only imagining the relief he must be feeling right now.

“Fuck! Fuck- Leehan-” Inch by inch he pressed on. You didn't think it was going to end. “Leehan, too big- I can't take it, no more, Shit-”

When he finally bottomed out, your hands were clawing at the sheets desperately trying to adjust to his length and girth. You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this. Meanwhile, Leehan’s strangled moans did nothing to help you calm down. You were so impossibly warm, so tight and wet clenching around Leehan he couldn't believe he didn't lose himself immediately. Thankfully, you managed to keep your eyes open for the final inch, trying to memorize every little detail of Leehan’s face as he processed what it was like to have plush walls pulling him in.

“‘M sorry, sweet girl,” Leehan panted.

“No, no, f-feels incredible.” You rolled your hips, encouraging him to follow suit in thrusting deep inside. “You’re just… biggest I’ve ever had.”

Leehan felt a sense of pride at that, taking your hand to press flat against his chest.

“Baby, you might kill me.”

His heart feverishly hammered in his chest, skipping a beat when you unexpectedly brushed your thumb across his hardened nipple.

“Take your time, my lovely Leehan. Savor it. No need to rush.”

Leehan nodded, allowing himself slow and deliberate thrusts. Everything was just too good. Your moans were better than any music to him, sticky sweet. His heart never calmed a single bit beneath your palm.

Rhythmically, you jolted with every circle of your fingers against your clit. You decided it wouldn't hurt to give your new boyfriend a bit of help this time around. You knew he wouldn't last.

His thrusts progressed rather linear, getting faster and harder by the minute and drawing more panicked moans from his shaking body.

“B-Baby-”

“It's alright, Ihanie. I got you.” You watched him raise his hand to his face, your panties wrapped tightly around his fist. You thought you might've died and gone to heaven. “Cum when you're ready, alright? Inside.”

Leehan didn't reply, but you knew he understood as he instantly began chasing his high with tests pricking his eyes.

In little time at all, Leehan's hips were stuttering regularly, his moans growing pitchier. When you interlaced your fingers with his, it was game over.

“Gonna cum, gonna- Fuck- Y/N, I love this, I love this pussy, my girl-” That's when the tears began to fall. “I love y-you so fucking much, my perfect doll, made for my c-cock, made for me. Shit, I love you!”

With one final thrust, Leehan came with a pathetic cry like you'd never heard, spilling his hot seed as far as he could into you. Your orgasm followed not long after, it was too good for you to even make a sound, your pussy squeezing and milking every last drop of cum from Leehan and leaving him babbling sobbing nonsense until he collapsed on top of you.

Between your own gasps you held his head close to your chest, stroking his hair for comfort.

“It's ok. It's ok, I'm here. Just breathe.” You cooed. “You're alright, did amazing, I love you.”

After a few minutes of nuzzling into you and trying to regain some composure, Leehan laid the softest kisses along whatever part of you he could reach.

“H-hey…”

“Hm, you ok?”

“Can… Can we go again? Wanna do better for you. Gonna get used to it so I can… so I can mold your little pussy to the shape of my cock. Make love to you so good you never even think about another man this way. Mine, mine…” His words devolved into slurred mumbling by the end.

What. The. Fuck. You thought, I've created a monster. I… love it.

“Come on, my love,” Your voice was hoarse already. “We have a lot of work to do. Though, you might want to tell your roomie to stay somewhere else.”

[chessboredom]

Can we please get a rant on PV's characterization ? Asking both to hear your thoughts and to see if I need to reevaluate my own idea of it because accidentally mischaracterizing favourite characters is my biggest fear ":)

So I'm having the thing where "opening your favorite character's tag only to see mischaracterizations" That makes me go "Oh I can't wait to look at fanart of my blorbos in tumblr dot com!" only to remember that people play the English version(scum of the earth) and not the Korean version(literal Cookie Run Bible to me) and then feel like I directly get shotgunned at the face and I never open the tags ever again.

This is Not to say that "Your characterization is wrong!!" or me trying to discourage anyone. It's just not for me, das all. Go do whatever you want forever.

ANYWAYYYY

(I'm still continuin this LMAO)(NOT DONE YET UUGGHHHHHHH)(still isn't done but I'll just make a new post lol)

This also extends to Shadow Milk characterization because I cannot characterize one without the other as a compliment. (I have the Chronic Narrative Foil illness from being a dirkjohn shipper. That god forsaken ship rewires your brain. I've made people like them and I clearly see the impact.)

PV is not nice, he is kind. His actions take effort with no exchange. He could impact a group of people one day, they love him, but they disappear. This is the part where he lies. PV is self-sacrificial, and he says anything that would benefit his subjects happiness over himself. It's important for him that they be happy for their whole life because they are all fleeting but he isn't. He is immortal.

(This is because I see people draw him hugging Smilk, which is something Smilk would HATE SO MUCH.)

He also changed from a patriarchic kingdom into a democratic kingdom.

And he isn't above violence, he just chooses to not participate in it until he didn't have a choice when they were fighting against Dark Enchantress. He protected his friends then stepped forward to attack her with everything he's got, and it's DARK MOON MAGIC. NO SOUL JAM. (I should mention that he USED TO be in the Middle position. This is a Smilk parallel.) Then gets SUCKED into a singularity she made which EXPLODED EVERYTHING AROUND THE KINGDOM TURNING IT INTO A BARREN WASTELAND, still manages to trap her in the Moonstone. He even enclosed the Vanilla Kingdom IN A TIME STASIS and IT FLOATS IN THE SKY. <-ALSO MADE WITH DARK MOON MAGIC, which is similar to SMILK'S DIMENSION but Smilk's has the future of the past and the present coexist.

(I correct my past assumptions about Healer Cookie now too.)

This so comes with the price of losing his memories, but his miraculous healing stayed. THIS was another parallel to him becoming "Truthless Recluse" (The Hermit of Truth in Korean) when Dark Enchantress said that he was "falling deeper and deeper into the abyss." PV's self was hidden in the dark side of the moon with the Light of Truth who was always calling out to him, until Gingerbrave came and changed everything, and then it made the voice louder. That's why his eyes were open majority of the time when he was Healer Cookie nearing the end of the Timeless Kingdom adventure, because he wasn't *full* Pure Vanilla yet. (PLURALITY MENTION!!) Healer Cookie is another personality who is taking place for Pure Vanilla's arrival. Until PV finally comes back, then reuniting once more with Healer Cookie, who is also himself.

Then he just sends Gingerbrave and Friends™️ into a quest to send letters to the other Ancients' kingdoms because he had to stay in the Vanilla kingdom, and the possible survivor's guilt he holds in that Dark Flour War and also to avoid the shock of having to meet them in person because you know he's understanding the situations they're possibly in since it's been decades since they met.

One Ancient who deeply cares for him as a friend is Hollyberry Cookie. Friendship gang's first meeting with Hollyberry Cookie was her PRETENDING to be a different cookie because of the CRUSHING GUILT she had of not being able to protect her friend that she abandoned her kingdom and her role as queen(sloth moment). And in one of PV's kingdom interactions with her is HB asking if he ate. 😭(I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP SO MCUH)

(I WILL STILL NEED TO WATCH BEAST YEAST EP 1 - 2 AGAIN TO ADD TO THIS I SWAER. TO GO.D)

Skip to EP 7 - 8....

PV went to the Spire after they just found some totally (not) legit info about "Beast Binding Ritual," he met Fortune Teller Cookie, who was also himself(I cannot read tarot card. Might do that later), and then he was separated from the Friendship Gang because Smilk couldn't care less about them. Smilk wants Pv to focus on HIM. Main Character of the show. Not PV, the half-penny(fool or idiot). He literally puts himself into PV's memories, and then proceeds to tell PV that "I've been with you your WHOLE LIFE." "You need me." Okay projecting bitch. Shut up. That's bullshit.

PV doesn't need Smilk. PV has lived with no Smilk. It's the other way around. Smilk NEEDS PV. He's obsessed with him. Very obsessed that he is PROJECTING. In En he called PV his "other-half," but in Kr he called Pv his "lesser half." He is still in control. He does NOT want to see others authority over him, despite their theme of King and Jester.

Historically is that jesters where actually an incredibly valued part of royal family’s almost treated like a noble and were the closest to the king outside of his family. They where just silly goofy guys that they kept around. Jesters where so respected they would stand next to kings and help them make important decisions. A lot of jesters WERE scholars. They had to be diplomats in place of their kings.

At the time of Tr!PV, he wanted to push him to the BRINK OF BREAK DOWN. (Take a look at this freaky shit here.) But good thing Friendship Gang was there making him remember who he is, or else he would've actually became a Cookie of Lies, and remembers that his role and purpose, just like Healer Cookie, was to ACT like a different person until PV wakes up and becomes one again. This is a parallel to how Smilk has different identities in different times and ages, which are also himself.

Tr!PV's WORDS(in Korean) are so perfect, that he even manage to fool Smilk himself through making him think that HE has the upper hand. He even mentions it later when he was awakened. (I have to look for that part again.)

With his new awakened form making Smilk crash out for lying and being a traitor, and then he literally beats the shit out of Smilk 2-3 consecutive times because he's a stubborn child who doesn't want to. (Seeing fanart of PV hugging Smilk is so ??? to me. Smilk would rather DIE.)

DON'T GET ME STARTED WITH THIS. ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS DO NOT SHOW THIS LEVEL OF UNDERSTANDING IN HIS WORDS.

Smilk wanted to end it all!!! He doesn't need PV. He doesn't need the Soul Jam. HE WANTS TO DESTROY IT ALL. (Goofy ahh tantrum.)

Now the part about Shadow Milk and touching, and being "touch-starved." But people seem to forget he is a CONTROL FREAK. He's gonna have some tantrum if the narrative isn't in his control. Yes, he would love the sense of touching PV, as long as he leads. He NEEDS to be in control. He NEEDS to be in the spot light or else he'll be weak and he doesn't want to be seen weak. Like, he's already accustomed to being starved of touch. And receiving it makes him feel sick. >> I answered an ask here.

And about ShadowVanilla; I keep seeing the joke "friendzone" and then seeing Smilk be disappointed which is... something... Like... The kind "relationship" Smilk made for them wasn't getting married, (but they are Metaphorically as Narrative Foils) it was FORCED through TORTURE because THAT'S ALL HE KNEW HOW TO MAKE A RELATIONSHIP. He wanted to share a soul with PV because it was his fear of being alone that he rather drown himself than face that Truth, and that was the ONLY TIME Smilk made himself vulnerable. Do you think he had a choice when the Witches created him with the other Virtues? They immediately had sentience with no young adult stage to meet naturally like how the Ancients slowly melded into a friend group, and they had no kingdoms to attend to back then. And the Virtues need to work together while being entrusted with a bunch of cookies, which for them is equivalent to taking care of ants.

And that being said, with the consideration Smilk is a literal cookie god who never felt a touch of another cookie in millennium, being invited into a friendship (with another cookie who he was not baked with in the dawn of time) is the most intimate shit he's going to get. He may Know everything(LITERAL NERD OVER HERE), but he never had Any EXPERIENCE. As slutty as he looks and acts, he is one. VIRGIN. LOSER. (TO ME!!)

To end this rant. Control Freak character weakness: Getting dicked down by some guy with a kind heart(who is unexpectedly freakier than Control Freak).

[unstoppableobjects]

some of my headcanons for the pitt:

- Robby is really outdoorsy and loves hiking. In fact, one of his favorite parts about living in Pittsburgh is all the trails in and around the city. He’s been to most of the national parks and used to really love to camp, but now in his “old age” prefers a cabin over a tent (much to the delight of Heather, who’s more of a Turks and Caicos than Yosemite kind of gal).

- Santos loves reality TV and there’s not a show on Bravo that she hasn’t seen or won’t watch. When she moved to Pittsburgh, she was most excited to go see the Abby Lee Dance Company from Dance Moms.

- Mel loves the rush of emergency medicine and the exciting variety of procedures she gets to perform, but her time in the ER teaches her how much she truly loves working with kids and getting to form lasting connections with patients. This ultimately leads her to become an obstetrician - and really damn good one!

(I love my princess pookie bear diva icon legend Dr. Mel and I want her to be on the show forever, but you can’t tell me that she wouldn’t just love and be the absolute best at delivering babies and being a compassionate advocate for expecting and postpartum moms)

- Frank is short for Fitzgerald.

- Mateo convinces Javadi to take a gap year after the end of this year to take some time off and have all the young dumb fun of early adulthood that she’s missed out on being the medical prodigy of overbearing doctor parents (of course, he’s right there with her as often as he can be, helping her make the most of her time off).

- Heather LOVES fashion. She’s got a Nordstrom credit card and reads British Vogue instead of American Vogue because she knows it’s better. Samira says her style is “quiet luxury” - Khaite, The Row, Celine. Sure, her time in finance practically necessitated that she have a familiarity with all the finer things in life (we see that Cartier necklace girl!), but she really loves the art and the craftsmanship behind luxury fashion. Once she went into medicine, her time spent out of scrubs became precious and she doesn’t want to spend a moment of it not as comfortable and pampered as she can possibly be.

- Heather is a major mentor and advocate for Samira, as she knows just how desperately important it is for a doctor to be thorough and stand up for marginalized patients in the way that Samira does. She hates how Robby takes his frustrations with Gloria and the hospital administration out on a doctor as competent as Samira, finding it especially hypocritical knowing how much he detests the way they view patients as numbers instead of people.

- In fact, addressing his internalized biases as a doctor becomes a major point of both tension as well as growth professionally (and personally!) for Robby and Heather, especially as she becomes an attending. She pushes him to confront and correct the blind spots he has around gender and race that can affect how he does his job. It’s not easy, but it makes them both become better leaders, physicians, and people.

- Princess was a travel nurse for a decade and has some absolutely unhinged stories from those years. Even Perlah, more often than not the only one who actually wants to hear them, has yet to get the full breadth of the Princess Lore™️.

- Whitaker was in the 4-H club for most of his life growing up. Santos finds out and teases him relentlessly for it.

- Both Dana and McKay have been with women before. Neither one ever brings it up, but they do sexual tension about it.

