#(read found-family fanfic and cry)

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

I am unreasonably upset about the fact that I've been forced to accept that Gabriel was a Gerald.

For context, in An Inspector Calls, Gerald Croft is engaged to Sheila Birling when he meets a homeless, struggling Eva Smith in a bar, and essentially in return for a home and money he shows her affection (ahem), then gets rid of her once he no longer has a use for her. Now, obviously this isn't a direct translation, but the essentials are - a Gerald is a character who uses another character, in return for something they need, usually masking the fact that they're using them with affection and love.

And against my will I've had to accept that this is exactly what Gabriel does to Nathalie.

Did I want to think he had potential to be better? Did I think he genuinely cared for Nathalie?? Hell, did I just really really want somebody to care about Nathalie???

Probably all of the above but the point is: he's Gerald. And I cannot - I literally can't unsee it now. Their whole dynamic in S3 is like “oh boohoo I'm sorry I wish you didn't have to use the peacock Miraculous and kill yourself over it but uh I need to use your powers” “yeah no that's fine I'm all good”. Which, given the "Gerald" theorem, I'm assuming leads to the fact that what Nathalie needed, above all, was someone to care about her - and Gabriel came along, as Sheila Birling puts it, "like a fairytale prince", and was so caring and gentle and... Yeah. She fell for him. And. Yeah he genuinely did seem to care like twice. But so did Gerald. Gerald actually admits that he did care for Eva, just not the way that she cared for him, and, uh, not enough to not just dispose of her. So he discards her anyway when she stops being useful.

Leading me neatly to my point.

He starts using the peacock Miraculous the second it's fixed, the slimy bastard, HOWEVER. It runs way deeper than that. Assuming I'm right (which I almost DEFINITELY am), then Gabriel only needed Nathalie while she was useful. She didn't stop being useful in season three - she's still scheming for him, helping him with plan after plan. It's only partway through season 5 that she officially servers ties with him, and starts to actively hinder him.

Nathalie stops being useful when she fails as Safari. And I reckon that's when Gabriel and Tomoe decided she had to go.

(It's painfully, I-was-ugly-crying-over-it obvious in Conformation that Gabriel is fully prepared to let Nathalie die - in the original storyboard, her alliance was encouraging her to sleep, and he's very obviously prepared for this moment - I've made a separate post about it that I'll link if I can find it. However, onto the next bit)

With all of this, there's one thing that sticks out to me - Nathalie didn't see any of it until it was already too late. There could be many reasons for this. But you know who would have seen through it? Whose parents were all loving and perfect until she married the wrong man? Emilie. Emilie, who left behind those videos, which on the surface look innocent, but when you look deeper look like a (love confession???????) AHEM a warning. I reckon Emilie noticed what was going on and realised that Nathalie wouldn't see through Gabriel, so she left those videos addressed to Nathalie (not Gabriel, which surely they should have been - they were about him, after all - unless they were there...) as a warning. I don't think the videos were supposed to be about helping Gabriel, I think Emilie was warning Nathalie to get the fuck out of that house, and to take Adrien with her. Because Emilie knew it'd end like this.

Yes I'm still mad ok give me a break.

[steor-ra]

When I read those neglected reader in yandere batfam fanfics, I imagine reader dying and the family realize that reader dies without ever getting to experience warmth from your very own 'family'

Honestly, I wish reader will just die to those fics so the family gets the intense guilt.

I want their hearts to be shattered once they realize that they will never make up for all those neglect they've done.

I want them to cry their selves to sleep because they've lost the warmth they had finally found in reader and all has left was the cold, lifeless body they had caused because they couldn't save you in time.

I want them to work their asses hard with no any sleep and be focused on finding a way to get you alive and happy again.

I want them to cuddle your dead body and delude their selves that you were just sleeping and there is no need to worry because they will find a way to wake you up no matter what the consequences are.

I Want Angst that will stirr my insides not in a good way.

[yoonjae20]

Bruce is (secretly) married [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

I got sucked into the DPxDC crossover rabbit hole. I have read too many fanfics despite not knowing the source material.

I randomly got the idea of Bruce being secretly married and the Batfam finding out about it after Duke poses the question of why Bruce wears a ring. (Also how Danny's influence would have subtly changed things.)

Read this on ao3. Masterpost

Next.

Bruce had always worn the ring, long before Dick came around – at least that’s what the boy had told Jason when he asked about it. 

They had looked through the records one night – bonding over finding out when he started, but he had already worn the ring once the man returned from his seven year long  journey of training. The media had speculated it to be a family heirloom – either his father’s or mother’s wedding ring. Bruce neither confirmed or denied when they asked about it.  

The man never took it off, not even when he stalked the night as Batman and neither of them had been brave enough to ask about it, after they watched clips where the media asked and his Brucie mask slipped into something uncomfortably blank. 

Jason had quickly forgotten about it after Bruce had benched him from being Robin after Felipe Garzonasa’s death. He had been furious, questioning if Bruce didn’t believe him that he didn’t push the man.

“Of course I believe you, chum,” the man had said, but Jason didn’t trust the man’s words. “But you just saw a man die. That’s not something we should brush over.”

He had sent Jason to bed for the night, but the boy had sneaked out, believing Bruce to go back to patrol after dropping him off. He instead found him in his office, talking to someone on the phone.

“...You have better experience with stuff like this than me…” the man said. “Do you think I should have never given Jason Robin? I know Dick agreed, but…” Bruce trailed off and then paused to hear the other person’s response. “I know.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow about it. Are you still planning on visiting for the anniversary? I would appreciate if you tried talking to-”

Jason didn’t wait to listen for more. He knew it. Bruce was going to take Robin away from him. 

He remembered the picture he had found of his birth mother. He initially had wanted to tell Bruce to get his help to find her, but now he isn’t sure if it’s such a good idea. If the man was gonna take Robin away from him anyway, he didn’t want to be there for the moment. 

With that goal in mind, unbeknownst to Bruce, he disappeared that night, setting out to the Middle East to find his mother. 

Bruce finds his corpse several weeks later. Dick breaks down in space when he receives the call from Bruce. They attend the funeral together, neither of them talking about it, even years later.

Jason returns several years later, dead set on revenge on Joker and on Bruce for never avenging him. What he doesn’t expect is to stumble over a newspaper celebrating the anniversary of the Jason Scholarship Foundation along with pictures of his funeral, showcasing both Bruce and Dick crying. 

He never stumbles upon a memorial with his battered Robin suit and the description “Jason Todd, a Good Soldier” and beats Tim Drake, the third Robin half dead for replacing him. Instead he returns to the Manor, overwhelmed at Bruce’s breakdown and reaction. Red Hood debuts several months later – with the Bat symbol on his chest. They still have their conflicts, but Jason never has to fill a duffel bag full of heads for his debut. 

It’s only once Damian arrives, Cass becomes Bruce’s daughter and Duke his ward that the topic of the ring gets brought up again. It’s Duke who asks what they all have been thinking. 

“By the way, why does Bruce wear a ring?”

Finding no information online and not managing to get anything out of Alfred, they break into Bruce’s office while he’s on patrol getting distracted by Damian and Cass. It’s Tim who finds it, in a locked drawer, sealed carefully.

A marriage certificate. 

“Who the hell is Daniel Fenton?” Jason questions gruffly.

“My husband.”

Jason startles, turning to the doorway. Bruce is standing there, his arm crossed and he cringes at the displeased raise of Bruce’s right eyebrow. Behind him Cass shrugs at Tim’s questioning gaze while Damian clicks his tongue.

“Why haven’t we met him? And, wait, does Dick know about this?” Tim asks. 

Bruce lets out a deep sigh as he fiddles with the ring - the wedding ring. 

“Let’s go somewhere else for this.”

They all shuffle to one of their smaller living rooms. Duke sets up a voice call so Dick, who is back in Blüdhaven, doesn't have to miss out. Tim is on his own computer, no doubt researching everything he can find on Daniel Fenton. Or would he be Daniel Wayne? 

It’s Damian who breaks the silence.

“Father. Explain.”

The man presses his lips together as he stares down into his tea. Alfred squeezes his shoulder behind him. 

“The reason you haven’t met Danny is because he’s dead.” Bruce pauses while his kids pale. “Technically.”

Before either of them can question that, suddenly a young white haired boy appears, sitting on Bruce arm’s chair, eyebrow raised and wearing a black and white hazmat suit.

“Shouldn’t I be here for this?”

In an instant all of them sans Bruce and Alfred are on alert, Tim has a Batarang in hand, Jason one of his guns and Damian a knife poised to the unknown boy’s neck.

It’s Bruce who diffuses the situation.

“Danny?” Bruce sounds disbelieving and Damian twitches, knife still in hand. 

“In the flesh.” The boy does jazz hands, neck grazing the knife, but it doesn’t draw any blood. “Or ectoplasm. Whatever.”

“How wonderful of you to surprise us with your presence Master Danny,” Alfred says, tone slightly sarcastic and Damian finally steps back, eyebrows knitted together. 

Danny winces. 

“I would have warned you, but Clockwork just dropped me off, telling me that it’s finally time.”

“This is your husband?” Duke bursts out. 

The boy bows playfully.

“Danny Fenton-Wayne. King of the Infinite Realms. Half ghost and-” Suddenly he transforms, white rings traveling over his body and leaving behind a middle-aged black haired man. “-Half human.”

“GHOST?”

“HALF HUMAN?”

“KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?”

“Thank fuck I thought Bruce was a pedophile for a moment.”

Everyone turns to stare at Duke.

“What? I just said what everyone thought,” the boy defends himself.

“Actually that would be ephebophilia,” Danny corrects. “Although he would still classify as a necrophile.” 

Bruce punches the man’s forearm, rolling his eyes with a fond look and Danny yelps, rubbing the spot.

“Hey! If anyone is allowed to joke about it, it’s me!” the man complains with a pout and Bruce shakes his head. 

“Another reason why you never met Danny is because – believe it or not – he’s the King of the Infinite Realms, which means he is quite busy.”

“So much paperwork,” Danny groans. “If I get Constantine’s ass, I swear to the Ancients that he’s gonna die. Half a decade lost because I had to bargain for his soul pieces!”

“After I returned to Gotham to become Batman, the Infinite Realms unfortunately fell into war following a coup attempt, leaving Danny to deal with the mess.”

“And Clockwork prohibited me from visiting the Gotham until a certain point, claiming that I would change the timeline too much with my influence,” Danny finishes for Bruce, all of Bruce’s kids watching with fascination how seamlessly they seem to fit together as the man leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder while Bruce runs a hand through the man’s black hair. “Considering I would have never let Bruce run around with child vigilantes, he’s probably right.”

“I forgot you know about that,” Bruce sighs.

“Jazz kept me updated,” Danny says smugly.

“That’s a break of patient confidentiality,” Bruce grumbles. 

“She may be your therapist, but she’s also my sister.”

“Mr. I-Rather-Chew-Nails-than-Talk-About-My-Feelings?“ Jason exclaims. “No way!”

“I have been vocal about the fact that I go to therapy.” Bruce frowns.

“I thought you were joking!”

“Where do you guys think I go every Sunday evening?” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Justice League meeting?” 

“Golfing?”

Once again everyone stares at Duke and he flushes at the attention.

“I thought it’s a rich person thing!” 

Danny snorts.

“He got you there, darling.”

“When and how did you guys meet?” It’s the first time Dick actually speaks up, having observed everything – or as much as he could – through the web camera. 

“At a gala when both Bruce and I were teens,” Danny answers. “My godfather dragged me into it. At least one thing I can thank him for.”

Danny smiles while Bruce grunts in agreement. 

“The wedding?” Tim follows up.

Both Danny and Bruche pause to think.

“Did we do the civil registration in Paris or Las Vegas?” Danny turns to Bruce. “I can’t remember.”

“We were quite drunk,” Bruce agrees.

Danny snips his fingers like he remembers something, but then he shakes his head. He puts a hand to his chin, tiling his head. 

“Or was it Brazil?”

The rest blink at the pair before Danny shrugs with an apologetic smile.

“We had the real wedding in the Infinite Realms though,” Danny explains, “Once Bruce got finished with his training. The citizens wouldn’t have accepted it otherwise. Alfred would have taken pictures, but technology doesn’t work in the Infinite Realms.”

“Such a shame, it was quite a nice wedding,” Alfred affirms. 

“Alfred knew?!” is the consensus complaint. 

“Does Mother and Grandfather know about this?” Damian asks stiffly.

“Considering Ra’s used Bruce’s and your mother’s DNA to artificially create a baby despite knowing – he doesn’t care,” Danny says just a tad-bit too cheerfully. 

The revelation leaves everyone reeling. 

“Okay, now that all questions are answered-” Danny doesn’t give them time to inject. “Can we talk about the stinking elephant in the room?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow as Danny gestures to Jason. Jason almost would feel insulted if Danny didn’t sound so genuinely surprised that nobody else said or noticed something. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Jason complains as he discreetly tries to sniff his armpits. Considering Tim’s and Dick’s snickering, he doesn’t succeed. 

“Your Ectoplasm reeks like-” Danny grimaces as he flails his arms. “Like you took a bath in spoiled eggs.”

Danny turns to Bruce with an angry look in his eyes.

“Especially you should have noticed, considering you are liminal! His core is completely malnourished.” Bruce winces. “Did you forget that I gave you a way to contact Frostbite?”

“Without the ambient ectoplasm you radiate my ability to see ectoplasmic entities and speak and read Ghost Speak slowly degraded over the years,” Bruce explains. “I wasn’t aware Jason had been a type of ectoplasmic entity.” 

“His eyes literally glow green when he’s angry!” Danny chides. “He returned from the dead for revenge. He’s clearly a Revenant. That’s Ghost 101!”

It’s amusing to see Bruce get scolded by someone else other than Alfred. Alone for that fact Jason has to admit that he begrudgingly likes Danny. 

“Alright-” Danny stands up and tugs on Jason’s arm. Bruce moves to follow him like second nature. “You are coming with me right this instant.”

Before anyone can stop them, Danny transforms back into his Ghost Form, Jason’s hand in one and Bruce in the other and steps through a glowing green portal, it vanishing shortly after. Silence follows.

“So well that just happened.”

This time everyone agrees with Duke. 

[haveyoureadthismcytfic]

You need a Twitter/X account to view: https://x.com/mangobaII/status/1478438651834998784

Summary: I don't have twitter/x and so it wouldn't let me view, so I asked people in my discord server to help, and they couldn't find it either, so- they have reported that it's tweet threads with images, and is also a holiday special so- wait, hold up, they found a bot that kind of helps so I'll just link those and move on from my confusion

Author: mangobaii on twitter

Note from Submitter: Made me cry. Some of the most beautiful characterization I've ever seen. Highly recommend if you've never read it before. Brilliant hurt/comfort and romance. I love the found family dynamics.

[amethystarachnid]

So I saw a post on Pinterest and I thought it would be a good idea for a fanfic?im just gonna type it out and explain it after

Peter: im back from my trip i got you another magnet mr.white wolf

Bucky:cool stick it on

-

Tony: is that peters shopping list on your arm?

Bucky: yea

Tony: what the

-

Tony: Peter you need to stop using buckys arm as a fridge

Peter: Mr. White wolf said it helps him associate the arm with something other than murder

Tony: crying

So basically I was wondering if you could do this well not this interaction but like reader and Bucky are friends and reader is Peter? If that makes any sense?

STICKERS

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x teen!gn!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic, fluff

ᯓ★ Word count: 2.5k (I'm so sorry if it's too short, hope you like it anyway)

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky always lets you stick stickers to his vibranium arm but had never told you why...until now.

ᯓ★ I hope I understood the request well, and I tried to make the reader gender neutral since it wasn't specified in the ask, hope you like it <3

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The hum of the compound is familiar by now. Machines whir softly in the background, the faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear Sam and Tony bickering over something that probably doesn’t matter. This is home—at least, as close as it gets. It wasn’t always, but things changed. The world changed, and you had to change with it.

Being here is better than being out there. You know that much. The compound is safer. It’s structured. Sure, it’s a little weird living with a bunch of Avengers, but it beats the alternative. When SHIELD fell apart, a lot of things got messy, including your life. No family, no place to go, just a kid caught in the middle of something bigger than them. Steve found you first, said they’d figure something out, and now, somehow, you’ve ended up here. Officially, you’re under the Avengers’ protection. Unofficially, you’re the compound’s resident stray.

“Alright, what is it this time?”

Bucky’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you glance up from where you’ve been hunched over the kitchen counter, fidgeting with a fresh roll of stickers. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at you with an exasperated sort of fondness.

You grin. “You make it sound like I’ve done something bad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘bad,’” you say, tearing off a small sticker shaped like a cat. Without hesitation, you reach out and press it to the cool vibranium of his forearm. It sticks perfectly, just like you knew it would.

Bucky sighs like a man who has known deep suffering. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Because you let me,” you answer simply, peeling off another sticker—this one shaped like a tiny watermelon slice—and placing it beside the first.

It’s true. You started doing this months ago, fully expecting him to shut it down after the first few times. He never did. The first time, it had been a dumb impulse, something to break the tension. You’d been talking, and without really thinking about it, you’d stuck a star-shaped sticker onto his arm. He’d given you a long, unreadable look but hadn’t peeled it off. That was all the encouragement you needed.

Now, it’s a habit. Every time you see him, you add a new one. Sometimes, he’ll pretend not to notice. Other times, he’ll act put-upon, like he’s carrying some great burden. You know better, though. If he really hated it, he wouldn’t still be standing here, letting you decorate his arm like it’s an elementary school art project.

“I let you do a lot of things,” he mutters, watching as you place a little frog next to the watermelon.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” you say, grinning.

“Steve’s gonna be hurt,” he points out.

“Steve’s got enough fans,” you reply, reaching for another sticker. This one’s a smiley face with sunglasses. You stick it on his wrist.

Bucky glances down at his arm, then back at you. His expression softens—just a little. “Y’know, people used to be scared of me.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, adding a rainbow to his forearm, “they clearly weren’t looking hard enough. You’re a giant teddy bear.”

He scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. “A ‘teddy bear’ with a metal arm and a kill count.”

“Even teddy bears have claws,” you say, shrugging. “Besides, you let a teenager put stickers on you. That automatically lowers your intimidation factor.”

Bucky huffs but doesn’t argue. You know he won’t take them off. He never does, at least not right away. Sometimes, hours later, you’ll spot him across the compound, still wearing them.

That’s enough for you.

It doesn’t take long for the others to notice.

The first one to point it out is Sam.

You’re both sitting in the common room, Bucky on the couch, you curled up on the opposite end, sorting through a new pack of stickers you got from a store Tony let you raid on a supply run. They’re good ones, too—holographic, shimmery, some even glow in the dark. You’re in the process of carefully placing a tiny raccoon on Bucky’s wrist when Sam strolls in, eyes scanning the room before landing on the two of you.

His brows pull together. “Uh, what the hell is that?”

Bucky, who has clearly mastered the art of selective ignorance, doesn’t look up from his book. You, however, grin and wave. “What’s what?”

“That,” Sam says, pointing at Bucky’s arm like it personally offended him.

Bucky finally sighs, lowering his book just enough to glare over the top of it. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, man.”

Sam narrows his eyes and gestures again. “That. The stickers. What am I looking at?”

You lean back, admiring your work. By now, Bucky’s metal arm is covered in a vibrant mess of stickers—cartoon animals, little hearts, a glittery UFO, and even a miniature Avengers logo you’d snuck in just for fun.

You beam. “Art.”

Sam blinks. He looks at Bucky, then back at you, then back at Bucky. “And you’re just…letting them do this?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah.”

Silence. Sam stares, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Eventually, he just lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Man, you really are getting soft.”

Bucky flips him off without looking up.

You take that as permission to add another sticker—a rainbow-colored star, right on his shoulder.

Sam shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before grabbing his drink from the fridge and heading out, still looking vaguely disturbed by what he just witnessed.

Of course, Sam being Sam, the moment he’s out of the room, you know he’s going to tell the others.

The next one to comment on it is Natasha.

You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, helping yourself to a bowl of cereal, when she walks in. She nods at you in greeting before grabbing a protein bar from the cabinet. It’s a normal morning, nothing out of the ordinary—until she glances at Bucky and does a double-take.

She tilts her head slightly. “Did you get in a fight with a Lisa Frank notebook?”

You nearly choke on your cereal.

Bucky, who is now used to this reaction, doesn’t even blink. “No.”

Natasha takes a bite of her protein bar, studying him. “Then why does your arm look like a kindergarten art project?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, so you take it upon yourself. “Because I put them there.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow. “And he let you?”