(I have more of these and honestly like a million headcanons for robbycollins alone, but lmk what you think. Maybe I’ll post more!)

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 30

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds your letter.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Canon- typical violence. Blood. Loss. Everything. (I'm so sorry.)

Song Rec: Chasing Cars by Sleeping At Last

Authors Note: A little short, a little specific, but I hope you guys like it. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“Thank you Bucky. For everything.”

Bucky nearly collapsed as he reached the alleyway. Sirens wailed in the distance. 

It was empty.

With trembling hands, Bucky followed the trail of blood to the hole in the wall. The loose brick laid on the floor, stained red. He swallowed the bile in his throat as he followed the streaks of crimson.

Where was she?

The old fire escape ahead ached and creaked. Its ladder hung low. 

Bucky stood below, staring at the rusted metal. People from the end of the alley whispered and pointed around the street, sharing the news of what occurred. 

Bucky curled a cold fist around the first hinge. He pulled himself up, his stomach turning as he felt your chilling blood smear into his palms. 

At the top, all he found was the shattered pieces of the radio. His breath hitched in his chest. 

No.

He called out your name, his voice echoing and bouncing off the walls. He dragged his fingers through the wet stain dripping from the brick wall. 

He was too late.

His knees hit the unsteady metal floor. 

A feeling he’d long grown used to welled in his chest, spreading and poisoning his veins. Loss. But this was different. This was fresh. This was new. 

This was you.

This was grief.

The team never came. 

He sat there, on the floor of his once shared home, for hours. He stated at his trembling hands, blinking through a haze. He could still feel the curdled splotches of your blood against his palms. He could still hear your voice.

He waited, almost hoping they’d show up. But they never did. Not the next day, or the day after that. 

He was alone, and safe, and it made him hate himself in an entirely new way. 

He sat beside the bed, staring at the dent in the mattress from your body. You were just another one of his victims. And perhaps, the most innocent of all. 

The most kind woman he’d ever known. The most understanding. The gentlest. The only person he’d felt safe with in decades. 

Gone.

Because of him.

He stared, chewing his lip until it bled, the sound of your voice echoing in his mind. 

But then, he saw it.

Peaking out beneath the mattress, was the soft corner of a page. Its white color stood out against the stained floorboards. He reached, tugging the page out from beneath the bed. It was two pieces of printer paper, its edges frayed. There was a crease across the center, like it was folded and unfolded over and over. 

He turned it over, and saw the wispy handwriting.

Dear Bucky,

Hi. I feel weird writing to you like this, knowing you’re sitting a few feet away from me. But I feel like I have to. I wanted to write this because I honestly have no idea what's going to happen next. I never have any idea what the next minute will hold. I don’t know when it will happen, but I feel this constant, looming anxiety that something awful is going to happen. Someone might pop out of the bathroom one day with a gun. Or someone will be waiting for us in the laundromat and have the place surrounded. I don’t know when, but I know this isn’t forever. So, I wanted to tell you all the things I feel we never say. 

You’re the only person in my life that will know me in my last moments, and I want you to actually know me. I want someone to know me. So here it is. All the things too small to tell you, too insignificant, and maybe even stupid. My name is Y/n L/n. My birthday is XX.XX.XXXX. My favorite color is green.

I have two cats that I’ve had since I was in high school, and they are my everything. When I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate and go on adventures. I guess I can say a bit of that dream came true. I love Italian and Mexican food. I love dancing, but I’ve never done it, not really. There's a lot of things in life I’ve always wanted to do, but been too afraid to go for. I don’t have many friends, I never have. But I’m glad to say that I consider you, James Bucky Barnes, to be my friend. I barely know you, and I doubt I ever will, but I trust you with my life. When I first met you, I was terrified of you and everything around me. But now I know that you would never willingly hurt me, or anyone else. You’re a good man. No matter what you might say. 

I want you to know me, but I also want you to know what I think of you. I’ve spent every day with you, sharing a space, a bathroom, a captivity. I know you, maybe not to the bone, or in the little ways that I might want, but I know you. You’re good. You want to be good. You make my days easier, and I look forward to talking to you every morning. Maybe it’s because without you, I’d go insane. But still. I want to. Bucky, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Whether it was out of guilt, or because you wanted to, you’ve done so much for me. 

You saved my life. You helped me keep living. You’ve been kind to me, when all I felt was fear. You’re someone I care about very much. 

I hope you know that you’re a good man. I hope you know that everything you touch doesn't break. It's not evil, because you’re not evil. You want to be better, and that alone makes you better. 

Thank you, Bucky, for everything.

Bucky let out a shaky breath into his palm as he reread the last line. You never finished writing it, he concluded, from the large space left on the page and the fact that you hadn’t signed it. You must have been writing it at night, when he was asleep. 

He never noticed. 

But he saw the watermarks. The spots where your tears stained the paper. He saw where your fingers worried the corners of the papers until they frayed. He saw the way your handwriting got messier. The way your hand must have shook.

He dropped the papers onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. 

You were gone.

A/N: Short but ouch. The personal details in the letter, if they don't match with your just pretend they were something else, haha.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 4 - The Current Knows No Master Summary: Hosea is a steady presence, helping Arthur unravel his past and the dangers that come with it. Tension builds between you and Arthur during a heated moment, where your physical closeness stirs unexpected emotions. You begin to sense that your unspoken connection could change the relationship forever, as feelings of vulnerability and trust deepen. wc: 10k tw: none really, exploring anatomy, slight nsfw Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This might be my new favorite chapter. Got a bit carried away, but I'm pretty proud of it! Serving up some sweet hot angst :)

I've also started a tag list! I'm still blown away that people are reading this let alone enjoying it! If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters please let me know!

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare

Hosea shifted his weight, flipping through Charles’ medical report with one hand while his sharp eyes flickered between the clipboard, Arthur’s imposing figure, and me. He repeated this process several times, skimming the notes, muttering under his breath, then stealing another glance at Arthur as if to make sure he was real. For a man who had spent over three decades running an aquatic rescue center, he was taking the discovery of a mythical creature with remarkable composure.

The deep lines on his sun-weathered face twitched with contemplation, but there was no fear—just curiosity. Hosea Matthews was a man who had seen it all. As the owner and benefactor of the Heartland Aquatic Rehabilitation Center, he was more than just a businessman—he was a scientist, a teacher, and above all, a protector. He thrived on educating the public about marine conservation, often leading school tours and speaking with journalists to spread awareness of our mission. No creature was too broken or beyond saving in his eyes. If an animal found itself within these walls, Hosea would sooner strike a deal with the devil himself than abandon it to fate. And that devotion extended to the people under his care, too. He treated his employees like family, fiercely loyal and deeply invested in each of us.

The clock on the wall ticked past 7:10 AM. The facility would open to the public in less than an hour, it was typical for Hosea to arrive early and check in on his employees and resident patients. But I had a gut feeling he would be clearing his schedule today. Not when something like this had landed in his lap.

“Two hearts…” he muttered, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. He looked at Arthur again, then back at me, as if I could somehow confirm what he’d read in the report. “Incredible. One to pump blood to the gills, the other to circulate it through the body, if I were to guess.”

His voice carried the same fascination I had felt the first time I pressed my ear to Arthur’s chest and heard that mesmerizing, rhythmic thrum. But unlike me, Hosea’s wonder was tempered with calculation—already, I could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together Arthur’s biology. I had no doubt that by the end of the day, he’d be buried in every marine textbook and research paper he could find, chasing the impossible.

Hosea tossed the medical notes onto the counter with a soft pattering clink, exhaling as he stepped closer to the pool. His boots scuffed against the tile, the sound swallowed by the steady hum of filtration systems and the gentle slosh of water as Arthur shifted ever so slightly. Despite my presence, Arthur’s slitted eyes remained locked onto Hosea, watching his every movement with wary precision. His dark blond hair drifted like kelp caught in a current, fanned out around his partially submerged face. Even now, after everything we’d been through together, his instinct was still caution.

With a groan that betrayed his age, Hosea crouched at the pool’s edge, resting his forearms on his knees. He ran a weathered hand through the white strands of his hair, lips tugging into a wry smile. “I have to be honest—I really thought John and Charles had teamed up to play some kind of sick prank on an old man.” He chuckled warmly, shaking his head. “But I can see now that I was the fool.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I bet John wishes this was still a prank. He had a hard time with it all last night.”

Hosea’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Sounds like my boy.” He glanced back at Arthur, studying him as though he were trying to commit every impossible detail to memory. “What did you say his name was?”

“Arthur,” I answered softly. “And he can talk. You just need to be patient, he’s—”

I trailed off as Arthur’s eyes found mine, those deep blue depths glistening with something fragile. A silent plea. Fear, uncertainty, trust all woven into one unspoken look. That strange, aching need to protect him surged through me again, something deeper than instinct, something almost primal. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it down to my bones.

“He’s had a rough night,” I finished, voice quieter now.

Hosea hummed knowingly, his gaze flicking to Arthur once more. “Well, Charles isn't one to spare any gruesome details in his reports. Sounds like he’s been through hell.” He leaned in slightly, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. My name is Hosea Matthews—I run this rehabilitation center. I can see you’ve already met some of my crew. They’re good people. And we’re gonna do everything we can to help you, son.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The slow, deliberate flare of his gills spoke for him, a flicker of unease passing through his body like a ripple on water. At first, I didn’t understand why—until I caught the briefest twitch in his expression at Hosea’s choice of familiarity. Son. The word struck something in him, something painful.

He told me about his ‘family’ only moments ago.

My stomach twisted at the memory of his broken voice, the raw truth laced beneath the simple words: Don’t have a home. His trust was slow, a fragile thing, and I knew then that Hosea’s kindness—though genuine—was still too much, too soon. But not with me, a small voice in my mind whispered. Arthur trusted me. That realization wrapped around my heart and squeezed, an intoxicating blend of responsibility and something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name.

“Once that wound starts making some progress, we’ll get you into a bigger tank,” Hosea continued, his voice gentle, coaxing. “You’ll love it here, I promise.” He winked, as if that alone could lighten the weight of everything Arthur had endured.

Arthur remained silent, but his gaze flicked back to me, as if waiting for my confirmation. And for the first time since last night, I wondered if I was becoming more than just his rescuer. If I was becoming his tether. His anchor in a raging sea of uncertainty. 

It almost felt…good to be needed, to be trusted with something so beautiful yet fragile.

I crouched next to Hosea, exhaling a hesitant sigh as I searched for the right words. “About that, Hosea… There’s something rather, uhm—miraculous I discovered about Arthur this morning.”

Before he could ask, I extended my wrist, tilting it so the sunlight filtering through the skylights caught on my skin. The light refracted off four iridescent scars, polished like streaks of opal, running in perfect parallel lines.

Hosea’s sharp eyes narrowed. He reached out, taking my wrist in his weathered hands and pulling it closer. With a quiet hum, he retrieved a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and perched them on his nose.

“Count my lucky stars,” he murmured, smoothing a calloused thumb over the scarred flesh, where the once-torn skin had knitted itself back together seamlessly. “I’ve never seen something like this in all my days.”

“Me neither,” I admitted, still in awe of the truth I had barely begun to comprehend. “He’s got some kind of accelerated regeneration ability—and it’s not just his own body that heals. He can use it on others. I don’t know the extent of it yet, or its limitations, but the wound he suffered last night has nearly vanished.”

Hosea exhaled, thoughtful as he turned my wrist this way and that, watching the scars catch the light like shifting pearls. He was a man who had seen plenty of strange things in his lifetime, but even this seemed beyond his understanding.

“He’s truly something incredible,” I continued, voice dipping lower, heavier. “But I’m afraid there are some bad people who want to take it from him.”

“The harpoon, you mean?” Hosea asked, cocking an eyebrow. Of course, nothing ever got past this man. The moment I mentioned Arthur’s ability, he had already pieced together that there was more to this creature than what was written in the report.

I stole a glance at Arthur, watching the way the water rippled gently around his partially submerged face. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, he was still. Then, the faintest nod—a gesture so small it would’ve been imperceptible if not for the subtle movement of the water.

He was giving me permission. Trusting me to speak on his behalf. Trusting me to share his past with the only people willing to help him.

And I wouldn’t take that lightly.

Without hesitation, I launched into everything I had learned. If anyone could help us—if anyone could save Arthur from the torment and cruelty that had shaped his existence—it was Hosea Matthews.

I told him Arthur was only half siren, that his father had been human and had taken him from his mother at a young age. I explained how this man had sold him off like livestock, trading his own son to a group of scientists who saw him as nothing more than an experiment, a resource to be drained. They had exploited his ability to heal, used his body without regard for his pain or his will.

But I left out the part about his son. That felt like a piece of Arthur’s past that wasn’t mine to share. He had so little as it was—no home, no family, no freedom. His memories, even the painful ones, were all he had left of his identity, the only proof that he had ever been someone instead of something.

Hosea listened in silence, his face unreadable, though I could see the sharpness in his eyes—the way his mind was already moving, fitting the pieces together. But when I spoke the name, the name of the man who had claimed ownership over Arthur, his expression shifted.

“Dutch van der Linde,” Hosea repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze turned distant, clouded by thought—remembering, calculating, connecting dots I hadn’t even drawn yet. He let out a slow, measured breath, and when he spoke again, his tone was grim.

“Oh dear. This isn't good.”

Arthur sensed the shift instantly. His body tensed beneath the water, muscles coiling like a predator readying for a strike. He rose slightly, his gills flaring and on full display, his lip curling back in a silent snarl. The sharp ridges of his shark-like teeth glinted beneath the morning light.

This was not the fear of a man—it was the instinct of a creature who knew he had been backed into a corner. The predator turned prey. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The water around him rippled with the force of his body preparing for a fight, knowing that if it came to that, he would not go down without one.

For the first time since I had met him, I saw not just the man or the creature—but something caught in between.

Something dangerous.

Something monstrous. 

Arthur’s entire body was wound tight, his muscles flexing beneath the water’s surface. His teeth, sharp and lethal, remained bared just enough to send a warning. A storm brewed behind his ocean-blue eyes, dark and turbulent, and for the first time, I realized just how close he was to snapping. 