“Obviously,” you say, popping another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

She’s quiet for a moment, her sharp gaze flicking from you to Bucky. You half-expect her to make a snarky comment or tease him, but instead, she just hums and says, “Huh.”

And then she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a tiny cat magnet, and sticks it to his forearm before walking away like nothing happened.

Bucky stares after her, brow furrowed. He lifts his arm slightly, looking at the magnet now clinging to the vibranium.

You snort. “You’re officially a walking fridge.”

He groans.

It only gets worse from there.

A few days later, Steve notices.

You’re in the gym, watching Bucky and Steve spar while pretending to be invested in a book. In reality, you’re mostly waiting for them to finish so you can rope Bucky into watching a movie with you.

Steve circles Bucky, eyes narrowed in concentration. He throws a punch, which Bucky easily dodges. There’s a beat of silence before Steve suddenly drops his stance, frowning.

“…Are those stickers?”

Bucky sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

Steve squints, stepping back to get a better look. “They are.” His frown deepens. “And…are those magnets?”

You bite back a laugh.

Bucky glares at you like this is somehow your fault (which, to be fair, it is).

Steve crosses his arms. “You’ve been walking around like this?”

“Yes.”

“And you just…let them do it?”

“Yes.”

Steve blinks, clearly struggling to process this information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to reconcile the image of his best friend, ex-Winter Soldier, walking around covered in colorful stickers and fridge magnets.

Eventually, he just sighs. “You’re impossible.”

Bucky smirks. “Took you this long to figure that out?”

Steve shakes his head, clearly exasperated, but doesn’t push the subject further.

You take that as a win.

Tony’s reaction is arguably the best.

You’re in the lab with Bucky, keeping him company while Tony messes around with something that looks vaguely explosive. He’s in the middle of rambling about some new upgrade for Bucky’s arm when he abruptly stops mid-sentence.

His eyes narrow. “Hold on.”

Bucky tenses. “What?”

Tony steps closer, squinting at his arm. He lifts a finger and flicks one of the magnets, watching as it wobbles slightly before settling back into place.

“…Are you kidding me?”

Bucky groans. “Not you too.”

Tony bursts out laughing. “Oh, this is rich. You—you’ve been walking around like this? Just letting them stick things to you?”

“Yes,” Bucky says flatly.

Tony looks at you, still grinning. “You did this?”

You nod proudly. “Yep.”

He lets out an impressed whistle. “Wow. I gotta say, Barnes, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Are you done?”

Tony pretends to consider. “Nope.”

Bucky mutters something under his breath and turns to leave, but before he can make his escape, Tony suddenly grabs a Stark Industries magnet from his workbench and slaps it onto Bucky’s bicep with a satisfied smirk.

Bucky glares at him. “I hate you.”

Tony winks. “No, you don’t.”

You snicker as Bucky stomps out of the lab, now sporting a Stark-branded magnet.

Despite the teasing, Bucky never takes them off right away.

Sometimes, you’ll catch him absentmindedly running his fingers over a sticker while he’s reading or training. Other times, you’ll see him glance down at his arm, something soft and unreadable in his expression before he quickly schools his face back into neutrality.

You don’t push. You don’t have to.

He lets you do this because he knows it makes you happy. Because he knows it makes you feel safe.

And, maybe—just maybe—because he doesn’t mind it as much as he pretends to.

The stickers—and now magnets—become a daily ritual.

At this point, everyone in the compound has noticed. Clint, predictably, laughs himself half to death when he first sees Bucky with a sparkly unicorn sticker on his wrist. Thor, on the other hand, is completely unbothered. He takes one look, nods approvingly, and later gifts you a set of Asgardian insignia stickers that you immediately slap onto Bucky’s arm. Even Bruce, who usually keeps to himself, quietly asks if he can contribute and hands you a little atom-shaped magnet one afternoon.

Bucky grumbles about it, of course. He sighs dramatically when you press another sticker onto his arm, acts like it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world, but he never actually stops you. He never pulls away. He never tells you no.

And he never takes them off until he’s alone.

You start paying attention, watching him when he thinks no one else is looking. He’ll be in the middle of a conversation, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over the stickers on his forearm, tracing the edges. You notice that he doesn’t cover his arm as much anymore—not as often as he used to. Before, he wore long sleeves even in the middle of summer, like he couldn’t stand the sight of it. Now, he just lets it be.

That realization sits in the back of your mind for a long time.

Then, one day, you ask.

It’s late.

Most of the compound has already turned in for the night. The common room is quiet, dimly lit by the glow of the television, where some old black-and-white movie plays with the volume low. You’re curled up on the couch next to Bucky, a fresh pack of stickers in your lap.

You press a new one onto his arm—a tiny golden retriever wearing sunglasses—before hesitating.

“Hey, Buck?”

He glances down at you. “Yeah?”

You fidget slightly, turning the next sticker over in your hands. “…Why do you let me do this?”

Bucky blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that question. “Huh?”

You gesture vaguely to his arm, now covered in an assortment of colorful stickers and small magnets. “This. Why do you let me put them on you? You could’ve told me to stop. But you didn’t.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. His expression shifts—just a little—but you catch it. A flicker of something uncertain, something careful, like he’s picking his words before speaking.

Then, finally, he exhales.

“…Because it helps.”

You tilt your head. “Helps with what?”

Bucky glances down at his arm, his fingers skimming over the stickers.

“You know what this arm used to be,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “What it used to do.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

He swallows, his jaw tight. “For a long time, it felt like it didn’t belong to me. Like it was just…a weapon. A part of me that wasn’t really mine.” His fingers brush over the little cartoon raccoon you stuck near his wrist. “But then you started doing this. And…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” you say immediately.

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Maybe not. But it’s…different, now. When I look at it.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “When I see the stickers, I don’t think about the things I’ve done. I think about you. About Sam rolling his eyes, Nat sneaking magnets onto me, Steve acting like he doesn’t get it even though he does.” His voice softens. “I think about now. Not then.”

You don’t know when your eyes started burning, but suddenly, it’s hard to see. You swallow thickly, trying to blink away the sting.

“Oh,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you meant it to.

Bucky glances at you, eyes sharp. “Hey. Don’t cry on me, kid.”

“I’m not,” you lie, furiously rubbing at your eyes. “It’s just—you just said something really nice, and my dumb emotions weren’t prepared for it.”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the guy covered in stickers,” you sniff, but you’re smiling now, even if your throat is still tight.

Bucky shakes his head, rolling his eyes, but there’s something softer in his expression when he looks at you.

“…Thanks, kid.”

You look up at him. “For what?”

He gestures vaguely at his arm. “This. The stickers. Everything.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just grab another sticker and carefully press it onto the back of his hand.

Bucky glances down at it. It’s a tiny heart.

He smiles.

I'm so sorry if this it's too short I didnt know what else to add :(

[thewulf]

Bound by Shadows || Azriel

Summary: Request - I'm hoping you could write a fanfic where reader, Feyre's twin, who actually killed the wolf but let Feyre take the credit... and before she realizes what she's done Feyre is gone. She struggles with guilt and isolation in Velaris after the sisters transformation by the Cauldron.... Read Rest Here

A/N: OKAY I LOVE THIS. It got away from me a bit. I didn't realize how fun this world would be to dive into. Let me know your thoughts as always :)

Pairing: Azriel Shadowsinger x Female Reader (Feyre Archeron Twin Sister)

Word Count: 8.2k +

TW: General ACOTAR TW

Under the starlit skies of Velaris the City of Starlight pulses with a life of its own. Its vibrant lights reflecting off the river with laughter and music filling the air, breathing life into every cobblestone and corner. But for you the city’s brilliance only deepens the shadows that cling to your soul. Shadows that no light seems capable of dispelling.

You walked alone. Your steps aimless being driven by the restless guilt that gnaws incessantly at your conscience. Every whisper of the wind seems to accuse you, every glance from a passerby seems to pierce through the facade you barely maintain. The weight of the secret you harbor presses down on you with every step… the wolf, the woods, the dreadful slice of the arrow that was meant to protect Feyre not harm her. But Feyre stepped forward and shouldered the blame. She was taken from you in an instant and forced to face the horrors of the faerie lands. It was all to shield you her twin she thought of being too gentle, too fragile for the brutal truths of that world.

The transformation wrought by the Cauldron has only magnified everything. Every emotion, every fear, every shard of guilt. It was supposed to be a rebirth but for you it feels more like a slow descent into a nightmare from which you cannot awaken. The power that now courses through your veins feels like chains. A constant reminder of the price paid to the mother. Of the freedom you don’t believe you deserve.

As you wander through the bustling streets the sounds of celebration around you clash violently with the turmoil within. Families and lovers share warm, joyous moments. Their laughter echoing in the crisp night air while you drift among them. You were simply a specter unseen, untouched by the light of their joy. Your heart aches with a loneliness so profound it threatens to consume you whole. To reduce your existence to a mere shadow of regret and sorrow.

You find yourself on one of the many ornate bridges spanning the Sidra. A place you often found some sort of solace in. You leaned over the balustrade to gaze into the dark waters below. The reflection of the city’s lights dances across the surface, a stark contrast to the darkness that seems to stretch endlessly beneath. It is here in the quiet far enough away from the eyes of those who know you, those who worry over you, that your facade finally cracks.

Tears that were unbidden and unwelcome, spill over, tracing cold paths down your cheeks. You are tired. So incredibly tired of pretending. Of hiding the depth of your pain. You wish to scream so loud. To let out the anguish that fills you, but your voice is as lost as your soul feels in the face of your endless guilt. Instead, you just stare down at the dark waters with silent sobs wracking your body. It was better this way. You couldn’t let Feyre see you like this. She was finally so happy. So happy with her mate. Her Rhysand. You couldn’t threaten that happiness. You owed her so much more than that. You quite literally owed her your life. So, you would suck it up in solace. Cry it out on your own.

In the solitude of the night, you allowed yourself to feel your overwhelming emotions. To acknowledge the pain and the darkness. Little did you know you are not as alone as you believe. From the shadows an Illyrian figure watches you. His own heart heavy with unspoken secrets. Azriel was the spymaster of night court for a reason. He picked up on you disappearing for hours at a time when the others didn’t. He picked up on the fake smiles you threw everyone’s way. He seemed to pick up on it while the others didn’t… other than Feyre who seemed to watch you just as much as he did. He decided he would watch over you. For Feyre, his brothers mate. And for you. The woman who couldn’t seem to get used to being Fae as easily as your sisters did. The human turned Fae that consumed more of his thoughts than he cared to admit.