I felt the tension rising fast, thickening the air like a pressure drop before a hurricane.

“Hosea,” I said carefully, keeping my voice even. “Do you know of this man?”

Arthur’s fingers twitched at his sides, his claws flexing, his body poised as if he expected to fight his way out of here. He needed answers, but he also needed to be calmed before he did something that betrayed the gentle nature he had shown me.

Hosea stood slowly, exhaling a long sigh as he scratched his chin, pulling his thoughts together. “Dutch is a kingpin in the pharmaceutical industry.”

I blinked, caught off guard. Pharmaceuticals?

“I’ve never heard of him before,” I interrupted, rifling through the list of billionaires who ran the healthcare industry. Names of powerful CEOs and corporate giants ran through my mind, but Dutch van der Linde wasn’t among them. Surely, if someone in the healthcare industry had a creature like Arthur under their study, the world would know about it. His existence wouldn’t be a secret—it would be a scientific revelation.

“That’s because he operates underground,” Hosea explained. “Think of it like the black market. He has unorthodox ways of testing and collecting data. We crossed paths many years ago, before I opened this facility. He offered me a partnership of sorts, wanted to use my knowledge of marine life to push his ideals. His plans.”

I swallowed hard, the tendrils of fear curling tight around my heart.

“Plans for what?” My voice was quieter now, uncertain. “Is he trying to make a drug from Arthur’s mucilage? To cure cancer or something?”

It was a hopeful thought, but the moment the words left my mouth, I already knew the reality was much darker. I had seen it—the proof was written in the scars scattered across Arthur’s body, each one a testament to suffering and cruelty.

Hosea’s expression darkened. His voice, when he spoke again, was void of any warmth.

“No, my dear.” He met my gaze, unblinking. “Men like him don’t have other people’s best interests at heart. Dutch isn’t looking for a cure. He’s looking for immortality.”

The breath hitched in my throat.

“He—he wants to live forever?”

Was that even possible? Arthur’s ability was accelerated healing, but had this man found a way to harness it? To manipulate it, weaponize it—use it to halt aging entirely?

Was that why they had wanted Arthur to give them a son? So they could continue their exploitation for generations, creating a lineage of sirens bred for their abilities?

A knowing smile ghosted across Hosea’s lips, though it held no humor. Perhaps it was my naivety that amused him.

“Not in the way you think,” he said. “Dutch is a businessman, an opportunist. Money and power—those are the only things he believes can make a man eternal. Wealth that never runs dry, influence that never fades.”

I felt my stomach turn.

Arthur hadn’t just been a captive. He had been an investment.

And Dutch wasn’t going to let his most valuable asset slip away so easily.

The familiar clank of metal filled my ears as the door to the examination room creaked open. The sound alone was enough to send ripples of tension through the air, a reminder that we were no longer in the fragile quiet of the morning. Almost simultaneously, I heard Arthur shift in the water—or rather, felt the splash as he disappeared beneath the surface.

He had retreated again, gliding to the farthest edge of the pool. But the space wasn’t large, offering little sanctuary. Beneath the water, I saw the faint outline of his curled tail, drawn tightly to his body in an attempt to make himself smaller. To disappear. Oh, this poor sweet creature… My heart twisted painfully at the sight.

He was so frightened. Using all his energy, which should be focussed on his healing, to appear brave in the face of the unknown. Every new sound, every unfamiliar scent put him on edge. The stress was coiling around him, dragging him deeper into the instinctual fear of an animal who had spent too long being hunted. The primal impulse to retreat, to hide, to disappear. Already, I wished we could go back to how things had been just hours ago, when he had been more at ease, when he had welcomed my touch.

But now, reality was creeping back in. And Arthur was retreating into himself.

The door fully swung open, and John strode in, carrying a tray with three coffees balanced in his grip. The rich, bitter aroma cut through the sterile scent of the examination room, grounding me in something familiar. Without a word, he set the tray down on the counter with a quiet thud.

I slipped off the lip of the pool, sinking into the water’s embrace. It was warm, a soothing contrast to the cold tension in my muscles, heated by the morning sun and the underwater pads Lenny had installed for Arthur’s comfort. The exhaustion of the night before, coupled with my less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements, pressed down on me like a weight.

I needed rest. I needed a clear mind to tackle this. But even as fatigue settled deep in my joints, the water offering momentary relief, I knew my first priority wasn’t myself. It was him.

Arthur needed reassurance. He needed to know that everything was going to be alright—even if I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

“Morning,” John rasped, his voice rough with sleep. “Thought you guys could use some caffeine. There’s breakfast sandwiches in the breakroom, too.”

“Thanks, son,” Hosea said warmly, reaching for one of the coffees. The steam curled in the air, fogging his glasses as he took a careful sip.

John walked over to the pool and extended an iced coffee toward me. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect—my body desperately needed the energy.

“Thank you, John,” I murmured, wrapping my chilled fingers around the plastic cup before taking a grateful sip.

Iced mocha caramel. He always grumbled that I was drinking more sugar than actual coffee, but he remembered my order nonetheless. It was a small thing. But right now, these small things meant everything.

Behind me, I hadn’t even noticed Arthur had lifted his head out of the water until John made a disgusted noise.

“Yeesh, he’s even uglier in the daylight. Look at those beady eyes, and those freaky little things coming out the side of his head…”

I snapped my head up at him, mouth already open in protest. “John—!”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t the prettiest either, sunshine.”

The deep, gravelly timbre cut through the room, stopping John mid-sentence. His entire body stiffened, face draining of color and mouth gaping as his eyes darted toward Arthur, who was now watching him with an infuriating amount of amusement.

“What the fuck?” John sputtered, pointing an accusing finger. “H-he talks?!”

I couldn’t help but snicker at his reaction, and I wasn’t the only one. I noticed Hosea’s expression shift as well—the weight of our conversation that had hung over him only moments ago giving way to something softer, something like awe and quiet amusement.

Arthur smirked, swimming closer, his chest puffing slightly as he rose higher out of the water. “What, did an alligator eat half your brains?” he taunted. “’Course I talk. You think I’m some kind of inane half-wit like you?”

John’s face turned an impressive shade of red. “Listen, shark boy, we saved your scaly ass. You best remember that.”

Arthur smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Oh, I remember plenty—like you nearly drownin’ in three feet of water.” His voice was smooth, but his wit was sharp as an urchin’s needle. “I’ve seen beached fish put up a better fight. You swim ‘bout as well as a mudskipper in a desert.”

“That’s enough, boys!” Hosea cut in before John could dig himself any deeper, though he couldn’t quite stifle his own laugh. “Lord above, you two bicker like brothers, and you’ve only just met.”

John huffed, crossing his arms, but I caught the flicker of reluctant amusement beneath his irritation. Really, how could anyone stay mad when trading barbs with a creature as sharp-witted, articulate, and downright magnificent as Arthur?

Hosea patted his shoulder, steering the conversation back on track. “I’ve gotta make some calls—see if Sadie’s heard anything about Dutch or his whereabouts. John, go check on the main tank, make sure it’s suitable for our new friend. And see if Kieran’s got some mussels or fresh fish. He looks like he’s about ready to eat you.”

With a playful wink, Hosea turned back toward Arthur and me, leaving John grumbling under his breath.

Sadie Adler was the local fish and game warden, but calling her that didn’t do her justice—she was a force to be reckoned with. Fierce and unyielding, she handled everything from enforcing conservation policies to investigating violations, and if Dutch Van der Linde was operating anywhere nearby, Sadie was the first to turn up with a keen eye for intel. She wasn’t just a woman of authority—she was a dear friend to the facility, having been there from the beginning, offering advice, helping with the heavy lifting, and supporting Hosea, John, and the rest of the team whenever they needed her. Her loyalty ran deep, and while she commanded respect in the wilderness, she was equally dependable when it came to the people she trusted. If Dutch was on the move, Sadie would be there to track him down, and if things escalated, she’d be the one to lead the charge. 

With Sadie involved, the ball was finally beginning to roll, and everyone knew that when she was on their side, they had an unshakable ally.

John let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that could only come from someone who was used to this kind of banter, but there was no masking the reluctant compliance in his eyes as he nodded. Then, with a skeptical glance at me, he shot a question over his shoulder. “The hell are you grinning for?”

A giggle bubbled up from my chest, and I leaned closer, lowering my voice just enough so Hosea wouldn’t hear me instigating. “You got schooled by a fish.” I couldn't help the amusement that flickered in my eyes. Watching John get taken down a peg by Arthur was too good to pass up.

John’s eyes narrowed, his grin tugging at the scars on his cheek, and for a moment, I could see the challenge in his gaze. “No wonder he’s taken a liking to you,” he said with a sly chuckle. “Weird attracts weird.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could throw back a sharp retort, John grabbed his coffee, tipping the cup toward me with a mock salute. “Charles should be here soon,” he said, turning toward the door. “He’ll want to examine him again before we move him, so do whatever it is you do and tame the beast before he takes a bite out of one of us.”

The playful edge in his tone was still there, but I could sense the underlying tension. Arthur was no beast, not really. No matter how much he tried to act like one. And despite everything he had endured, there was something in his eyes that made me want to keep protecting him, keep reassuring him that he didn’t have to be that thing. He wasn’t that monster.

As John stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him, I turned back toward him in the pool, where Arthur still lingered, his gaze distant but locked on me. A quiet understanding passed between us. Like we were both waiting for the moment we could be alone. 

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

Arthur’s gaze was fixed on the door, his sharp eyes flicking back and forth as if he were anticipating the next stranger to walk through or waiting for John to return and pick up where they'd left off—some battle of wits, no doubt. His posture was tense, as though any moment could break the fragile peace that had settled between us. I leaned back against the edge of the pool, letting the water rise slightly as I sank lower, my chest now submerged in the warmth. The water was comforting, but there was a heaviness in the air that I couldn’t shake.

“He’s an ass, don’t let him get under your skin—or, uh, scales,” I said, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. But even I knew how lame it sounded. Still, it felt important to say it, to reassure him. Arthur's silence was almost suffocating, and I wondered if he even understood the weight of the words I spoke. Was it possible to explain something like that to a being whose species was so vastly different from my own?

It was still surreal to be conversing with a creature like Arthur, an entirely new species that I’d only ever heard whispered about in stories. If word got out about his existence, would the world demand to know every detail of our conversations? Would people try to study him, dissect every interaction like some scientific experiment? Would Arthur ever trust anyone enough to open up to them, or was it always going to be just me?

There was something so human about the way he spoke—his cadence, his pauses, even the faint traces of emotion in his voice—but at the same time, it was undeniably alien. His accent, no doubt learned from his captors, added a rough edge to his speech, but it wasn’t just that. His voice held an animalistic undertone, as if the words were trapped behind sharp teeth, struggling to find their way out. Some of his syllables seemed to catch, like they couldn’t make it past the sharp points of his canines. Others came out incomplete, slipping through his gills before they could fully form. And then there were the growls, the hisses, and the purring—subtle sounds that humans certainly didn’t make.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the edge of the pool, rolling my neck to ease the strain in my muscles. I needed a moment to center myself, to shake off the weight of the day. It felt like the world around me was pressing in, and I just wanted to breathe, to reset. For a while, the only sound was the gentle splash of water as Arthur remained still, his gaze still locked on the door.

After a beat, as if confirming the coast was clear, Arthur spoke again.

“He’s afraid of me,” he said, the words rough but certain.

I mulled this over for a moment, considering the layers beneath his statement. “Well, I wouldn’t say afraid,” I replied, my voice soft but thoughtful. “Definitely a bit anxious, though. He’s... not used to things like you.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly, the faintest flicker of something I couldn’t quite read crossing his expression. It wasn’t a smile, exactly, but it was a subtle shift, a hint of self-awareness.

“Anxious, huh?” he mused, as if testing the word on his tongue. Then he shook his head, as though he was finding some small amusement in it all. “So that’s what I smelled on him.”

Smelled? I jerked my head, gods above. I was so quick to forget I was talking to someone that was more animal than human. I shouldn't be surprised he could smell the chemical changes in emotions. 

Arthur swam toward me, his body gliding through the water with an effortless grace, coming to a stop just inches away. My pulse quickened, the proximity sending a jolt of heat rushing through me. He was so close now that I could feel the warmth radiating from his chest, a slow, steady heat that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the beat of his twin hearts. His skin, still slick with water, shimmered in the soft light, every movement stirring the surface around us. I could almost taste the closeness of him—the way his warmth mingled with the coolness of the water between us.

He was propped up on his tail, using it like a seat, the motion fluid and powerful. The way his tail coiled reminded me of a serpent, sleek and dangerous, its strength hiding in every subtle shift. I could feel the silk like tendrils of his tail fin tickle my feet. It reminded me of just how massive he was, how he towered over me even submerged in the water. I could feel the weight of him without him even needing to touch me, a presence that filled the space and consumed my thoughts.

Hell, if he moved any closer, his hips would be flush against mine. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, my body instinctively responding to the proximity, to the heat of him. The space between us felt charged, thick with something unspoken, and yet, I couldn’t look away. I was caught in the gravity of him, the tension hanging between us like a thread waiting to snap.

I let out a nervous chuckle, trying—and failing—to keep the air light. “John’s been known to skip a wash. You’re probably catching a whiff—”

Whatever composure I had shattered the instant Arthur leaned in, his head dipping into the crook of my neck.

A sharp jolt of electricity shot through me as the tip of his claw ghosted over my skin, pushing my hair aside with agonizing slowness. My breath hitched. The warmth of him was palpable now, his chest so close that I could feel the steady rhythm of his twin hearts. The faint rush of water against my skin wasn’t just from the pool—it was from him, the movement of his gills as he exhaled, hot and damp against my throat.

Was he—was he smelling me?

A familiar heat curled low in my stomach, an unwanted but undeniable thought slithering its way into my mind. What would his tongue feel like there? Would it be rough or impossibly soft? What would the ridges be like? Would he taste me the way predators do, slow and deliberate, savoring the sensation?