But for now, he waited behind his shadows. A silent guardian in the night recognizing that some battles must be faced alone before they can be shared.

You returned from the bustling markets of Velaris with arms laden with the myriad items Feyre requested. As you approach the townhouse the warm light from within spills out onto the cobblestones. It was a stark contrast to the dusk settling over the city. You pause at the door steeling yourself with a deep breath before stepping inside. Your smile as you hand the bags to Feyre doesn't quite reach your eyes. But she's too caught up in the moment to notice.

"Thank you so much," she says with a relief evident as she starts to unpack the food you’d volunteered to pick up for her. She pauses before she got too carried away giving you that look, the one you've come to know so well. The one that silently implores you to stay. To be a part of her world. "Will you stay for dinner? Everyone's coming over. Even Amren agreed to come. It would mean so much to me."

Her eyes are pleading and you know you can't refuse. Not when she's given up so much for you. With a nod you agree even as your stomach tightens at the thought of facing everyone. It was easy to fake your inner turmoil when it was only her or Rhys. But when it was the entirety of the Inner Circle it was harder to hide away. Inevitably someone would get you hooked in on a conversation. You haven't sat down with them since… well, since before the Cauldron. Since before everything changed. And that was almost an entire year ago now. You knew this request would come sooner or later. Though you were hoping for later you were going to suck it up for Feyre.

As the evening wears on the townhouse fills with laughter and conversation with everyone gathering in the familiar camaraderie that once felt like home to you. But now you feel like an outsider watching from the shadows even as you sit among them. At the dinner table you're terribly quiet. You were merely pushing food around your plate listening to the ebb and flow of conversations you can't force yourself to seem to join.

Feyre decided to sit beside you in hopes of calming your nerves. She notices. She notices the way your eyes were downturned. The way you occasionally nodded your head or smiled briefly pretending to be listening. The way you didn’t pick your fork up once. Her joy fades a little each time she glances your way. You didn’t notice the way her expression turned from mirth to concern. She squeezed your hand under the table in a silent message of solidarity and love. But even her touch can't pull you from the fog that's settled over you. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was your punishment? To live in a hazed state for thousands of years? Oh, how you wished to be a tiny little human again with the promise of dead after a hundred years or so.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table catches Feyre’s subtle, worried glances towards her twin. She meets his eyes with a silent conversation passing between them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She needed help. He nods slightly. His expression was solemn, understanding the depth of her worry. His gaze then shifts to you filled with a quiet resolve. He knew you were struggling but didn’t pick up on just how much you were. You’d done a masterful job until tonight hiding it away.

Rhysand had felt the ripple of concern from Feyre long before she voiced it. Her distress over your withdrawal echoing within him. She watched you with a sister's keen eye and her silent worry bled into their shared bond. A testament to her deep care for you.

Azriel, Feyre is troubled by Y/N's state. As am I. Rhysand's thought reached out to his brother that was sitting next to you. There was a thread of urgency woven through the mental call. She's pulling away and Feyre feels it deeply. Keep an eye on her please? Help her if you can.

Azriel's presence in Rhysand's mind was immediate and calm. He was steady force amid the silent storm of concern. I'm already on it, Rhys. I’ve sensed it too, he assured. His mental voice as composed as the shadows he commanded. You don't need to worry. I’ve been watching over her not out of obligation, but because... because she matters to me. I’ll make sure she’s safe and supported.

Azriel’s vigilance came not from an order but from a place of quiet solidarity. His attunement to the nuances of emotion and the unspoken had already drawn him to your side. Rhysand’s request merely echoed the actions he’d already undertaken. His actions were born from a blend of duty and a deep, personal concern that Azriel rarely let show. In the face of Feyre's distress and now Rhysand’s request, he became a silent sentinel for you. He needed to ensure that you were not only protected but also truly seen and understood.

Dinner continues around you as you withdrew into yourself. The laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. You're barely aware of Azriel's presence on your other side until you feel him beside you. His chair slightly closer than usual. His voice is soft, almost lost in the surrounding noise, as he leans in. "You don't have to be anything you're not, not here," he murmurs only for you to hear. "It’s okay to just be. To just breathe." His words meant to comfort felt like a lifeline in the sea of your tumultuous thoughts. You didn’t look at him for you were worried tears might spill over. But you nodded in acknowledgement letting him know that you heard him.

The evening slowly winds down and as the others linger over drinks and stories Azriel stays by your side. His presence a steady promise of understanding and patience. He doesn't push you to talk nor does he expect smiles. Instead, he offers the silent support you didn't know you needed, becoming a guardian not just of your safety, but of your peace.

Feyre watches this exchange with a glimmer of hope lighting up her worried features. Perhaps with Azriel's help you might find your way back to them. To yourself. Tonight, though, is just a small step in your journey back to yourself.

As everyone departs for the night you linger in the living room feigning interest in tidying up the small mess left behind. Feyre watches you for a moment with that same concern etching her features. But she decided against speaking, sensing your need for space.

Once the house is quiet you decide to step out for a walk under the night sky of Velaris. It had become your favorite routine. A routine that kept you grounded. A quick walk to your favorite spot on the Sidra. The city's soft lights reflect gently on the river casting dancing patterns on the water. It's beautiful yet the sight does little to ease the tightness in your chest.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice Azriel's approach until he's almost beside you. His presence is calming and somehow it doesn't startle you. Perhaps because in your heart you know he understands the need for quiet. His own demeanor is often just as reserved.

"Good evening," he says. His voice a low rumble. "Care for some company or would you prefer solitude tonight?"

You consider his offer for a moment. Company might not be so bad even though this was usually just a place for you. But it was Azriel. Someone who respects the silence as much as you do. "Company sounds nice, thank you," you reply with your voice softer than you intended.

Azriel nods falling into step beside you. As you walk his shadows play at your feet. It was a subtle yet comforting gesture. At one point one of his shadows curls around your hand. This small, almost imperceptible touch from his shadows offers a silent, comforting presence that envelops you in a sense of security. Neither of you speaks as you walk along the riverbank. The only sounds was the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the distant hum of the city. The silence between you is more than comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that words can sometimes be too cumbersome.

After a while though Azriel speaks up. He wasn’t looking at you but staring out at the water. "It's easy to feel lost in this city… even with its lights and crowds. Sometimes it feels like being surrounded by shadows even in the brightest part of the day."

You glance at him, surprised by the reflection of your own feelings in his words. "Yes, it does," you agree. You were feeling a weight lift slightly knowing that someone else understands.

He nods slightly at your words, "The shadows aren't all there is though. There are places, moments like these, that can offer some respite. And not all shadows are bad." He smiles looking down at the ones that clung to your feet.

His words make you look at him anew. You weren’t just seeing the spymaster or the warrior but someone who also seeks to find balance between the light and the dark. It makes you wonder if perhaps in this shared moment you might find a way to navigate your own shadows. They might not all be bad you had to agree with him.

You don't say much more as you walk back to the townhouse, but the silent agreement hangs between you, comforting and promising. Maybe, just maybe, you're not as alone as you thought.

The dawn is still a whisper of light across Velaris as you sit quietly by the Sidra. The gentle murmur of the river a soothing background to your thoughts that never seemed to shut the hell up. Lost in the reflections of the dancing water you hardly notice Azriel’s approach until he’s beside you. His presence as quiet as the morning. It was becoming a routine for him to join you on the river it seemed. Not that you minded. He might be the one person you’d happily accept to intrude on your solitude.

“You’re up early,” he remarks softly not wanting to startle you. His tone as gentle as the river’s flow.

You look up with a soft smile on your face. His familiar, reassuring presence is a comfort. “Just needed some air,” you reply with a yawn. Your voice carrying the weight of another sleepless night.

Azriel nods, understanding. He looks out over the water for a moment sharing the silence with you. Then, turning back to you, he suggests, “Come with me. I think I have something that might help clear your head. Help you to focus a bit.”

You’re hesitant. The idea of doing anything but sitting quietly feels daunting. But there’s something about his offer. The promise of relief, however temporary, that nudges you to your feet.

“It’s just training,” he adds. seeing your uncertainty. “Physical activity can be a good way to let out some of the emotions that are harder to express in words. We’ll take it slow. You set the pace.”

Trusting Azriel’s judgment, knowing he wouldn’t push you into something without reason, you stand and follow him towards the training grounds. The city is quietly waking around you and the walk is silent but comfortable. His presence a steady reassurance by your side. Something you were slowly growing to cherish.

As you reach the secluded training area the first rays of sunlight begin to warm the cool morning air. Azriel gives you a small, encouraging smile. “Let’s start simple. No pressure. Just you learning to trust your strength again.”

The training starts at an easy pace. Azriel guiding you through basic maneuvers. His patience was evident. But as your body begins to warm up with the activity and your focus sharpens on the movements. There was that sense of release you never knew could come. It was unfamiliar yet welcome that starts to take hold on you.

As the morning sun climbs higher the training session progresses under Azriel's watchful eye. You find yourself gradually syncing with the rhythm of the physical exertion. Each movement flushing out the restless energy that has been building up inside you. Azriel's guidance is firm yet encouraging and you start to feel a rare sense of accomplishment as you slowly master each new maneuver he throws at you.

But as the session intensifies Azriel begins to push you harder, increasing the pace and complexity of the drills. His softness changed into some else. You knew he was only pushing you to help but it was starting to become a little too much. You’d only been Fae for a year to his centuries. "Come on, Y/N, focus. You can handle this," he urges. Throwing a series of rapid, controlled strikes that you're meant to block and counter.

For a moment you rise to the challenge your movements sharp and sure. Yet the physical strain is relentless. All too soon it starts to mirror the inner struggled you've been trying to manage. The boundaries between physical exertion and emotional pain blur… each block and dodge feeling more like a fight against your inner demons rather than a simple training exercise.

Suddenly, one of Azriel's strikes comes a little too close, a little too fast. It isn't meant to hit you and it doesn't but the rush of air as it passes by your face triggers something within you. Panic seizes your chest and the walls you've been holding up begin to crumble. Your movements falter. Your hands drop to your sides rapidly as your breath catches in your throat.