“I never smelled fear on you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were felt more than heard, vibrating against the sensitive skin of my neck.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering beneath his breath. I should pull away. I should put space between us. But I didn’t. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, unconsciously giving him more access to the most vital spot on my body. Blood rushed to my head, hot and quick making me feel dizzy. 

“Should I be afraid of you, Arthur?” My voice came out steadier than I expected, but there was no denying the weight behind the question.

Arthur hesitated. He pulled back slightly, and already I mourned the loss of his warmth. But before I could process the absence, he shifted again, bringing his face to mere inches from mine.

His pupils had expanded, swallowing the blue of his irises in deep, endless black. I swore I could see my own reflection in them, distorted like a black mirror, the water between us barely disguising the intensity of his gaze.

“I’ve hurt people,” he admitted, his voice lower now, quiet with something that almost sounded like regret. The confession sat heavy in the space between us, thick and unspoken for a long moment before he added, softer still, “I hurt you. And still, you don’t fear me.”

I took a slow, deliberate breath. That’s what this is about.

I lifted my chin slightly, meeting his gaze with renewed steadiness. “It was an accident,” I countered, my voice stronger now, more assured in our proximity. “You acted on instinct. I don’t hold it against you in the slightest.”

Arthur studied me, his lips parting slightly as if he had more to say, something deeper, something unspoken that lingered between us like the charged air before a lightning strike. But instead, he remained still, watching, waiting—his breath fanning softly against my lips, close enough that if I shifted even an inch, we would…

I forced myself to exhale. I wasn’t afraid of him. But maybe, I should have been.

My hands remained beneath the water, hidden between us as I moved with deliberate slowness. Tentatively, I let my fingertips trail up his side, barely skimming the surface of his skin. The warmth of him was staggering, a stark contrast against the cool air above the water, and as my fingers passed over the ridges of his ribs, I swore I could feel his breath hitch.

Then, I touched his gills.

They were unlike anything I had ever felt—soft, impossibly delicate, like wet velvet beneath my fingertips. The moment I brushed against them, a shudder rippled through Arthur’s body, his muscles tightening beneath my touch as he exhaled a breath that was more of a shiver.

His head dipped toward mine, lips parting ever so slightly, as though he were preparing to steal the very air from my lungs. The space between us grew impossibly small, the tension thrumming so thick it felt like it could snap at any moment. My breath stilled, mirroring his as I tilted my chin up, parting my lips just enough, as if my body already knew what came next.

He was so close I swore he could feel the pounding of my heart against my ribs, rolling in like thunder, wild and unrestrained.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t close the distance.

A part of me trembled with nerves, another with anticipation, and gods above—I was aroused. That insatiable warmth coiled low in my belly, twisting into something tight and aching between my legs, something that burned hotter with every second we lingered in this breathless moment.

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled past my lips, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “What do I smell like?”

Arthur inhaled, and for a moment, I swore he was tasting the question as much as hearing it. His pupils, already large from our proximity, expanded even more, turning his eyes into endless black pools. His gills flared around his neck, and that soft bioluminescent glow flickered to life, melting between us like sunlight dissolving into the ocean depths.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice deep and thick with something unreadable. “Like those little noises you make when I touch you.”

A sharp inhale caught in my throat, and it was only then that I realized—somewhere in the span of our conversation, he had trapped me against the edge of the pool. His arms caged me in, hands planted on either side of me, his body close enough that the water between us felt inconsequential.

And then, as if to prove his point, he dragged the back of his knuckles slowly up my bare arm, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. A small, breathy sound slipped past my lips before I could stop it, a sound that felt dangerously close to a whimper.

Arthur responded immediately.

That sound—my sound—triggered something deep within him.

A low, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water between us, and fuck—I felt it between my legs. The sensation was subtle yet devastating, a deep, resonant hum that sent warmth curling through my spine, pooling where I ached for something I couldn't name.

His eyes never left mine as he leaned in just enough to brush his lips against my ear, voice dipping lower, rougher, when he added, “And musky… unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before.”

My breath hitched.

He—he could smell my musk?

No. Scratch that.

He could taste it?

My body tensed, heat flashing beneath my skin as I stared at him, equal parts mortified and breathlessly aroused. But Arthur only smirked, that damned knowing smirk, like he could read exactly what was running through my head.

And gods help me, I wanted him to. 

I suddenly felt like my own body had betrayed me, my hormones conspiring against logic, against reason. Of course I should have known his senses of smell and taste were intertwined, that he could sense me in ways no human ever could. The thought sent another wave of heat rushing through me, pooling low in my belly, coiling tighter between my legs. Hell, I was probably saturating the water with it by now.

Arthur breathed in deeply, his pupils darkened, a limitless sea of midnight, his lips curling into a grin that was nothing short of sinful. He was taunting me, reading my every thought, my every flustered attempt to gain control over my body and the way it ached for something I couldn’t deny with words. His gills flared beneath my fingertips, the movement almost instinctual, a silent plea or perhaps a challenge.

I took it.

Slipping my fingers beneath the delicate slits, I stroked the silky underside of his gills, and oh. They were impossibly soft, like the gentlest brush of a cloud against my skin, warm and slick beneath my touch. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, but it was nothing compared to his reaction.

Arthur shuddered.

A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, thick with raw need, and his hips rolled forward, pressing flush against mine. The friction sent a bolt of fire through me, my breath catching as every nerve in my body ignited all at once.

The sound that followed was entrancing—his siren song. A deep, desperate groan that rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water, through me. It was the kind of sound that spoke of hunger, of instinct, of a need so primal it threatened to consume him whole.

And gods help me, I had never wanted something so badly in my life.

I was utterly breathless at the sight of him. This massive, magnificent creature curling into me, arching into my touch as if my fingers on his gills were the only thing that mattered to him. His tail lashed through the water, powerful and restless, the motion sending small ripples over my skin, like even the sea itself responded to him.

My hands trembled slightly, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I caught the edge of one of his frills between my fingers, rolling it gently, reverently, sliding my touch up and down like I would a length of the finest silk.

Arthur groaned again, this time deeper, rougher, pulled from somewhere inside the hollow of his belly. His hand shot down, wrapping around my wrist—not to stop me, but to hold me there, to keep me touching him, to anchor himself in the sensation.

He was unraveling beneath me. And part of me wanted to see how far he could go.

Pressed against his chest, I could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his twin hearts drumming beneath my fingertips, their pace betraying just how much I was affecting him. His hips rutted into mine again, slow but deliberate, and then—I felt it.

A more…private appendage that had been tucked inside his body. It was new. And strangely different.

A firm hardness pressed against me, emerging from beneath his scales—hidden before, but now unmistakable. Heat coiled low in my stomach as realization dawned, my breath hitching as I instinctively glanced down.

Below his slit, I noticed a subtle shift in his body, the scales parting, revealing something I hadn’t seen before. A new opening, a previously concealed gap where something more was stirring to life.

Arthur let out a sound between a growl and a groan, thick with something raw and unfiltered, and then—he said my name. Low, guttural, almost pained.

“You have no idea what this does to me.” His breath came fast and uneven, each exhale warming my already feverish skin.

His eyes snapped open then, locking onto mine with an expression so intense it stole the air from my lungs. It wasn’t just need, though that was certainly there—dark, all-consuming, a hunger I wasn’t sure he could tame. But beneath the desperation, I caught something else. Fear. Anticipation.

Like he was waiting to see what I would do next.

Like he was afraid of what he might do if I didn’t stop him.

And suddenly, the weight of it all came crashing down on me.

Only hours ago, my curious fingers had been teasing his entrance, innocent in my exploration. And now—oh shit. Did he think I was offering myself to him? That I was trying to mate with him? I had no idea what their rituals even entailed, had I crossed a line? Could we…would our bodies…fit? 

I wasn’t even sure myself why I had done it. I had gotten so wrapped up in him. In the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way his body responded to my touch as if I was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And yet…

If we were in another time, another place, another body—maybe then, I wouldn’t have stopped myself. Maybe then, I would have indulged in the darker curiosities swirling through my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely sure why I said it. Was I apologizing for touching him? For stopping? For stirring something between us that neither of us fully understood? 

Was I sorry for being the one to rescue him? That John had called me and not one of the other girls? Would it have been easier if someone else had taken my place—if I had never been the one to pull Arthur from the brink?

Or was I sorry for something else entirely?

Sorry that I couldn’t seem to define the ache growing inside me, the pull that had started as fascination but was quickly morphing into something far, far more dangerous. Sorry that I couldn’t understand why his fixation on me felt almost equal to my own fixation on him.

Two creatures, worlds apart, dipping their fingers into a current so strong it threatened to pull us under the tide.

And I was starting to wonder if I wanted to come up for air.

All I knew was that, in this moment, I had tangled myself—and this poor, beautiful creature—into a storm of confusion and frustration, and heaven help me, I wasn’t sure how to unravel it.

My voice came softer this time, barely more than a breath.

“I’m so sorry.”

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

Charles pulled off his blue latex gloves with a practiced flick, sending them sailing through the air before they landed neatly in the waste bin. The movement was effortless, second nature, as he busied himself with tidying up his medical tools, the clink of metal against metal filling the otherwise quiet room.

“His wound is healing nicely—much faster than I expected. Though, if I had known he had accelerated healing, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with the stitches,” he chuckled, shaking his head like he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“You did the right thing, Charles,” I reassured him, my voice softer than I intended. “He was going to bleed out if you and Lenny hadn’t done something.”

Charles hummed in agreement, but my focus had already drifted back to Arthur.

He lay stretched out on the examination table, his massive form suspended just above the water level of the pool. The setup was temporary—meant for quick assessments, not extended stays—but he looked tense, his muscles rigid beneath his slick, bioluminescent skin.

When Charles had arrived shortly after our… moment… it had taken a considerable amount of coaxing on my part to get Arthur to emerge from the shadows curling along the edges of the pool. The morning sun had shifted, casting longer streaks of light through the skylight, but Arthur had lingered in the dim corners, watching warily as Charles entered.

At first, I thought it was fear that kept him hiding, but then—I caught the subtle cues, the tiny tells I had grown so accustomed to. The way his gills fluttered unevenly, the way his tail curled slightly around himself, not in defense, but in something almost vulnerable. Embarrassment. Shame.

Guilt churned hot and thick in my stomach.

Had I ruined something between us?

He had been so open with me, so trusting, letting me touch him, explore him in a way that was undoubtedly intimate. And I—I had let my own selfish curiosity, my treacherous, hormone-addled body, lead us somewhere neither of us had been prepared for. Had I confused him? Frustrated him?

Stars above, had I hurt him?

The sickening thought settled deep in my gut like a stone. The last thing I ever wanted was to make him feel used. To make him feel exploited—like the men who had stripped him of his autonomy, who had treated him as nothing more than a tool, a resource to be controlled.

I swallowed against the rising nausea and cast a glance at the clock on the wall. Early afternoon. I had spent nearly the entire morning in the water, and my body was starting to feel the effects—my fingers had pruned, my skin tight and dry from the salt. And god, I was hungry.

As if sensing my growing exhaustion, Charles threw me a lifeline.

“I’ve got a few more patients to check on after this, then I’m heading home for the day. You want me to give you a ride to Clemens Cove so you can get your truck?”

And some rest.

He didn’t say those words outright, but they hung unspoken between us. His offer was casual, lighthearted, but I caught the concern beneath it—the way his gaze lingered on the fatigue etched into my features, the way his tone softened just enough to let me know he noticed.

And honestly? I wasn’t about to argue.

I nodded, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “That would be much appreciated. I was worried I’d have to walk back.”

Charles cocked an eyebrow, his lips tugging into a playful smirk. “Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady wander halfway across town after the day you’ve had? Besides,” he added, giving me an exaggerated once-over, “you look about two steps away from passing out, and I’d really rather not have to explain to Hosea why I found you face-down in a ditch.”

A tired chuckle escaped me, shaking some of the tension from my shoulders. “Well, when you put it like that…”

His grin widened, warm and genuine. Charles was an undeniably handsome man—everyone could see that. His soft brown eyes held an innate kindness, warm and rich like melted chocolate, but there was strength behind them too. When he gave orders during an emergency rescue or a high-pressure surgery, his voice boomed, steady and commanding, filling the room with an authority no one dared question. But there was another side to him as well—the one that spoke softly to the children who came through on educational tours, explaining things in a way that made their eyes light up with curiosity. The voice that turned gentle when he muttered to himself while solving a problem, focused but never frustrated.

Charles was smart. Resourceful. A quiet force, yet one that commanded respect without ever demanding it.

My friendship with him was different than my friendship with John. John and I pestered each other like siblings, always quick with a sarcastic remark, always toeing the line between playful bickering and actual affection. But at the end of the day, we had each other’s backs like family.

With Charles, it was something else entirely. Easier, in some ways. More complicated in others.

He had been my mentor when I first started working here, the person I turned to when I felt out of my depth. But beyond that, he was a friend in the truest sense—someone who listened without judgment, someone who understood without needing every detail explained.

And right now, as exhaustion pulled heavy at my limbs, that understanding meant everything.

The gentle clinking of medical tools brought me back to the present. Charles was sifting through a tray, his fingers moving methodically over the various packets of needle tips, checking their gauge and length with practiced efficiency. I watched as he selected one, examined it under the light, then clicked his tongue and tossed it back, continuing his search.

“Everything alright over there, Captain?” I teased, the old nickname slipping out with ease. It came from the early days, back when he’d take me out on his boat to assist with rescues and releases, back when everything felt simpler—before this.

A few strands of black hair had slipped free from his bun, framing his sharp features as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just looking for a needle that’ll penetrate his skin. I want to collect a few blood samples and run some tests on that mucilage you told me about earlier.”

I barely had time to process his words before Arthur moved.

He bolted upright on the table so suddenly that I jerked back, the water sloshing around me as my footing slipped. My stomach twisted, not just from the shock of his reaction, but from the raw, breathless panic in his voice.

“I ain’t doin’ more tests,” he said, his chest heaving, pupils blown wide.

Shit.