You step back abruptly with short, ragged breaths. Azriel stops immediately, concern replacing the intensity in his eyes. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks all too softly this time. He watched with concern as you struggled to compose yourself.

You nod rapidly trying to blink back the tears that want to rush out. “I’m fine. Just tired.” You murmur. It didn’t even sound believable to you. You turned you back to him so he wouldn’t see the distraught look on your face.

He steps forward with a sadness etched deeply on his features. "It's more than just tiredness, isn't it?" he asks gently as he reached out but stopped short, giving you space yet showing his readiness to support.

You shake your head again trying to compose yourself. Willing yourself to rebuild the barriers crumbling around you. "I'm fine, really, just got a little carried away," you offer weakly with your back still turned, fearing that facing him might reveal too much.

But Azriel doesn’t retreat. Instead, his shadows do what he physically refrains from—they reach out for you. You feel a cool, soothing sensation as one shadow gently curls around your arm, not binding but comforting. It was like a silent message of empathy and support. The unexpected kindness, the soft touch of darkness that doesn’t demand or judge, only seeks to comfort. But it undoes you completely.

Your defenses shatter at the tender contact. Tears finally spilling over as you turn back to face him. The floodgates opened by the gentle brush of his shadow. "I'm not fine," you admit, your voice choked with emotion. "It's all just... it's too much sometimes. I feel like I'm drowning in what I had to do. In what Feyre had to endure because of me. All because of me."

Azriel listens with his gaze never wavering. His eyes were filled with compassion and a profound understanding. His shadow retracts slightly giving you a moment, respecting your space while keeping the silent promise of his presence.

He nods his head willing you to continue. "Let it out, Y/N. You don't have to carry this alone," he says quietly finding the courage to step closer now. He opened his arms to you in an offer of comfort that you no longer have the strength to refuse.

As you step into his embrace, allowing yourself to be held, the warmth of his body contrasts with the cool touch of his shadows creating a cocoon of safety around you. "I was the one who killed the wolf that started this whole mess," you confess through sobs. Your words muffled against his chest. "Feyre took the blame to protect me... because she thought I couldn't handle the consequences."

“It’s okay,” he whispers. His voice close to your ear. “You were never meant to carry this alone.” He pauses. His hand gently lifting your chin so you can look at him. “Feyre’s path was her own. Fate had a hand in it. She was meant to meet Rhysand through Tamlin. To find her way to the Night Court. It couldn’t have been you, Y/N. Your path is different and it’s still unfolding.”

You shake your head feeling the weight of it all. “But-“

Azriel’s hold tightens reassuringly. His wings stretched around you before he stops you. “She did what she believed was right, out of love. And now you need to allow yourself to be loved and supported, too. Let your family be here for you. Let me be here for you.” he pleads, his tone imbued with a promise. In the safety of Azriel’s wings with the gentle embrace of his shadows, you feel a lightness you haven’t felt in a long time.

Beneath the shelter of his wings Azriel holds you close feeling the profound shift within as your eyes meet. In that moment a golden thread previously unseen but always present tightens, binding your soul to his. The mating bond ignites with a radiant force, undeniable and transformative.

This newfound connection stirs a deep protectiveness in Azriel, an urge to cherish and guard you that feels both ancient and freshly awakened. Love pulses through this bond unspoken yet palpable aligning his heartbeat with yours. He experiences a profound sense of belonging, understanding now that every moment with you, every shared concern, was leading to this revelation.

With the emergence of the bond, Azriel, who often cloaked himself in mystery, finds in you a clarity that illuminates his existence. This bond does not overwhelm; instead, it completes him, brightening his path forward. The world around him expands promising a journey not walked alone but side by side, in step with each breath.

Yet, the magnitude of this discovery brings a mix of elation and a daunting sense of responsibility. You are vulnerable, your soul laid bare before him, and he is cautious not to burden you further. Internally, Azriel grapples with the desire to declare the bond versus the need to provide you with stability and support without the shock of this revelation.

He resolves to keep this monumental discovery to himself for now, focusing on being your steadfast support. His shadows as a subtle extension of his will, curl gently around you both. They offered a protection and comfort without overwhelming you with the truth.

Azriel knows he must seek Rhysand’s counsel to navigate the complexities of this bond with sensitivity and respect for your emotions. As he holds you he silently vows to take this journey at a pace that honors both your readiness and the bond’s potential. Wrapped in his embrace, Azriel stands as your guardian bonded by fate yet guided by a deep respect for the journey your heart needs to undertake.

"You've been strong today," Azriel whispers into your hair as he senses your grip tighten. "Let's head back home. You need rest." His voice is as soothing as the twilight and his offer is tender, without any urgency that might hint at the truth simmering beneath his calm exterior.

The walk back from the training grounds is quiet, filled with a companionable silence that speaks of shared struggles and mutual care. As Azriel guides you to Feyre's studio, where she immerses herself in swathes of color and light, his touch lingers reassuringly on your arm. It's an affirmation of his presence, his support, his unspoken pledge to be there for you, come what may.

You offer him a soft smile. One that acknowledges the solace his presence brings even though you were still oblivious to the tectonic shift in his inner landscape. Azriel returns your smile with a quiet intensity, a vow that when the time comes for the bond to reveal itself to you he'll be there, just as he is now—steadfast, protective, and utterly devoted.

A subtle shift in Azriel’s demeanor as he prepares to leave catches Feyre's sharp eye. There's a fleeting tension, a trace of something potent and profound flickering in the depths of his usually inscrutable eyes. It's a glimpse of vulnerability. An undercurrent of panic that he's quick to disguise but not before Feyre takes note. Something significant has unsettled the shadowsinger and it likely had to do with you.

With a nod that holds more gravity than usual Azriel turns to go. His steps are measured but the urgency in his exit is apparent to anyone who knows him well. Once he steps beyond the view of the townhouse his wings unfurl, a dark silhouette against the Velaris skyline. He takes to the air with a speed driven by the need for counsel. For understanding the newly realized bond weighing on him with a mix of awe and anxiety.

He lands at the House of Wind with an intensity that is uncharacteristic for him. His feet touching down on the stone with a thud. There's no time for hesitation as he makes his way to where he knows he'll find Rhysand, perhaps Cassian too. The door to the study bursts open under his force and he stands there as a figure riddled with the shock of his own heart's awakening.

Inside the study, Rhysand and Cassian pause mid-conversation as the unexpected clamor announces Azriel's approach. Concern flickers over their faces. A stark, thunderous arrival is not Azriel's way.

"Are you alright, Az?" Cassian is the first to react. His voice tinged with concern as he notes Azriel's agitated state.

Azriel pauses before catching his breath. His demeanor one of a man grappling with overwhelming news. "It's the mating bond," he manages to say with his voice tight of emotion. "With Y/N—it just... it just snapped into place."

Rhysand rises from his chair. His expression shifting to one of understanding as he processes Azriel's words. The air in the room thickens with the significance of his declaration and there's a moment of collective stillness as they all absorb the meaning.

Cassian’s previous levity fades into a solemn gravity, reflecting the seriousness of Azriel's revelation. "That’s... big news, Az. How are you feeling about this?" he asks as he stepped closer in caution.

Rhysand, maintaining his composure, offers a supportive nod. "This is a momentous time, Azriel. We’re here for you, whatever you need," he assures him embodying the role of the leader who understands the profound implications of such a bond.

Azriel exhales deeply the reality of the situation settling in. "It's overwhelming," he concedes. A frown creasing his brow. "I mean, I hoped, maybe even wished for it. But now that it’s here, it feels... heavy." He looks up. His expression serious. "She’s still healing. I need to be careful. Need to make sure this doesn’t overwhelm her."

Rhysand gives a supportive nod. "Just keep being there for her, Az. You’ve always managed to support her without pushing. This doesn’t change your approach just your understanding of the connection."

Cassian smirks, pushing off from the table and clapping Azriel on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "Look at you all serious and broody—more than usual, I mean. Come on, Az, you know you're probably the only one who can handle this with the perfect blend of mystery. Besides," he adds with a wry grin, "have you seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking? That’s not just gratitude my friend. It’s like she’s hit the jackpot and she doesn’t even know it yet."

Azriel can’t help but crack a small smile despite the turmoil inside. "Thanks, Cass. I just don’t want to mess this up."

"Don’t worry so much, brother," Cassian chuckles, his tone light but earnest. "You’re doing fine. Plus, if you start floating around like a lovestruck bat, I’ll be here to pull you back down."

Rhysand laughs softly before shaking his head at the general. "He’s right, though. Take it step by step, Azriel. Let her come to terms with her own feelings. When she’s ready it’ll be right for both of you."

Feeling somewhat lighter Azriel nods appreciatively at his brothers. "Step by step," he repeats, firming his resolve. With a final nod he steps back into the night bolstered by the mix of Cassian’s humor and Rhysand’s leadership. He was ready to face the future with a heart full of hope and a mind cautious of the delicate balance he needs to maintain.

Back in the townhouse Feyre greets you with that mischievous grin that heralds some sisterly teasing. She sets her paintbrush down before wiping her hands on a cloth as her eyes sparkle with playful curiosity. "So, what did you do to him?" she teases with a smirk on her face.

You frown genuinely puzzled by her question. "What? Nothing, I... we were just training, then he said he had to go." Your voice trails off mirroring your confusion over Azriel's sudden change in demeanor.

Feyre chuckles, shaking her head as she picks up her brush again. "That man is always so mysterious. But don't worry it's probably just Azriel things. Or maybe, just maybe, you're the perfect distraction for our dear spymaster."

"What are you on about?" you ask while feeling a mix of amusement and bewilderment at her jest.

"Oh, please!" Feyre laughs, her brush dancing over the canvas. "He looks at you like every moment you spend together is something precious. Like you're a rare painting he can't quite believe he's stumbled upon."

"You're imagining things," you dismiss her. Shaking your head with a smile. "Azriel is just being kind. He's like that with everyone."

Feyre gives you a knowing look. Her smirk broadening. "Sure, he’s kind to everyone, but with you it’s different. He doesn’t look at anyone else quite like he looks at you. Like you’ve cast a spell on him and he’s trying to figure out how to live with the enchantment."

Her words make you pause. The playful insinuation tugging at the edges of your thoughts. Despite your dismissal Feyre’s observation lingers. A teasing possibility that maybe there's a hint of truth in her playful assertions. The room fills with your laughter, a sound that masks the flutter of curiosity her words have sparked.

Unbeknownst to you while you puzzle over Azriel's sudden departure, Feyre's mind is swiftly connecting with Rhysand's. A silent inquiry flits through their bond: Something's up with Azriel, he seemed... off. Did I miss something?

Rhysand's mental response comes with a chuckle that Feyre can almost hear: He’s fine, love. Just had a bit of a revelation. He’ll share when he's ready.

A spark of mischief lights up Feyre’s eyes as understanding dawns on her. Her lips curve into a sly, knowing grin. But she carefully masks any hint of her newfound knowledge from you. "You know, I think we deserve some fun today. Just us twins. You’ve been pushing hard with all that training and brooding," she suggests. Her voice bubbling with an excitement that piques your curiosity.

"Really? What did you have in mind?" you ask. Your earlier confusion over Azriel's behavior giving way to intrigue at Feyre's sudden enthusiasm.

"Oh, just a day for us to unwind and maybe get into a little mischief," Feyre replies, winking. "We can leave the mysteries of shadowy spymasters behind and focus on spoiling ourselves."

You laugh while nodding in agreement, relieved to set aside the morning's puzzles. "That sounds perfect, actually."

As the day unfolds with Feyre leading the way with her occasional secretive smiles and the warmth of her company envelop you, making you feel cherished and a part of something larger than just sisterly bonding. Every now and then she throws you a look filled with unspoken laughter as if she's in on a joke that’s yet to be told adding an intriguing layer to your day out.

"Enjoy today," Feyre says at one point. Her grin infectious. "Because who knows? Tomorrow you might find yourself swept off your feet in ways you never expected." Her words are light, but they dance with implication, leaving you wondering about the possibilities that tomorrow might bring.

As the days unfold since your training session you begin to notice an unusual shift in Azriel's behavior when he's around you. Always the quiet, stoic presence, he now seems to carry an air of nervousness that is both surprising and endearing. It's as if he's forgotten how to be around you. His typically smooth demeanor replaced with an awkwardness that sends a ripple of amusement throughout your days.

During your daily routines, whether you're practicing combat skills or just strolling through the lush gardens of the Night Court, Azriel is consistently by your side. Yet, his typical quiet confidence seems to falter. Today when he hands you a training sword his fingers not only linger but also tremble slightly against yours. The contact is brief but the moment his skin brushes against yours a visible blush creeps up his neck coloring his cheeks in a rare show of discomposure.

"Sorry," he stutters. Quickly retracting his hand as if scorched by the brief contact. He averts his gaze making sure to look anywhere but at you. His discomfort palpable in the tight set of his shoulders.

You can't help but tilt your head eyeing him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Azriel, are you alright?" you ask with a hint of a smile on your lips. Your voice is soft though hoping to ease some of his evident tension. The gardens around you bloom vibrantly. A stark contrast to Azriel’s suddenly flustered state.

He clears his throat attempting to regain some of his usual composure. "Yes, I'm... fine," he manages. His voice a notch higher than usual. He meets your gaze again holding it for a moment longer than he intends. The intensity of his stare both confusing and thrilling.

Just then as if to spite Azriel, Cassian strolls by and upon noticing Azriel's flushed face and your puzzled expression he can't help but let out a snicker. "Lost your cool, Shadowsinger?" he teases, winking at you before continuing on his way with a chuckle. "You’re usually smoother than this, brother!"

Azriel shoots Cassian a brief glare but there's a resigned humor in his eyes that suggests he knows just how out of character he must seem. As Cassian’s laughter fades into the distance Azriel finally turns back to you attempting a sheepish smile.

"It seems I'm a bit out of sorts today," he admits. His voice finally steadying. "Nothing to worry about, really."

Watching Azriel grapple with this uncharacteristic awkwardness only endears him more to you. There’s a sweetness in his struggle. A reminder that beneath the composed façade of the Night Court’s spymaster lies a depth of emotion rarely seen but profoundly felt.

On a tranquil afternoon in the Night Court, you find yourself relaxing in one of the quieter gardens alongside Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel. The air is filled with gentle laughter and the soft rustling of leaves. Cassian and Nesta are notably absent, presumably because Cassian has taken it upon himself to "help" Nesta with some errands—a pursuit that everyone knows often ends in playful bickering and affectionate banter.

Elain has also opted for a day out with Lucien exploring new botanical gardens on the outskirts of the city. Her passion for plants and Lucien's support in her endeavors showcases the growing bond between them.

The conversation flows easily until Rhys, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, steers it towards Azriel’s recent scouting mission. "Azriel here stumbled upon something quite intriguing recently, didn’t you?" he teases while watching Azriel closely.

Caught off-guard Azriel’s response is delayed, his eyes widening slightly as if Rhys had tread into forbidden territory. "It was nothing out of the ordinary," he finally mutters. Though his voice holds a trace of unease.

Feyre jumps into the fray. Her tone laced with playful curiosity. "Oh, but I heard it was quite the discovery. Rare and fascinating… something that might deeply engage a man’s interest."

You laugh completely oblivious to the underlying meaning and look at Azriel with raised eyebrows. "What was it, Az? Some kind of hidden gem or a lost artifact?"

There’s a brief moment where Azriel’s composure falters under your direct gaze, his eyes meeting yours before quickly glancing away. He recovers quickly, however, a slight flush on his cheeks. "Yes, something like that," he agrees, his voice steadying. "A discovery that could indeed change one’s perspective for a lifetime."

Rhys doesn't miss a beat adding with a light chuckle, "Let’s hope it’s not kept secret too long. Such treasures are better when shared, right?"

Feyre nods enthusiastically. Her eyes dancing with amusement. "Especially when they bring people closer together, right, Az?"

Azriel meets Feyre’s gaze. His expression settling into a subtle smile that hints at his deep thoughts. “Indeed,” he replies quietly, the single word rich with unspoken meaning, affirming the sentiment with his usual succinct eloquence.

As the conversation moves on the jokes and laughter continue, your heart warmed by the newfound perspective you found with them. Azriel watches you with a gentle, albeit slightly wistful smile. He noticed how much more you're around, how your laughter fills the air more often, and how your vibrant personality begins to shine through once more. His heart fills with a mixture of relief and deep affection, seeing the signs of your healing. In these moments he cherishes the progress you've made feeling hopeful about the future. He was ready to support you every step of the way as the true nature of his discovery waits to be shared with you.

As the weeks blend into months, the connection between you and Azriel deepens. It was nurtured by shared moments and his unwavering support. On a crisp evening as the sun begins its descent painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold, Azriel brings you to a secluded hilltop that overlooks Velaris. This spot was known only to him and offers a panoramic view of the city as it starts to twinkle with the first lights of evening, the natural grassy surface underfoot soft and inviting.

Standing close by his presence was both comforting and solid, Azriel shares a story, his voice low and warm, recounting a humorous mishap from his early days as a spymaster. The tale is endearing, revealing a less guarded side of him and laughter bubbles up freely from your throat.

As your laughter transitions into a soft chuckle, you turn to face him. The last rays of the sunset bathe Azriel in a warm, golden light that illuminates his features, casting a glow that outlines him like an ethereal halo. His eyes that were filled with affection and a hint of amusement, meet yours. In that instant something profound shifts within you.

It feels as if a key has turned, unlocking something wondrous and overwhelming. The mating bond, which has been delicately weaving its way through each of your interactions, now clicks into place with perfect clarity. The sensation is electrifying yet profoundly comforting. Resonating through your very being.

Your breath catches and your heart races—not just from the shock of the realization but from the undeniable rightness that surges through you. Azriel, noticing the subtle transformation in your expression halts his story. A flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks with his voice tinged with worry. The humor from his story now replaced by attentive care.

A mix of joy and amazement washes over you as you feel a comforting swirl of his shadows around your feet. Like curious creatures affirming this new connection. "Azriel, I think... I think the mating bond just…," you trailed off unsure how to continue. Your voice was filled with awe. The realization brings a new depth to your smile as you meet his gaze which is now shimmering with a mixture of relief and happiness.

"That's what I've been feeling," Azriel breathes out, a tender smile spreading across his face as he steps closer. He reaches out gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I've been waiting, hoping you would feel it too when the time was right."

Taking his hand, you feel a warmth that goes beyond physical touch. A connection that seeps into the depths of your soul. "I’m glad it’s you," you say quietly, sincerely, the words flowing easily.

Azriel’s other hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His touch feather light. "And I’m honored it’s you," he responds. His gaze locked with yours. The world around you—the city lights, the soft whisper of the evening breeze—fades into a gentle backdrop to the profound connection you share.

In this moment with Azriel’s shadows dancing around, playful, and protective, you feel a sense of completeness. A promise of endless possibilities. Together, bonded not just by fate but by a mutual understanding you know that whatever the future holds you'll get to navigate it side by side.

As the realization of the mating bond settles between you, Azriel's shadows seem to take on a life of their own. They swirled around you both with a newfound enthusiasm. The delicate tendrils of darkness weave around your legs and occasionally brush against your hands as if testing and reinforcing the connection that has just been acknowledged.

Azriel watches with a tender amusement as his shadows interact with you, their movements more animated than usual. "They seem to have taken quite a liking to you," he comments. His voice warm with affection and a hint of pride. "They're not usually this... attentive."

As the shadows continue their gentle dance around you, one particularly daring tendril snakes up your arm, its touch lighter than a feather. You can't help but laugh. The sound echoing softly in the quiet of the evening. With a delighted grin you reach out to trace the path of the shadow with your fingertips, marveling at the cool, tingling sensation it leaves on your skin.

Azriel continues watching with an affectionate roll of his eyes accompanying his half-smirk. "You're going to spoil them," he teases. His tone light but full of warmth.

Encouraged by your positive reaction another shadow playfully darts forward and mimics the motion of a gentle kiss on your cheek. You giggle with joy, your hand touching the spot in mock surprise and then you're both laughing. A shared moment of joy and wonder at the peculiar yet endearing behavior of the shadows.

Azriel shakes his head, but his eyes shine with amusement. "Now you've done it. They're going to expect this king of attention all the time," he jokes as the shadows around him swirled in what you swear could be shadowy laughter.

"You know, I think I'm okay with that," you respond still smiling as you watch the shadows retreat slightly, as if bashful from the attention. "They're quite charming. Just like someone else I know." You glance up at Azriel with a playful smirk. Enjoying the light flush that colors his cheeks at the compliment.