“Easy, Arthur,” I soothed instinctively, lifting a hand as if to calm a wild animal. “They won’t hurt, just a quick pinch.”

But the moment the words left my lips, I regretted them.

I had been so caught up in trying to reassure him, in trying to help, that I had completely forgotten why this would send him into a tailspin.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his body going rigid. “I been pinched enough,” he snarled, his voice thick with something bitter and laced with old wounds. His gills flared, sharp and aggressive, and when he spoke again, his tone was low, dangerous, vibrating with barely-contained fury. “I’m not givin’ you blood, or anythin’ from me!”

The air in the room thickened, the tension snapping tight like a riptide, pulling everything under in an instant. His body was coiled, wound so tight with fury that it seemed ready to burst. Every muscle in his frame tensed, his gills flaring wide like a warning. The unspoken threat in his posture hung heavy in the air, a low, menacing hum that made my breath catch in my throat.

A dreadful thought clawed at the back of my mind, growing louder with every second.

Could he be pushed past the brink?

Had he felt this kind of rage before? The kind that came when he was captured, when he fought for his freedom? His words echoed in my head, his voice haunted by something darker. 

I’ve hurt people.

My stomach twisted violently as the terrifying question ripped through my thoughts.

Did he kill his captors?

The weight of the possibility hung in the room like a shadow. As if the earth itself could sense his turmoil as a dark cloud rolled over the sun, shrouding the room in a dark gray light. 

Would he do it again? Would he lash out, and if so, at me? I could see the storm in his eyes, and the way his breath came in short, sharp bursts told me he was on the edge of losing control. It was as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for something—anything—to tip him over the edge.

Charles, to his credit, remained calm. He didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, but his expression softened just enough to show he was trying to level with him. “Arthur,” he said evenly, “I have no idea what I’m working with here. I can’t give you the proper care if I don’t know what’s going on inside your body. You need to let me study you first.”

The words struck a nerve.

Arthur’s body tensed, his muscles convulsing like he was preparing to strike. His fins flared—all of them. The ones along his arms and head, the ones that normally lay flat against his body, had risen in a display I had never seen before. And they were pointed. Perilous. 

Then, something new happened.

Arthur opened his mouth, but what came out wasn’t English. Wasn’t human human speech. 

A string of guttural, unfamiliar words spilled into the air, rough and raw like stones grinding against the ocean floor. The sound was deep, layered, yet there was something melodic buried beneath the harshness, something that almost resembled a song.

I froze.

Was this his natural language?

Arthur’s chest rose and fell, his throat working as he spoke in that strange, haunting cadence, his bioluminescent veins pulsing faintly as if responding to the rhythm of his voice. My heart pounded as I watched, transfixed, completely unprepared for the deep ache that curled through my gut at the realization—

This was something ancient. Something that belonged to him. To his kind.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear it.

Charles shot me a brief glance, his eyes cautious as he registered my intent. I could see the hesitation in his gaze, but I mouthed the words, I’ll be okay, go, and a quiet understanding passed between us. I tilted my head toward the door, an unspoken trust settling over the room like a heavy blanket. He nodded, not questioning me, as he packed his tools and made his way out of the pool, leaving us alone.

Arthur’s eyes followed Charles as he left, but his anger didn’t fade. Instead, it simmered, a storm still roiling beneath the surface. His dark blue eyes locked onto mine, pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits. The intensity in his gaze felt like it could cut through me, a searing heat that left me breathless, almost paralyzed.

I took a tentative step toward him, my hand reaching out slowly, almost instinctively. To my surprise, he spoke again, his voice thick with panic.

“I—I don’t want to be studied,” he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, tinged with fear and raw emotion.

I softened my voice, offering him the calm he so desperately needed. “Then we won’t study you, honey.”

But it wasn’t enough. His walls were still up, defenses razor-sharp. “You gonna chain me up?” He shot back, his voice harsh, laced with bitterness. “Poke me and shock me till I can’t fight back? Cage me here ‘till you get your fill of research?”

I was close now, close enough that I could see the tremors in his frame, the way his muscles tightened beneath his scales. My heart ached for him, for the torment he’d endured. But I also knew I had to find a way to reach him, to calm the storm inside him before it tore us both apart.

I let my hand slide gently up the smooth, hard length of his tail, cautious but tender. The warmth of him was intoxicating, a pull that made my chest tighten, but I kept my touch steady, moving with reverence. I avoided the sharp fins that had risen along his hips, the ones I hadn’t noticed before—pointed and rigid, like a warning.

“I would never,” I said the last word with as much severity as I could muster, my voice low and unwavering. “Do you remember what I said to you last night, and again this morning?”

I knew the memory of my words would be enough to give him a moment of pause. I needed him to breathe, to step away from the raw edge of his rage.

I slid my hands further up his body, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingertips. Slowly, I placed my hands beneath his palm. His webbed fingers curled around mine immediately, the gesture instinctual and comforting. He was still trembling, but the tension in his muscles eased just slightly.

“These hands…” I began softly, giving him the space to finish the sentence himself.

A long, shaky breath escaped him, and for a moment, I thought I’d lost him. But then, his gills flared gently, settling back down as he found his ground again. His voice, when it came, was softer, quieter, almost reverent.

“…would never hurt you.”

“That’s right,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, a weary smile tugging at the corner of my lips. His words, though simple, soothed something deep inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear that, needed to know that this—whatever this was between us—wasn’t one-sided, wasn’t born from a place of control.

But even as I smiled, the exhaustion hit me all at once. A yawn escaped me before I could stifle it, the weariness of the day creeping up on me like a tide pulling me under. His outburst had drained the last of my energy, and I longed for the comfort of dry clothes and the soft embrace of my bed.

Gods, it had been a long day.

Once I was certain that Arthur’s anger had settled, I moved to help him slide off the exam table. As I shifted it out of the way, I couldn’t shake the weight of everything that had transpired. How the hell had we gotten here?

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Arthur,” I murmured softly, my voice tender as I spoke the words. “You’ve been through so much already... I never meant to cause you more stress.” The sincerity in my tone was almost palpable, a quiet ache threading through my chest as I looked at him.

He didn’t answer, but instead ducked beneath the surface of the water, his sleek body gliding effortlessly through the pool. His tail flicked powerfully, sending waves crashing against the sides, as though he was trying to burn off all the remaining energy, the anger still simmering beneath his skin. I could feel the pull of his restlessness, a quiet undercurrent to everything he did. He needs more space. The thought hit me like a sudden revelation, and I knew then that this was only temporary. His body wasn’t built for such small confines. He needed room to move, room to breathe.

He surfaced again, shaking the water from his hair and glancing at me with that familiar, guarded expression. “John should have everything ready for you soon,” I said, my voice warm, reassuring. “You’ll have more room to swim. Places to hide, if you choose. And I’ll talk to Kieran about getting you some food.”

I was about to step out of  the pool, but before I could even walk away, something cool, slick, and strong wrapped around my ankle.

Arthur.

I froze, the contact sparking an electric pulse that made my heart race. I looked down, and for the briefest of moments, I could swear there was a hint of something innocent in the way he held me—something that didn’t belong in the immense creature I had come to know.

“You’re leaving?” His voice, thick and uncertain, carried through the stillness.

My heart squeezed as I looked back at him. There he was, his large frame hovering in the water, but his expression was so vulnerable, so human, for lack of a better word. His gaze softened with a trace of something almost sad, and god, if sirens could pout, this one was certainly pouting.

“I’ll be back in the morning, honey,” I explained, trying to sound as reassuring as I could. I gave him a small smile, hoping it would settle him, but even I wasn’t sure it would. He needed comfort, but I needed to calm my own turbulent thoughts. “I need to get some sleep.”

He nodded ever so slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, before finally releasing me. The warmth of his grip slipped away, leaving me feeling hollow for a second. I walked toward the wet mat, grabbing the towel that hung on the wall, preparing to leave the pool and head to the locker room when I heard his voice call my name again.

“Hmm?” I called, surprised by the soft note in his voice. I turned back, still rubbing the towel through my wet hair, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you have a mate?”

The question hit me like a splash of cold water. It left me blinking, caught completely off guard. “I—do I have a what?”

His massive figure loomed there, suddenly seeming so small in the vast space of the pool. His head dipped as if to hide the uncertainty on his face. “Are—are you spoken for?” he asked again, his tone now tinged with a kind of nervousness I hadn’t expected from him.

The silence between us deepened, stretching long and heavy, as my mind tried to wrap around the weight of his words. He was asking if I had a partner. If I was dating anyone. My breath caught. Why would he want to know this? I felt the heat of a thousand questions rise to my lips, but none of them felt right.

Before I could speak, Arthur muttered something under his breath, and in that moment, his voice cracked just slightly, like a raw edge exposed. “Forget it.”

With a swift, graceful movement, he slipped back beneath the water, vanishing from sight.

No, I don’t.

The words hovered on the tip of my tongue as I stared at the spot where he had disappeared. The urge to reach out, to tell him that no, I wasn’t spoken for, that there was nothing tying me to anyone else, was almost overpowering. But I stood there, feeling my heart pounding in my chest, watching the water ripple in his wake.

I couldn’t chase him. 

Not yet.

AN: I love this silly little sea boy. Next chapter is gonna include his pov because I feel like everyone deserves to know what's going through his head right now. Poor thing is so horny and scared, and you know what, me too Arthur. Me too.

I'm blown away by the love and feedback I've received for this so far. I genuinely though this would be something that stayed hidden in the deep dark caves of the fandom ocean. But here we are, thank you so so much for reading. It warms my little monsterfucker heart <3

[flymetothexmoon]

Ties + Hidden Gazes

Part Two

Warnings: Shockingly, none really. Angst turned to minor feelings of extreme emotions. Happy ?? Good ?? Bad ?? Read and find out~

Pairing: Seunghyun xF!Reader

Authors Note: I was most def not prepared to write three Seunghyun xF!Reader fics back to back but thank you to everyone who voted in my poll and asked for part two 🤍 enjoy !

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"I've always loved you."

The last four words that Seunghyun ever said to you before he took off. He did not know where his feet were taking him, but he ran off– he left the party you two were attending without saying goodbye to a soul, including you, the woman he'd loved for the last twelve years of his life.

It happened so quickly that he knew by the time you'd open your eyes, he would not be there, and for the first time in over a decade, you would not have to worry about him being the greatest burden love of your life.

Seunghyun knew it was not going to be easy. For better or for worse, you two had been the most consistent people in each other's lives. It was definitely going to be a change the both of you would have to get use to he thought. He'd ran away from people before, he'd even ran away from the brothers he'd known for more than half of his life, all he'd ever done in the amount of time he has known you was bring you down.

Wrong.

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

Four months had passed.

Four months had passed since Seunghyun last saw you and the two of you were having a silly disagreement about what constellation was visible in the night sky. The more Seunghyun thought about that night, his chest would tighten and his lips would push together, thinking hard about some of the things he'd said to you and some of the things you'd said to him. To say a lot happened that night was an understatement.

During those four months, Seunghyun had bleached his hair again. It was not the man's first time sporting lighter colored locks, but it been a few years, and honestly he was embracing the change and feeling more confident; his drinking had slowed down and the amount of cigarettes he'd smoke in a day was cut in half. He had even done the one thing that he swore no matter how bad it got he would never do, and started to attend therapy.

It was a random Tuesday afternoon when the two of you would bump into each other again. For a city so big it seemed to swallow you both whole, and despite having a similar friend group, you went a pretty good bit without having any awkward run in's until today. Seunghyun would be coming back from therapy and you would be coming back back from a dreadful first date.

Seunghyun would not be able to get the idea of you out of his head as the outfit you where wearing painted images in his head better than any artwork he'd seen recently; maybe it was the way your dark jeans had holes exposing your knees, a body part he'd never explored before, or maybe it was the way your oversized denim top came down to your hips, Seunghyun's favorite part of you.

Here you were and there he was, both of you silently waiting on the other to break the silence, something the two of you never really had a problem with before.

You two were not even scorned lovers, it should not feel this way, or feel this awful.

But it did.

"Hello Seunghyun," your voice was quiet– like you were unsure if making the first move was what the taller man wanted.

He had reached behind his neck, tousling his hair a little as the two of you made eye contact rather than exchanging hidden gazes with each other. Seunghyun's heart hurt a lot more than he expected it to whenever he accepted the cruel fate that you two would eventually see each other again, as much as he would have like to run forever, he knew he would eventually need new running shoes and there you would be.

The two of you would agree that something felt different about this meeting, almost like it was a new meeting for the first time and you two did not have over ten years of memories together. It was not always bad between the two of you, neither of you could pinpoint what caused the constant nagging, but when it happened, that became both of your personalities and the two of you forgot what it was like to be human with each other.

Seunghyun stepped forward, closer to you.

"Hello. You look happier."

To anyone else, if someone had told them they looked happier, it would be an easy confidence boost, but when the now lighter haired man in front of you said those words to you, you knew Seunghyun well enough that it was his own demons speaking for him into believing people are better without him and justifying his actions of running away whenever things get serious or do not go his way.

Wrong.

Seunghyun meant it. You did look happier, and he could definitely feel that about you, and he secretly hoped you would be able to feel that about him too.

Your eyes narrowed as you really looked at him, trying to study what he had just said to you. All you could notice was that he was smiling when he said it, not a huge toothy grin that you would do as a child when getting candy as a reward, but a smile that would show off his bottom tooth he was self conscious about. You could not remember the last time Seunghyun smiled like that, let alone smiled like that with you.

Eventually you would smile back, nodding your head as your hands frilled out the bottom of the oversized denim top you were wearing, tilting your neck to the side as you did, the leather of the small choker you chose to wear that morning catching the sunlight; catching the eyes of the man in front of you.

Soft murmurs began to escape both of your lips as you shared what had happened in the four months you two had not seen each other. There was no venom laced with the words you two spoke against one another, and it felt real again, like you were two quote on quote normal people.

Seunghyun was engaging, and you were happy to really listen to what he was saying instead of trying to prove him wrong, and Seunghyun was happy to provide you information out of excitement instead of out trying to prove how smart he was.