The shadows, seemingly pleased with their role in this light-hearted exchange, settle more calmly around you both like a contented sigh after a bout of laughter. The protective circle they form feels like a gentle embrace not just from Azriel but from all parts of him.

As the laughter fades Azriel's expression turns tender, his gaze softening as he searches your face looking for any sign of unease. "But seriously," he says with his voice low and earnest, "are you really okay?" His concern is palpable. The bond between you making every emotion, every nuance of feeling that much more intense and meaningful.

You meet his gaze feeling a surge of warmth from his sincere concern. Smiling gently, you nod, the tranquility of the moment filling you with a profound sense of peace. "I really am okay. For the first time in a long time," you admit. Your voice steady and sure. The confession feels like a significant acknowledgment of the journey you've been on and the role Azriel, and his shadows, have played in it.

Azriel's smile in response is radiant. A look of relief and happiness that brightens his entire demeanor. "That's all I’ve ever wanted to hear," he murmurs. His voice soft with emotion. He stands closer, his hand gently squeezing yours. "Come on, love," he whispers with a twinkle in his eyes. "Let's fly home."

With a graceful motion Azriel unfurls his expansive wings, the dark feathers shimmering under the starlight. The sight never fails to take your breath away. He wraps an arm securely around your waist, his touch reassuring. "Ready?" he asks. His voice a low rumble filled with excitement and anticipation.

With a nod you cling to him, feeling the rush of air as he leaps into the sky. Velaris unfolds below you. It was a gorgeous tapestry of lights and shadows. The wind was cool and exhilarating against your face. Flying with Azriel, held close against his chest, the city sprawling beneath you is an experience that feels as if it straddles the line between dream and reality.

The flight is swift and smooth. The quiet only broken by the rushing wind and the steady beat of Azriel's powerful wings. The world seems to shrink away, leaving only the two of you soaring through the night sky. As the House of Wind comes into view Azriel’s descent is gentle, a reminder of his skill and care for you.

You land softly on the balcony, the cool night breeze playing around you, still wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. Just as you touch down the laughter and lively banter of the Inner Circle reach your ears from inside.

As you and Azriel step through the grand doors of the House of Wind the lively atmosphere of the Inner Circle greets you. Cassian's booming voice fills the foyer as he spots you descending from the balcony. "Finally decided to join us, huh? Or were you two plotting to take over Velaris with your love-struck scheming?" he teases, winking not so conspicuously.

Rhysand joins in with a sly grin. His eyes twinkling with mischief. "I think they were busy weaving shadows and starlight. Look how they landed, like a pair of night-blooming flowers." His voice was laden with humor and draws a round of chuckles from around the room.

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain watch from the side, their expressions varying degrees of amusement and affection. Feyre's eyes meet yours and she gives you an approving nod. Her smile suggesting she understands more than she lets on. Nesta’s smirk is more enigmatic but supportive while Elain’s gentle gaze is filled with romantic delight at the scene unfolding before her.

Amid the teasing Azriel keeps you close, his arm remaining protectively around your waist. The warmth of his embrace reassures you. His presence a calming force against the good-natured ribbing. "Ignore them," he murmurs softly against your ear, just loud enough for you to hear over the laughter. His voice is rich with affection and a hint of playfulness that only you are privy to.

"You make it sound so easy," you whisper back, unable to suppress a smile feeling buoyed by the love filling the room.

As the evening progresses the light banter continues, with everyone occasionally casting teasing glances your way, making playful comments about the inseparable duo you and Azriel have become. Despite the jests there’s an underlying current of genuine happiness for you both. A celebration of the deepening bond that everyone seems to recognize and respect.

The night unfolds with shared stories, laughter, and an occasional clinking of glasses in toasts, not just to the night but to new beginnings and magical connections. As you stand by Azriel’s side, surrounded by friends who are more like family. You feel a profound sense of belonging and happiness. Here in the heart of the Night Court, under the watchful eyes of the stars and the soft glow of the city, you are home—not just in place, but in heart, bound by love, laughter, and the eternal dance of shadows and light.

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[dark-dawn]

rites for a dying planet // caleb | xia yizhou

you wake up in a body that isn’t yours, in a world that shouldn’t exist. you’re not sure if it’s a dream, a punishment, or some cosmic joke—but you’re definitely alive, and unfortunately, very aware of it.

✭ pairing: caleb x mc | reader

✭ contains: isekai and transmigration, worldbuilding, politics, dubious science, handwaving: the fanfic, unreliable narrator, mental health issues, exploring the horrifying logistics of canon, angst, canon-typical violence, slow burn, found family, caleb is his own warning, eventual romance, moral ambiguity, only canon-compliant if you squint and lie, read too many naruto self-insert fics in 2013 and it shows.

✭ word count: 5.5k | part one ✭ a/n: listen. I barely understand this game. I went down one (1) reddit rabbit hole hoping for answers and emerged with more questions, three contradictory timelines, and a headache. So—like any reasonable person—I wrote fanfiction. [ read on ao3 ]

You always thought death would be cruel. A tearing, or a rending—something final. You imagined pain, or perhaps light, or the sudden silence of being extinguished like a flame, and you thought there would be meaning in it, some last, flickering clarity before the dark. But it wasn’t like that. It was quiet. Not kind, but not unkind either. Just indifferent, the way the sea is indifferent to the drowning, the way fire never pauses to consider what it consumes.

And then—smallness. Small hands, small feet, the shape of the world too big to hold. A room washed in yellow light. Your mother’s voice—new and warm and unfamiliar in a way that felt right anyway. Your father’s hands lifting you too easily, like you weighed nothing at all. None of it should have made sense, but it did. Not in the way memory is supposed to make sense, neat and linear, but the way dreams do: loose, flickering, stitched together by feeling more than fact.

Some would call it a blessing, to be born twice. To start again. But you’ve learned it’s not a clean slate, not really. It’s more like a palimpsest. Something overwritten, but never entirely erased.

Your childhood was happy, all things considered. There were warm meals and scraped knees, paper kites and sunburnt shoulders, the easy rhythm of routine, of growing older without noticing. You learned to read with your back pressed against your mother’s arm, mouthing words out loud while her fingers traced letters in the air; you learned to run across fields that smelled of dry grass and river clay, to fall and laugh and cry and keep going. You had friends, or something close to them, and the kind of endless summer days that blur together into one long, golden memory. You were loved, and it was enough.

The dissonance came slowly. At first, it was only a feeling, like stepping into a room where the furniture has been rearranged: everything familiar, and yet not. You looked for signs without knowing you were searching—hoped someone would mention a name you used to know, or a song, or a brand of cereal, something small and anchoring—but no one ever did. You started noticing the strangeness of the machines, how they didn’t hum or buzz the way they should, how the screens were too clean, too thin, too quiet. The interfaces responded before you touched them. The trains never broke down. Everything worked too well, moved too quickly, skipped past the imperfections you’d learned to live with before.

You knew what was happening before you really let yourself believe it. It crept in at the corners—quiet, certain—the unfamiliar holidays marked on the calendar, the children’s books with their strange alphabets and kingdoms you’d never heard of, names of countries that didn’t exist.

And yet, they did.

You lived in Linkon City. It said so on your school ID, your library card, the crumpled paper wrappers from the bakery on the corner. You could draw its subway map from memory. You knew which districts smelled like engine oil and which ones flooded in the spring.

Where else would you live?

(Your mother had never heard of London.)

But it was the sky that solidified things, in the end. The stars were all wrong. No North Star. No Orion’s Belt. Just a sweep of unfamiliar constellations, bright and sharp and wholly indifferent. A completely different sky, a new part of the universe, one where the rules had shifted in ways you couldn’t quite name. And standing beneath it, you felt something loosen in you—some last thread to the world you’d once known pulling taut, then snapping clean through.

This is was a new world. This was a new life.

Maybe you were supposed to do something with it—this second chance. Maybe there was some grand purpose you missed, some fate you were meant to fulfil, some cosmic checklist you failed to tick off before the universe got bored and filed you under miscellaneous. You were reborn, weren’t you? Isn’t that supposed to mean something? You should have come out special. Glowing, chosen, blessed. A prodigy with ancient wisdom tucked behind your teeth. A voice in your head whispering secrets. Powers. Insight. Anything.

Instead, you got mild seasonal allergies and a lopsided birthmark on your hip.

In your worst moments, you wonder if this life is some sort of punishment. Not a dramatic punishment, of course. Not fire and brimstone. Something quieter. Smaller. A life that just goes on, day after day, full of minor joys and minor failures. No grand battles. No tragic fate. Just the constant, lingering what if?

Because if it were awful, you could rage. If it were perfect, you could surrender. But this—this not-quite, this maybe, this waiting-for-a-sign-that-never-comes—is unbearable in a way that’s hard to name.

And still. You wake up. You brush your teeth. You go to school. You come home. You eat dinner. You laugh when people expect you to. You go to sleep. And some nights, you dream of vending machines and broken streetlights and a world that was uglier, slower, louder—and yours.

And then things go to hell. Because of course they do.

Your parents die when you turn seven, and for a moment, you think—this is it. This is the turning point, the part where the strangeness cracks wide open, where your destiny finally limps onto the stage, late but dramatic. You wait for the letter with the wax seal. The sudden inheritance. The shadowy stranger who knows your true name.

But no. There’s just grief.

Not the cinematic kind, either. No thunderstorm, no funeral in the rain. Just soft voices and drawn curtains. Empty rooms and a suitcase you didn’t pack. Their shoes still by the door because no one’s been brave enough to move them. People say they’re sorry and mean it, but that doesn’t help when the silence is so loud you start talking to yourself just to fill it.

And still—still—some part of you watches from a distance, thinking, Is this it? Is this the moment I transform?

But you don’t transform. You just survive. Messily, gracelessly. You go back to school with red-rimmed eyes. You forget homework. You stare too long at strangers, hoping one of them will look back and say, Ah. There you are. We’ve been looking for you.

They don’t.

And after a while, you stop expecting them to.

The memories of this time are a little hazy. You chalk it up to grief, at first—the way your brain fogs over to protect you, how people say trauma softens the edges of things. You tell yourself that’s normal. That forgetting whole days is just part of the process. That it’s nothing to worry about when you wake up with bruises you don’t remember earning, or when you find notebooks with pages torn out, or when someone from school says, “We talked about this yesterday,” and you nod like you remember.

Sometimes, you do. Probably.