The two of you started to feel comfortable with each other again, a feeling that you had not felt around one another in quite some time. The taller man even told you about how he was doing, how he was going to therapy.

Instinctively, you grabbed his hand, your thumb gently gracing against knuckle like a lost lover would.

"That's great, Seunghyun. I am really glad to hear you are getting help."

Getting help.

Seunghyun could feel his insides burn at the sound of your remark and it pierced his heart so strong he felt like his chest pull forward, the sensation causing him to move his neck from side to side a few times, earning a hushed popping noise to come from his body.

You had not even realized that your hand was still holding his as you quickly let go, stepping back from him the tiniest bit. Your mind raced back to when Seunghyun told he always listening, and that he always listened to you and the people you were with while knowing each other. You did not quite understand at the time what he meant, but it had registered now, now that your hand had held his even for a moment.

His eyes met yours again as he watched you step away from him, a small frown pushing his lips together in a way that made you almost want to reach for him again and apologize. You two had never crossed the line between friendship and whatever the hell it was whenever you two bickered. Your side of the friend group would say it was his way of flirting with you and Seunghyun's side of the friend group said it was your way of flirting with him.

The two of you fell silent as the world began to swallow you both again, the people around you still walking and living their own lives, the cherry blossoms on the trees were still blooming, and the scents of the food vendors were still floating in the air.

Seunghyun's heart did the little twitch thing again as he watched you mess with the bottom of your denim top again, trying to straighten something that could not be straightened anymore than it already was, your hands trembling to make it seem like you were struggling for something other than him to say something.

"I should not have ran away that night..."

Your world stopped. People had stopped walking, the cherry blossoms had stopped growing, and the smell of food had drifted toward the river in the opposite direction. You wanted to agree with him, you wanted him to know what it did to you, how you spent the last four months wondering how long the line was that you crossed, and how broken it made you feel when you saw him go.

But you couldn't.

Because that was not how you and Seunghyun were. Even though he'd been going to therapy, and you had time to think about how completely in love with him you were, it was not enough– it probably never would be and you had to accept that.

You would never be enough.

Little did you know, Seunghyun also thought he would be enough. His therapist had even tried exercises to potentially help strengthen the way his brain worked, and he would lie and say they were working, but they never would. His mind began to race about when you told him he was not destined to be sad all the time and that everyone was always sad.

The silence loomed over you two like a storm cloud that was waiting for just the right amount of wind before it would begin to fall.

You felt it, and before you had an opportunity to talk your brain out of it, the words fell from your effortlessly and somehow with all the effort in the world.

"So why did you?"

Seunghyun's breath hitched so hard you could feel how your words affected him.

"I—"

He had tried to speak, but could only get out one syllable before looking down, his mind starting to spiral, his own hands starting to tremble as he dug deep into his pants pocket, looking deep for a cigarette as his hand came back up empty.

A murmured curse word left his lips you watched Seunghyun have a quiet anxiety fit in real time. His former band mates had warned you how he gets when he's anxious, but in all the times you two had ever spit fire with each other he was always the overly confident one.

It was your turn to feel your heart do the little twitch thing as you did not know what to do. You could barely bring yourself back up when you were feeling like this, so how were you suppose to help Seunghyun?

You stepped forward again, a small frown tugging at your lips as you reached for him, grabbing the same hand you grabbed earlier.

"You do not have to tell me,"

As much as you wanted him to, you wanted him to make it right, but that was selfish, and deep down you both knew it.

Finally, the lighter haired man looked up; his eyes locking onto yours like he had the dart in hand and your eyes were the bullseye.

You waited in silence to see what he would do, what he would say.

Just as quick as he had looked at you, his hands cupped your face, causing you to stumble at the contact.

Your lips opened to say something, say anything, but before you could...

Smack.

Seunghyun's lips were on yours.

An inner instinct, an inner feeling kicked in that you had never felt before when you were around him– desire.

His lips tasted like chapstick, and not the cheap kind you'd pick up at the gas station during a road trip, but the expensive kind you'd get tiny samples of from the makeup store as a free sample. His tongue did not hesitate at finding its way deeper in your mouth as it played with yours, your body just barely reacting, but a twitch in your bones still make you realize what was happened.

Seunghyun felt your bones rattle as he pulled away from you, nesting his forehead against yours as he still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your facial structure, almost like he was trying to remember what it felt like so he could think about it later, the faintest of smiles spreading across his lips as he spoke, unsure of really how to comprehend what just happened.

"Hidden gazes are only ever fun when they are hidden."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[bookfanatic06]

I haven’t written anything in over a decade, but this head canon just won’t go away. I’ve often wondered if the idea of “like calls to like” will be prevalent in Elriel’s book like in all the others. I really feel like Elain is hiding some deep shit that just can’t be ignored. This piece is really what I think could happen if Elain deep down shares Azriel’s penchant for self loathing and low self esteem. She gets so much crap from the fandom for being boring, I really see her surprising us with some darker personality traits.

Also, my favorite thing about this other than the Elriel fluff is Nesta. I wanted to see her and Elain making up after the events of ACOSF on page. I didn’t hate Nesta, just thought she treated my baby El poorly.

I’m not sure if I’ll write more to this, or if it’s going to stay a one shot. I’m also not sure if I’m ready to post to AO3. I’m a mom with 3 kids and a full time teaching gig. I’m not sure I have it in me.

So here is my first shot at writing Elriel.

Unworthy

Words: 5112

Angst/Romance

Pairings: Major: Elain Archeron/Azriel,

Minor: Feyre/Rhysand, Cassian/Nesta, Varian/Amren

———————

Remember who you are, Kingslayer.

She breathes to herself as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, plastering on the smile she knows her family would never second guess. Perfected so much over the years in her mother’s keep, as she was taught to never reveal her true emotions, to never let anyone see the heartbreak, the pain of unworthiness embedded in her very soul.

The dreams plaguing her at the moment, the ones that increase with the unyielding torrent of emotions swirling in her mind, are of her family having lost their use of her. That she has become a burden that they can cast aside so needlessly. So she sits at the mirror and contemplates how to be helpful. She’ll practice those new recipes that she received from that fae female at the market. She’ll make the gardens of Velaris so beautiful, people will ask for her. She’ll care for Nyx when his parents need a break.

But still, she feels the hole in her chest and wonders if it’ll be enough. Will she forever be cast aside or passed over in favor of her sisters because of their far more important accomplishments?

What exactly has she accomplished?

I killed the King of Hybern. She whispers so that only the shadows can hear. Not Nesta, as all of Prythian seemed to believe. She knows she pushed that knife into his throat, she still dreams about it; still feels the hilt of the blade in her hands. Even the shadows, the ones that she felt the comforting presence of for so long, have gone quiet since solstice.

She knows that her sisters are magnificent. That they both have earned their right to voice their opinions and be cherished in this world. Feyre, the High Lady that the Night Court deserves, and Nesta, the warrior she was always meant to be. But Elain, she carries the weight of unworthiness everywhere she goes. She wasn’t born to lead, she wasn’t born to be a warrior. She was born with a gentle heart, with a delicate resolve. But a will of iron.

You shoved that knife into his neck. You aren’t as gentle as you believe yourself to be.

She’s intimately familiar with self loathing by now. It curls around her like the vines that wrap around the fortress of her mind. But that voice, the voice that is hers, but much more confidently so, tries to remind her of what she has to offer. Her heart breaks as the self loathing pushes through whispers, “He doesn’t want someone who is brittle and weak. He wants someone courageous, someone with fire in their heart, someone like…”

Mor.

Despite the months that have passed since she found herself alone in the foyer in the early morning hours of Winter Solstice, she is still tortured by the thought that even her dearest friend, or whom she believed him to be, had been repulsed by her meritless existence. The pain of that night has yet to ebb, and she wonders if, at some point in her immortal life, it ever will.

She huffs a breath and stands from her vanity, moving to open the door and walk into the hallway, that gentle but false smile she’s perfected on her face.

As she reaches the kitchen, she is surprised to find Feyre, eyes clouded with sleep, hair poking out of the halfhearted braid she probably threw together before bed the previous night, holding a bottle to Nyx’s whimpering mouth.

“I think he’s starting to teethe. He’s been like this all night.” Feyre’s eyes flicker to Elain quickly before resting on her son’s mouth as it attaches to the bottle and then detaches with a small wail. Elain opens her arms, a silent request to take over – and make herself useful.

“I’ll take him, you go get some sleep.” She says gently, taking the babe into her arms. Feyre gives her a tired smile.

“Rhys and I are so lucky to have you here with us, El.”

Elain’s false smile returns to her features, and before she can give herself away, she shoos her sister out of the kitchen to take over as Nyx’s caregiver. She cradles her nephew to her, his chest to her own, rubbing circles on his back, between his little wings as she’s watched her sister and Rhys do time and time again. For a moment, the hole in her heart fills with the love she has for the babe in her arms. It doesn’t escape her, that if her life hadn’t so explicitly changed thanks to the betrayal that left her at the mercy of The Cauldron, she would probably have a babe of her very own by now. THAT thought doesn’t hurt as much as she thinks it should.

Because a child with Grayson would have been a monumental mistake.

The thought is gone as fast as it had come. That’s one part of her life that she is resolute in. Being Grayson’s wife, the mother to his brood, would NOT have been a step up from her current existence. She’s not sure how she knows that, perhaps from watching how Feyre and Nesta are treated by their mates. The unmatched adoration, the passion between the mates that she can sense from the couples as she plays the fifth wheel.

Why don’t I feel that way towards my own?

It’s not lost on her that she covets the bond her sisters have with their mates; what it must feel like knowing that your mate would give their very lives for your happiness. Her and her mate can barely be in the same room as each other, the bond an uncomfortable tether pulling at her rib.

She had once asked how it felt for her sisters, to see if the bond was true…

“It’s a blossoming warmth in my chest. The pull to Rhys is oftentimes so strong that I can't imagine my life before him.” Feyre had told her.

Her and her mate definitely could not relate.

But that warmth, she could have sworn she felt it before. When three fae males had walked into her home in the humanlands, and she had chanced a glance into the hazel eyes of the fae male with sapphire gems on his leathers. His gaze had caused her breath to catch, and every once in a while, when the war was over and she would be in his presence again, she would find herself looking into those eyes and she could almost feel the ghost of that warmth in her chest. Her breath would catch every time.

That hole was deep and chilled now.

The circles she’s been rubbing on her nephew’s back have quieted his little whimpers and he’s quiet on her chest as she moves to the window overlooking the gardens she’s cared for all these months. The gardens bloom in the vibrant colors of late spring. In her angst, she just wishes that the loveliness of the flowers she’s cultivated filled that hole in her chest that she so achingly wants to forget. An ache that, for the moment, her nephew in her arms has dulled significantly.

“Little one, you hold my heart in your hands.” She whispers as she kisses the thick black hair on his tiny head. At two months old, Nyx is the splitting image of his father, with Feyre’s temper to boot.

She sways back and forth, Nyx a solid presence, a weight holding her down to this earth. She almost misses the sound of the front door opening, but turns just in time to see the eyes of the male who still so captivated her thoughts.

No words are exchanged but he sends her a quick nod of acknowledgement as her own eyes quickly return to her nephew’s sleeping form. Her heart thundering in her empty chest. Before she can return her gaze to where the male stood, he is gone. Leaving her alone with that chasm in-between her ribs. The feeling of unworthiness crawling back into her thoughts.

He’s too good for me anyway.

She walks silently to the nursery, opting to place Nyx in his crib to attempt to get some breakfast prepared. She leaves the door slightly ajar, in case he awakens while she is cooking in the kitchen. Her fae hearing attuned to his little cries.

In the kitchen, she washes her hands and pulls out what is necessary for a quick meal. Bacon, eggs, some leftover scones from the pantry that she can reheat for her family to enjoy. She’s startled when Rhys and his companion walk briskly down the hall and through the foyer to the front door. Their voices quiet but unmistakable.

“All I need is 24 hours of rest and then I can head back down into the tunnels.” his deep tenor voice feels like a balm to her aching chest.

“Take the week, you look like you haven’t slept in months.” A pause and a sigh.

“I can always count on you for a confidence boost, Rhys.” She can feel the small smile gracing his lips as he speaks with his brother.

“I’m serious, Az. You’re no good to us if you’re dead on your feet. Take the week. Clean yourself up, eat a few hot meals, and sleep.” She wonders if this pause after Rhys speaks is meant to last as long as it does in her mind.

“Okay.” It’s breathless, and she can feel the exhaustion behind every syllable.

“Come to the kitchen. I’m sure Elain is whipping up something for breakfast. It’ll do you well to get something into your stomach.” She bites her lip at the invitation. He hasn’t had a meal in her presence in months, since before Nyx’s arrival, possibly not since Winter Solstice, but she’s unable to remember.

Elain straightens her spine, contemplating whether she should look in the pantry for some potatoes to add to her small spread. Her thoughts are interrupted by his forlorn response.

“I should really get back to the House of Wind, Nesta and Cassian are waiting for me.” An obvious lie and she feels like the remnants of her heart have turned liquid and puddled on the floor.

“Ask the House to make you something nice.” Rhys’ voice takes on a worried tone.

“I will.”

She holds back the tears threatening to spill as she hears his boots take him to the door and then outside. The heartbreak is still as tangible as it was months ago.

If Rhys notices the silver in her eyes when he strides into the kitchen, he doesn’t mention it. Just kisses her sweetly on the cheek and smiles,

“Good morning, Dear Sister.”

—————-

It’s a few nights later, while her family, sans Mor and Amren, sits at the dinner table eating the roast and potatoes she and the twins had been slow cooking over the course of the day, that Nesta looks at the empty chair across the table and says with worry gracing her normally icy gaze, “when are you going to start ordering Azriel to attend family dinners?”

Cassian places a hand on her knee as if to say NOT NOW.

She shrugs him off. Giving him that icy stare that’s become her calling card, “He’s a shell of himself. Even more closed off and broody than ever. He crawls around those tunnels and pokes his head out for a day or two and then heads right back in. The bags under his eyes are darker than yours” she points at Rhys. “And he doesn’t have a newborn to account for it.”

Elain sits up at that, heart sputtering as if she can feel him. As if she can feel the darkness pulling him under.

Maybe she can.

“I’m worried. Cassian is too; he’s just too stubborn to admit it. Az is working himself to death.” Elain puts a hand to her chest, as if that hand could hold her heart into place.

“Az is working very hard to get the answers we need about the Daglan and protect all of us, Nesta.” Feyre states gently, holding Nesta’s gaze as they narrow.

“But he shouldn’t HAVE to. We could rotate duties. We can go down there for a few days and let him rest.”

“This is what he wants, Nesta. He’s volunteered.” Rhys’ response is like an ash arrow to her gut.

“And why would he volunteer to do this assignment and be away from his family for so long if he was genuinely happy, Rhysand?” The room falls silent and the remnants of the meal she’s so thoughtfully made is ash on her tongue.

He’s not happy. That word, once vocalized, is hard for her to break from her thoughts. Azriel is unhappy.

It's her fault.

She grips the fork in her hand so tight the metal bends. It’s her fault because she read his intentions wrong on solstice. He is avoiding their family because she made things so awkward between them that he can’t bear to be in the same room as her. Nesta glances at her direction as if she can sense that feeling of worthlessness creeping into Elain’s body. Before Nesta can say anything, Cassian places his hand in hers.

“You’re right, Nes. We need to find out what’s going on with Az. I’ll ask Mor to visit him and get him to work through it. If anyone can get through to him, it’s Mor.”

And there was that feeling again. The feeling of a heart shattering, her lungs struggling to expand as her friends begin to plan for the intervention of the male who she so loved, even if he wanted nothing to do with her.

———————

Azriel was many things, within the last year or so, he’d resolved to adding foolish to his attributes. Foolish for thinking that he could be loved for the male he was, foolish for thinking he had any right to the happiness he saw in the faces of his brothers, and foolish to think that he could be hers.

It plagued him daily, the pull to a female that belonged to another. That he was not deemed worthy by the Cauldron of the female that held his heart, but that one of the sons of Autumn was.

She belongs to no one but herself. His shadows, his only companions, whisper.

It was a small mercy that she seemed as uninterested in her mate as her mate is with her. That she was once so willing to spend time with him despite being mated to someone else. That she was once happy to be his friend.

And now, they were nothing.

That thought buried deep inside of him, burrowed into his bones and tore through his limbs.

So he cut himself out of her world. He threw himself into his work. He trudged through the tunnels under the Night Court and pretended that he was keeping his family safe from the Daglan, when in reality, he was avoiding them.

It was another grueling pass through the tunnels. His eyes slowly adjusting from the change in light when he stepped out of the dark and into the quiet grasses surrounding the opening to the tunnels that have become his tomb. He had promised to wait a week to return to his work, but the ache in his chest had him packed and ready to continue his mission only 3 days after his last excursion. After a week of fighting through the tunnels, sliding Truthteller through the folds of the various beasts that inhabited the chasms below, his exhaustion was threatening to take his knees out from under him.

So he gathered what little strength he had left, and flew himself to the House of Wind.

And it was a mistake.

Nesta stood in the middle of the training pit, arms crossed. The rest of the priestesses were long gone by the early-afternoon. Precisely why he had chosen this time to fly back to the house, a feeble attempt to hide from everyone. He landed with a little less grace than intended, and as he took a glance at Nesta, he could have sworn that the silver flames that had been given back to The Cauldron to save her sister were still present in her eyes as she stared back at him disapprovingly.

“So you’re volunteering for these tunnel missions, huh?”

Azriel sighed. He learned long ago that arguing with Nesta was futile, that she would never let him go without a word.

“My schedule is open.” He shrugged absently.

“The hels it is, Az!” She bellowed, looking him up and down for a sign of…what exactly?

“Are you hurt?” She asked, this time with a gentleness not many would associate with the accomplished warrior, Lady Death.

“I’m fine.”

She continued to observe him, not completely believing he was all well and good. She noted his tired eyes, his rigid shoulders.

“What’s going on, Az? You’re like a ghost, never staying long enough to rest. Barely managing to function. This is so unlike you—-“ it pained him to interrupt, but the unworthiness creeped into his chest at her care for him.

“—this is me, Nes. It’s been me for 540 years. You’ve only glimpsed a small part of my life. I’ve always been like this.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” She says through her teeth, the frustration evident in her voice, in her posture. Azriel bows his head in a movement meant to placate the female before him. She sighs, and with a voice far calmer than she’s treated him with thus far speaks.

“She’s a ghost, too.”

He knows who she’s talking about immediately. And he dares not let her know that he’s affected by those words. He swallows the lump in his throat and moves to go around her. She stops him with her palm to his chest, right where his heart should be.

“I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but I know that the last time I’ve seen her smile, her real smile, was when you were the one to put it on her face.” The hole in his chest is infinitely bigger as Nesta moves her hand and places it gently on his arm.

“Be present, Az. We love you. She—loves you.”

Az is sure that Nesta means he is loved in a friendly way, but the idea of being loved by Elain Archeron makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He nods his head, words failing him.

“Everyone is coming here for dinner tonight.” Nesta states firmly. “Get cleaned up and meet us in the dining room at 5.” She shuffles past him to reach the door to the house and smiles mischievously at him behind her.

There’s no hiding from them now. Nesta will hunt him down until he appears. So he plans to arrive for dinner even as his brain tells him to run.

——————

Elain stares at her sister as she repeats the itinerary for the day, eyes wide as she questions Feyre over the plan to “meet Nesta and Cassian at the House for dinner.”

Elain is confused. Never has Nesta invited them to the House for dinner. Tea, on occasion. Training, frequently. Never dinner.

“What’s the occasion?” She asks, trying not to let her nerves show.

“She just misses us.” Feyre smiles, and although Elain is suspicious, she gives her little sister a genuine smile.

“Sounds delightful.”

And if her nerves intensify as her sister’s mate puts her down gently on the balcony of the House of Wind a few hours later, she doesn’t let it show, because she can absolutely scent the one person she is anxious to see the most.

Azriel is here.

And it takes all of her mother’s etiquette training to hold her head up high and enter the dining room to see his gorgeous, but somber face. A face she’s conflicted to commit to memory. He looks so tired, she muses. And despite the ache in her chest, the unworthiness that her mind flashes into her skull, seeing him is like breathing air after drowning, and she can’t look away.

Dinner commences and for the first time in months, the smile on her face is real. Everyone she loves is at the table, Mor and Feyre chatting animatedly with each other. Amren, Rhys, and Varian are lost in their own conversation about the Summer Court. Elain chances a look at the glorious Shadowsinger across from her. He’s impressive as usual, but she notes that his shadows are moving lithe around him, as if they are also exhausted from his travels. His eyes meet hers, and that warmth in her chest that only he can provide blossoms under his gaze. And she smiles, for real, and she thinks she sees the corner of his own mouth move up slightly.

It’s only when the meal is done and the House takes the dishes away that Rhys and Feyre take Nyx home to bed. Amren and Varian go back to Amren’s apartment, and Azriel excuses himself to finally get some rest. The rest of the family moves to the sitting room to continue to chat and Elain sits with them, appearing to listen to their conversation, but barely hearing what is being said. Her thoughts are helplessly on the male asleep somewhere in this house.

“Elain, would you like to stay here tonight?” Nesta asks with a beautiful smile on her face that captures Elain’s attention. She points a finger at her mate and says, “It’s easier for this old man to fly in the daytime. His eyesight is going poorly, and Mor is too drunk to take herself home, let alone you.” Nesta nods her head towards the beautiful blonde already falling asleep on the sofa across from her. Cassian scoffs.

“539 is NOT old.” He crows indignantly. The sisters erupt into laughter but Elain can’t help but think that her sister is only asking for her to stay because it’ll make things easier, and not because she wants her there. As the others begin to move towards their bedrooms, Nesta stops Elain with a gentle hand on her arm.

“I know I haven’t been the kind of sister you deserve, Elain. I want to make that up to you. I want to have breakfast with you tomorrow. I want to sit and talk to you about your life. I want to show you that I’m trying, that I’m here for you.” Elain’s chest expands with hope and a love she can only have for Nesta.

“I would like that very much.” She smiles. And Nesta offers to show her her bedroom for the night. The two walk arm in arm as they move through the house until they come upon the door of a room at the far end of the hallway. The room she’s given is warm and inviting, with a giant bed covered in lilac sheets. There’s a fireplace in the corner that is not in use due to the late spring warmth, but the double doors opening to the balcony overlooking Velaris is the crowning feature. She bids Nesta goodnight, with a promise to meet in the dining room for breakfast, and immediately heads for the balcony after Nesta shuts the bedroom door behind her.

What Elain doesn’t expect, is to end up sharing a balcony with the Shadowsinger himself.

And it appears he’s just as surprised as she is.

“H—hi” she breathes. Taking in his tall form in the shadows of the night. He’s seated on the edge of the balcony’s railing, one leg hanging over the edge while the knee of his other leg is bent for balance on the railing. His glorious wings are tight against his back, the bottoms on either side of the balcony. His hazel eyes, the ones that torment her in her dreams, are wide.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you— or anyone, would be here—on the balcony, I mean.” She stammers as she looks down at her feet in embarrassment. He’s still quiet in front of her, and she curses the fact that the Cauldron didn’t boil her alive when it had the chance.

“I—I’ll just go…” she says and begins to move. She’s vaguely aware of him sitting up straighter than before.

“No, please— don’t.” His deep voice is a whisper that her fae ears only hear because she’s desperate to hear his voice again. She wouldn’t miss his first words to her in months for anything in this world. She swallows, unsure of how to proceed. Any courage she might have deep within her, sputtering.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He says louder, with conviction, and that hole in her chest feels the fullest it’s been in months.

“I don’t want to leave, either.” She says confidently. Her courage soars with the vibrancy of his words.

“I miss you.” He adds gently, finally meeting her gaze, and she’s at a loss. This male who has captivated her body and spirit for years now. Whom she thought was angry with her. Who walked away from her on solstice and didn’t look back.

“Then why?” She whispers back, a silver tear escaping and trailing down her pale cheek. The question is open ended, but he knows what she means.

“Because I am unworthy of you.” He admits. The self loathing in his voice matches her own every time she thinks about him.

“Of course you are. If anything, I am unworthy of you.”

“Never.” He replies instantly, but she waves him off. Moving to his side, eyes peering at his form under the stars, tears falling down both cheeks now.

“You are kind, Azriel. You are gentle, and you are courageous. You’ve fought on the battlefield, and you protect the people of this court, of this family. I bake bread, watch Nyx, and plant seeds in the garden. You deserve so much more than I can offer you.”

The air between them crackles with the intensity of his gaze. He moves, and before she can loose a breath, his scarred hands are wiping the tears from her skin.

“How can you not see how incredible you are, Elain?” He speaks softly, rubbing his fingers back and forth over her cheeks. “You put the needs of others in front of your own. You bake bread, watch Nyx, and build gardens to bring comfort and beauty to those around you. In a world of war and bloodshed, you are reminder that there are things out there so beautiful it’s worth fighting for.” She gasps at the depth of his stare. “You are everything I could ever hope for, but I can’t have you.” The words he’s spoken break something within her. Her hands land on his own on her cheeks, and she uses them to push his away, to push him away. Confusion gracing her features.

“And why can’t you have me? Why have you shut me out all of these months?”

He thinks carefully at how to respond. It’s in his best interest to lie, the rage in her beautiful brown eyes cuts him further than any blade and he pauses for a moment.

Rhys will mist him for revealing the truth. He’s disobeying his order right now, just being alone with the female that possesses his heart and soul. But he finds that lying to her is impossible. That he would rather be misted than lie to the female before him.

“Because I have been ordered to stay away from you.” He says with deep remorse.

The earth ceases to rotate for Elain. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She stares in horror and Azriel wonders if he’s made a grave mistake.

“Rhys?” She whispers. He nods.

“But—why?” The devastation in her voice is palpable, and he wants nothing more than to fly to the river house, despite his exhaustion, and hit his brother in his pretty face.

“You have a mate, Elain.” She scoffs. Ready to deny such a thing. He weighs his words carefully before he continues. “Our—involvement could have severe consequences for the Night Court.”

“What consequences?” She asks, in an eerily calm voice that he doesn’t recognize. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for her ire.

“The Autumn Court has an archaic tradition that allows for a mate to call for a blood duel against any male that threatens his mating bond. Lucien or Beron have the right to challenge me to that blood duel if you and I—“

Elain looks up into his eyes, horrified at the realization that this is what is keeping them apart.

“—but I would fight for you. Rhys knows it. And I would win, because there would be no chance in this lifetime that I would give up a life with you if I had the choice. But if I were to kill Lucien in a blood duel—“ he pauses. “Beron can enact revenge by calling for war against the Night Court.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Her chest, that was finally full only recently, is hollowed out and bleeding down to her toes. Rhys has deemed them unworthy of each other. Have deemed them unworthy of his protection. Unworthy of the Night Court’s protection. She steps forward, so that her breath mixes with his. He’s stunned for a moment, peering down into her face, determination and understanding amongst the many emotions crossing her features.

“I would rather have you in secret, than not at all.” She says so quietly that only the two of them can hear and places her hand on his chest where his heart beats against it. He’s dumbfounded for a moment.

She’s choosing him?

“Are you sure?” He whispers just as quietly, so that only her and the Mother can hear him.

“Yes.”

The word is barely out of her mouth when his lips meet hers in a kiss that stops the world around them. It’s soft and gentle, just like they are, but Elain swears that this feeling in her chest, at finally tasting the male of her dreams, is the same one her sisters have so lovingly described about their mates.

How can this not be it? They both muse to themselves.

His lips move slowly against her own, savoring her taste, committing it to memory. She has chosen him. She is willing to risk war and their family’s loyalty for him. He will never understand why, but he’s too far gone to talk her out of it.

They stay on the balcony until the early morning hours, touching, tasting, and chasing away the demon of unworthiness inside of each other. Because even if their family or the Night Court didn’t need them, they found out that night that they needed each other.

Fin (or is it?)

[solarhysm]

THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE | PARK JIMIN

one shot

> summary: you lost the love of your life, but you will forever be his.

> pairing: jimin x reader (+taehyung)

> genre: angst

> warnings: death, mention of blood, grief, accident, swearing (i'm not good with warning)

> word count: 2k

read it with 'The Night We Met' by Lord Huron xx

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

You giggle, pushing him away when his fingers tickle your bare ribs. A soft smile spreads across his lips as he props himself up on his shoulder to look at you.

“What?” you ask softly, using your arm as a pillow, your eyes never leaving his.

“How long do you think we’ll live together?” he whispers, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek.

“I don’t know. We’re in our twenties. Maybe fifty more years,” you reply, tracing the plump curve of his lips with your thumb.

Jimin leans his face into your palm, closing his eyes slowly. You’ve been together for almost a decade now. You met him at a party when you were twenty, and now you’re almost thirty. You’ve built a life together and even plan to have a baby in a few years.

“Nah, I want us to live until we’re over a hundred years old,” he grins, and you huff playfully.

“People that age don’t even remember their own names,” you laugh, mirroring his position.

You’re both lying in bed, still riding the high of the orgasm you had a few minutes ago. Pillow talk is your favorite part—both of you could spend hours lying on the mattress, talking about everything. Jimin loves to touch you; his hands are never far from your skin during these moments.

“I’ll remember yours,” he adds sincerely. Your eyes soften at his words, and you lean in to kiss his lips. He slowly deepens the kiss, making you smile against his mouth as he rolls on top of you.

Adoration. That’s what you feel for this man. He is the love of your life.

Was. He was the love of your life.

Your eyes never leave the metal coffin as it disappears into the incinerator. Your brain can’t process that he’s really gone. Your shaky hands tighten around the picture frame with his smiling face. How are you supposed to live without him now? How are you supposed to breathe without your lungs?

From the moment you got the call until now, you’ve dissociated. It’s just a bad dream—a nightmare. Any moment now, you’ll wake up and he’ll be beside you, comforting you in his arms, pulling you against his chest so you can find refuge in his warmth.

Swallowing hard, you remain standing in front of the glass wall. Half of the people have already left. Most of them didn’t know him the way you did. His mother is sitting on the bench behind you, silently sobbing. You wish you could comfort her, but Jimin was the one who was good at that—drying people’s tears and making them feel better. It was a gift he had. You wish you could enjoy that warmth it right now. But no. He’s in there, burning like a fucking steak on a grill.

What now? How are you supposed to learn to live without him? He’s everywhere in the house you bought together. His scent, his toothbrush on the sink, his side of the bed. His clothes are still on the couch, where you repeatedly told him to put them in the laundry basket. You always complained about it. Now, all you want is to see him throw them there after a long day at work.

“Are you okay?” you hear Taehyung ask next to you, his hand resting on the small of your back.

Am I, Taehyung? you want to snap, but no words come out. You know he’s just worried—he’s grieving too. He lost his best friend.

“Let’s go eat something,” he says softly, but you don’t move. You know you should. Everyone is in the next room, eating, drinking, talking. You hate it. Why aren’t they mourning him? Why are they all getting drunk while he’s in there?

But you know it would be disrespectful not to join them. Jimin would be upset if you stayed here alone, and his friends know that too. You turn to look at them, all waiting for you, while half the people here have already gone to the ‘goodbye gathering.’ His six closest friends close the distance between you.

And when you swore you weren’t going to cry again, they wrap you in a group hug. The tears fall uncontrollably as you break down into a crying mess. You hate them for it. You hate the world for taking away the only good thing you ever had. They hold you until your sobs fade.

“Come on, Y/N,” Hobi whispers when they step back. You wipe your wet cheeks and take a deep breath before nodding.

The boys sit you down at a table away from the others. They know you didn’t want to socialize—not when most people here didn’t even know his favorite food or how his laugh could light up a whole room.

“He didn’t even know half of these people,” Yoongi mutters, like he’s reading your mind. “Why are they even here?”

“They’re his parents’ close friends... and a few people he met before,” Namjoon explains as he pours you a glass of water.

“I didn’t know this was his parents’ funeral,” Yoongi retorts, rolling his eyes. Your lips twitch into a slight smile. You’re grateful for Yoongi’s sharp tongue.

You were against inviting so many people. You told his mother when she made the list. But she yelled at you, insisting it was her son’s funeral and she knew best. You stayed silent, too exhausted to argue. Jimin has…had only a few close people, and they’re all here, sitting with you.

“We’ll still be here, you know,” Namjoon says, placing his hand over yours and squeezing it gently. “For you.”

“I’m okay,” you reply quietly, your eyes falling to the glass of water in front of you.

Taehyung watches you, biting the inside of his cheek. You know they’re all worried that you might do something drastic. Maybe they’re not wrong. That’s why Taehyung suggested staying at your place a few days ago. It’s hard for him too, but you were half of Jimin’s soul. He can’t imagine what’s going on in your head.

You take a deep breath and wipe your sweaty hands on the yellow dress you’re wearing. It was Jimin’s favorite. You bought it online in a different color, but it arrived in this horrible yellow. Still, he made you try it on, and he loved it. You rarely wore it, only sometimes to make him smile, though he always complimented you for no reason.

It was hard to get out of bed today, let alone shower. When you saw that awful yellow dress, you started sobbing. You should have worn it more often. Now, wearing it helps you feel like he’s with you, in some way. It comforts you to think that he’d like the gesture—to see you one last time in his favorite dress.

You stayed longer after everyone else had gone. Taehyung sat beside you in silence. Your eyes couldn’t leave the picture surrounded by flowers. That’s all he is now—a frame. You close your eyes and exhale softly.

“Hi,” someone says, making you frown as you look up from your drink.

“Hi,” you reply to the guy smiling at you.

He looks nice. His hair is bleached, but somehow the blonde color suits him. The mysterious man wets his plump lips before sitting next to you.

“I’m Jimin,” he says with a smile, offering his hand. You shake it.

“Y/N.”

“I’m not a creep, I swear,” Jimin defends himself immediately, making you laugh. “I just… shit, I’m not good at this. I saw you sitting alone.”

“And you pity me because I look pathetic by myself?” you joke, and he shakes his head, eyes wide.

“No! I—I thought you were beautiful and I worked up all the courage I had to come talk to you. I didn’t want to miss my chance and regret it later,” he says, and you press your lips together, trying not to smile. “But if I’m bothering you, I’ll leave. I swear.”

“You’re not,” you reply, tilting your head toward him. It’s hard to believe someone like him would be interested in someone as boring as you.

“Awesome,” Jimin grins, turning more toward you. “What’s your poison? I’m paying.”

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s voice pulls you back to the present as you blink a few times before looking at him. “They’re closing. Let’s go home. You must be tired.”

Your eyes drift to Jimin’s picture for a few seconds. You take a deep breath and stand up. Taehyung walks over to the frame and picks it up. He offers you his arm as you step outside. It’s already dark. And cold. But you’re not surprised—it’s November. How many more Novembers will pass before the pain numbs, like your frozen fingers?

two months later

“Are you sure?” your friend asks, frowning as you stare at the streetlight surrounded by bouquets of flowers and notes through the car window.

“I need to,” you reply to Taehyung, and he nods, turning off the engine while you clutch your flowers to your chest.

It’s snowing outside. You hear the crunch of snow under your boots with every step you take. It’s been two and a half months since that day. Your bottom lip trembles as your eyes land on a picture of him with your mutual friends.

You were on the phone with him that night. He was telling you he was almost home, that he couldn’t wait to see you. He didn’t see the car. The drunk driver didn’t see him either. He left Jimin bleeding on the ground. How long was he there, alone? How long did he wait before someone found him? Why didn’t you stay on the phone with him?

You place the bouquet in the snow, biting the inside of your cheek. It’s still so fresh. Sometimes you wake up at night and call for him, like he just went to get a glass of water. But no one appears in the doorway. Just you, alone in the dark.

“Selfish,” you whisper, smiling softly as your fingers trace his face in the picture, the way they used to trace his lips. “You said we’d live until we turned a hundred.”

Taehyung stands behind you, pinching his lips together to keep from sobbing. He wants to stay strong for you, but this place makes him break down. He hides his face in his arm, but you can still hear him. You don’t turn to look. You know you’ll cry too.

And four more winters passed before you felt the warmth of spring. It was unexpected—it just happened. Two broken hearts coming together, fixing each other’s pieces. Jimin’s mother hated you for moving on from her son with his best friend. But Taehyung was the shoulder you cried on, and you were his. It was never the plan for either of you. He never saw you like that when you were with Jimin, and you never imagined him as a love interest. It took almost five years.

“I dreamed about him last night,” Taehyung says, and you freeze, the water still running, a dirty plate in your hand. He doesn’t need to say the name—you know. Jimin’s picture hangs in your living room, along with other memories of him around the house.

“Did he kick your ass?” you reply softly as you continue washing the dishes. Taehyung walks over, leaning his hip against the counter. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and stares at you.

“He said he would if I ever made you cry,” he replies, making you laugh. That sounds like him. “I told him he’s the one who made you cry the most, and he punched me.”

“You deserved that one.”

“Right. He said he’s glad it’s me and not some asshole… He said that you better live until you’re a hundred years old. I woke up and cried,” Taehyung adds, his voice shaky. You turn to him, your breath catching in your throat.

Wiping your hands on your jeans, you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him. Taehyung sighs softly, kissing the top of your head, his arms holding you close. You don’t really believe in things like this, but the way he described the dream… you know it’s his last goodbye.

Alright. I wrote it two days ago, i wanted it to be longer but i think i cried enough while writing it. It's my first one shot, but don't worry, i'll make happier stories in the future haha. tell me what you think about it, i can't wait to read your reactions!!

[simcardiac-arrested]

this is a magatama. it is basically a magic charm thingie that you get in the second game and it lets you see through people’s lies (to be more clear: it lets you know when a person is hiding information from you. there are still ways to get around the magatama though by telling half-truths which makes some of the cases in aa2 and aa3 really interesting!!!) and the way it works is that phoenix will see psyche locks AKA these things:

basically a visual representation of how hard the person is trying to hide their secret: if you get 1 psyche lock then they’re not rly trying, but if you get 5 (the maximum amount) that means they are veryyyyyy keen on Not Telling You Shit. you break these locks by presenting evidence to the character in question and revealing their secrets one by one (just like in the courtroom!) HOWEVER aa4 introduced a new type of psyche locks: black

now THESE bad boys represent a secret/information that a character is SUBCONSCIOUSLY hiding. they are not aware that they’re doing it! so it could be anything from a repressed traumatic event to something that the character themselves doesn’t even realize about, well, themselves. and i have not rly checked out aa5 but from what i understand you can’t actually break those locks with the usual method of presenting evidence and trying to catch the suspect on their lies: you could cause permanent emotional damage!! you could ruin your entire relationship and shit!!! AND you could do wacky shit to their brain!! cuz those are subconscious secrets!!!! so you have to go about a different way of opening black psyche locks. So yeah phoenix would have 20 i think

phoenix wright is like. he often gets overlooked in the games because well 1. he’s the main character in a huge cast of Bizarre Quirky characters and he’s usually seen as the straight man even though he is insane in his own way. But my point was 2. that main characters often get ignored in fandom in favor of the Cooler Side Characters like miles edgeworth because he has emo backstory. and look yeah the fans like to talk about phoenix’s crazy emo backstory too like how he was manipulated and ate glass. but like. look. look. (he is not making any sense) LOOK what i’m trying to get is that it’s SUCH a good use of the ‘main character gets overlooked’ phenomenon. because phoenix does the job HIMSELF of making himself less remarkable and noticeable. he wants to be normal. he needs to be normal. he never shares anything and he never opens up and he always thinks nobody should give a shit about him. so like. at first you might not even notice he’s Doing All That bc he’s the main character and you’re much more focused on how franziska has 92273837 untreated mental illnesses. but once you really look into his character you will see that there is also something deeply wrong with him. something is wrong with him and it is buried so so deep and i’m just saying i think if any of the characters ever got the magatama and asked phoenix anything about his life he would have 20 black psyche locks

< doesn't know what magatama is but understood the rest ofit

hell yeag dude, im so glad we're both completely 100% normal about this subject and not at all deranged about it

[emblazons]

Two days ago, I wrapped my final scene as Will Byers, and I’m feeling very emotional. As I close this chapter of my life, I can’t help but be forever grateful for the incredible people that I’ve met and valuable life/career lessons I learned through this decade journey. Here are the top 10 that I wanted to share with you: 1. The Duffer Brothers taught me that the creative process takes time and it's okay to be meticulous about creating perfect moments. 2. Shawn Levy taught me that sometimes, less is more. 3. The crew taught me that I can be professional while building genuine, family-like connections. 4. Finn taught me how to be constantly curious and appreciate what goes on behind the camera. 5. Winona sparked my love for film by introducing me to her favorite classics from movies like Terms of Endearment to Almost Famous. 6. Millie taught me to embrace my silliness and that life never should be taken too seriously. 7. Gaten taught me that it's cool to be a nerd, and to never be embarrassed by my love of learning. 8. Caleb taught me that being direct and communicating is necessary when something is on my mind. 9. Sadie taught me that even though we are getting older, it's important to embrace the child inside us and never let that go. 10. Charlie showed me that true masculinity is rooted in love, kindness, and gentle compassion. Growing up I always felt like an outcast, unsure of where I fit in. Navigating life in the spotlight while carrying this feeling, through every awkward phase and embarrassing moment exposed for the world to see, has definitely been an unusual experience. But l've been honored to share it with my incredible co-stars, who understand it in a way that no one else can. "Stranger Things" was more than a job; it was a lifelong dream. A dream made reality thanks to the Duffers. Thank you for taking a chance on me when I was just a 10 year old kid and entrusting me with something so important to you both. Together, this cast + crew has built something so very special, and I couldn't be any more excited for the world to see the final chapter. Stranger Things is a never ending story for me - it's in my heart forever. - via Noah Schnapp on Instagram