Sometimes you dream about white light and metal walls and voices just out of reach. You wake with your heart racing, certain something was done to you—is being done to you—but then the thought slips away, too smooth to hold. It’s always just out of focus. Like trying to stare straight at a shadow.

You’ve always had an overactive imagination, your teachers say. You read too many books. Spent too much time alone. You once tried to keep a journal, to track the days that slipped when you weren’t looking—but whole weeks were missing, and the entries stopped making sense. Dates out of order. Gaps you couldn’t explain.

Still, you survive. Or you pretend well enough that it passes for the same thing.

And most of the time, that’s enough. Most of the time, you can almost forget there’s something missing. That you’re walking around the hollow shape of a person with gaps in the middle. That sometimes you catch your reflection and for a split second, you swear it moves wrong.

Caleb makes things easier, but Caleb always makes things easier.

He was there in the early years, the scraped-knee summers and playground bruises, when everything felt half-formed and full of promise. He knew how to fill in the silences, how to make you laugh when your chest felt too tight, how to say “You’re fine,” in a way that almost made it true.

He doesn’t ask questions you can’t answer. Doesn’t press when your memory skips or when you forget entire conversations. When you say, “I think I lost some time,” he just shrugs and says, “Happens to the best of us.” Like it’s normal. Like it’s fine. Maybe it is, when he says it.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows more than he lets on. If he’s ever noticed the blank spaces and decided not to speak. If maybe he remembers the things you’ve forgotten.

But you don’t ask, and he doesn’t say, and the silence between you has always been a comfortable one.

And anyway, Caleb is steady. Caleb is real. When the world feels too sharp at the edges, too bright, too fast—he’s the one thing that doesn’t blur.

It makes living with Grandma easier, having him with you.

She’s a kind lady, the sort who smells like lavender and keeps biscuits in a tin shaped like a cat. Her knees crack when she walks, and she sings old songs to herself while folding laundry, soft and tuneless. She doesn’t ask too many questions, which helps. You get the sense she’s known loss too, though she never talks about it—not directly. Sometimes you catch her looking at you like she’s trying to remember someone else’s child in your face, but then she smiles and pats your head and tells you there’s more soup on the stove.

Your room is small, but it’s yours. Slanted ceiling, pale yellow walls, a window that fogs up in winter and lets in birdsong in spring. There’s a bookshelf with mismatched titles, a desk that creaks when you lean on it, and a bed pushed up against the wall with too many pillows and a blanket that smells faintly of mothballs and safety. You’ve tacked up drawings and pressed flowers and book pages, little things that make the space feel more like home. It helps.

Caleb’s room is next door. You can hear him through the wall sometimes—shuffling around, tapping out rhythms on the floor, singing under his breath when he thinks no one’s listening. Some nights, when everything feels too loud inside your head, you knock once on the shared wall and wait. There’s always an answer: three knocks back. Then a pause. Then the soft creak of his door opening. He doesn’t say much when he sits at the edge of your bed—just offers you a hug or a joke or a leftover biscuit from the tin. Sometimes that’s all you need.

Other times, you just fall asleep knowing he’s close, and that’s enough to keep the shadows from rearranging themselves while you dream.

~

You’re ten years old when you see a Wanderer for the first time.

It happens in the middle of an ordinary afternoon—clouds low, air heavy with the threat of rain, the street humming with delivery drones and kids on bikes and vending carts rolling over cobblestone. You’re walking home from the market with Caleb, arms full of groceries and stupidly arguing about which of you could win in a sword fight, when the world tilts.

The sky doesn’t split—not exactly—but it fractures. Like something huge and hidden behind it finally pressed too hard.

You don’t know the name for it then—don’t know it’s part of something bigger, something called the Chronorift Catastrophe, don’t know this is only the beginning. That somewhere, deep in the government’s hands, they opened something called the Deepspace Tunnel. A corridor through time, they said. Or space. Or both. A marvel of science. A new frontier.

Instead, it became a wound.

The first one you see is enormous. Bone-white and many-limbed, with a head shaped like a ram’s skull and eyes like dying stars. It moves like something remembering how to move, awkward and predatory and far too real. People scream. The sky dims. Caleb grabs your hand so hard it hurts, and still, you can’t look away.

It feels mythological. Beasts from storybooks made monstrous, folklore made flesh and invited in through a door no one should’ve opened. You don’t even know how long you stand there—how long you stare—before the soldiers arrive. Sirens. Gunfire. A blur of motion and commands you don’t understand.

And for the first time in your life, you feel very small, and very real, and very awake.

This changes things.

The world doesn’t end, but it forgets how to be ordinary. There are checkpoints now. Curfews. Emergency drills at school. The news cycles between denial and panic. The grown-ups talk about “rebuilding efforts” and “containment zones” like that means anything, like anyone understands what’s really happening. The military presence increases. The sky hums differently.

And you—well.

You used to lie awake imagining some ancient power would call your name from the dark and everything would click—your past life would make sense, your strange instincts would sharpen into something useful, and you’d finally, finally become what you were meant to be: great, magical, extraordinary.

But that was before you saw a Wanderer tear through a street like paper. Before you saw what “chosen” looks like when it’s screaming for help and no one comes. Before the sky split open and something vast and ancient and wrong looked back at you.

The Wanderers cured you of destiny.

You realise you don’t want to be brave. You don’t want to be the one who runs toward the monster. You just want to stay alive. You want to go home. You want Caleb to keep singing in the room next door, and your window to keep fogging up in winter, and the universe to completely forget you exist.

(It doesn’t.)

So you start running laps in the school gym, even when no one tells you to. You time yourself when no one’s watching. You start noticing exits in every room, counting steps between doors, between windows. You learn which alleys to avoid after curfew and how to move without being seen. You don’t tell Caleb. You don’t tell anyone.

They haven’t started recruiting yet, and maybe they won’t. You’re a civilian, technically. A child, legally. But rules bend in a crisis. Expectations shift. And you suspect this world will ask more of you than you want to give.

You get faster. Quieter. Meaner, when you have to be. You learn to say the right things so the teachers stop looking at you with too much concern. You learn how to pass unnoticed in a crowd. You learn what fear looks like in other people’s eyes, and how to keep yours steady.

Then you turn eleven.

And suddenly, you’re not strange anymore—you’re gifted. The adults stop whispering about trauma and start talking about potential. They say you’re quick. Observant. Strategically minded. Someone prints your name on a school leaderboard you didn’t know existed. You don’t ask what it’s for.

At first, it unsettles you. You weren’t doing anything special, just surviving. But then you realise: no one cares why you’re quick, just that you are. No one asks why your test scores jump from average to perfect, why you watch the news with too much intensity and flinch when the sirens start before they reach your street. They think you’re bright. Promising. The kind of child the city can be proud of. Something salvageable from the wreckage.

You let them believe it. You nod when praised. You smile when necessary. You answer questions with just enough personality to be liked, but not enough to be known.

They see discipline. They see talent.

They don’t see the Wanderer in your dreams. Or the bruises you don’t remember getting. Or the fact that some days, you still don’t recognise the handwriting in your own notebook.

But Caleb notices.

Of course he does. He always has.

He doesn’t say it outright—he never does—but you catch the way his eyes linger on you a little too long when you’re quiet. The way he notices when you skip a meal or disappear into your room before sunset. He starts sitting a little closer at the dinner table. Walks you to school even when he doesn’t have to.

One evening, after you get back a perfect score on an exam you barely remember taking, he knocks on your door and asks if you want help studying.

You blink at him, surprised. “I don’t need help.”

He shrugs, casually, like it doesn’t matter. “I do.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe he’s really just trying to keep up—he’s a few years ahead of you, but lately you’ve caught up in ways neither of you expected. He’s still taller, still stronger, still better at most things, but it’s starting to narrow. The difference between age and ability. The space between you, closing inch by inch.

And maybe that’s why he starts pushing himself, too.

He studies harder. Trains longer. You catch him at the park running sprints alone, long after everyone else has gone home. He starts carrying extra textbooks and scribbling formulas on his arms in ballpoint pen. He says he’s just trying to set a good example, but you know better. Caleb’s always been the calm in the storm, the one who grounds instead of rises—but now, there’s something sharper in him. Like he’s decided that if the world is going to fall apart, then the least he can do is not let you face it alone.

~

It’s around this time that you first meet Zayne.

He’s older—by three years, maybe four—and already something of a legend in the upper school halls. Top of every class. Reads textbooks for fun. The kind of student teachers smile at like he’s their personal success story. You hear his name before you ever see him, always in the same breath as ranking reports and advanced placement. The kind of name that makes other students grit their teeth.

You meet because someone decides you belong in the same orbit.

A teacher pulls you aside after class, gently enthusiastic. “We’ve arranged for you to sit in on the upper-level track for now,” they say, like it’s a reward and not further proof that the universe hates you.

Grandma is thrilled. You’re just tired.

They bundle the exceptional students together now—streamlined education, post-Rift efficiency, all that—and suddenly you’re sitting in a small seminar room that smells like old whiteboard markers and overconfidence. You’re the youngest by far, and Zayne is at the front of it all, spine straight, handwriting neat, correcting instructors without a hint of arrogance. Just certainty.

You sit in silence through most of the session, only half-listening. The room is full of numbers and diagrams that should feel complicated, but your brain catches onto them too easily. It’s not that you’re smarter than the others. It’s that the answers are already half-formed in your head, just waiting to be remembered.

You don’t feel brilliant. You feel like a fraud with a head full of loose wires and secondhand thoughts.

Zayne answers every question without hesitation. The kind of sharp, assured intelligence that feels clean and earned. He doesn’t stumble or second-guess. You catch yourself watching him more than the lesson.

And then you realise he’s noticed you, too. He sees the way you finish your work too quickly, the way your fingers twitch when the material is too easy, the way you seem at once too young and too knowing. You can feel his gaze like a pressure behind your ear.

He approaches you after the second week.

“You missed the extrapolation in problem seven,” he says, flipping your worksheet around without asking. “It’s subtle, but it throws off your entire hypothesis.”

You glance at the page. He’s right, obviously. You were sloppy.

(You were thinking about white light and metal walls and the wrongness humming beneath your ribs.)

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t trust yourself to say anything smarter. “Right.”

Zayne doesn’t smile. He just nods, like he’s confirming a hypothesis.

“Are you autodidactic?” he asks.

You blink. “Am I what?”

“Taught yourself,” he says, still watching. “You learn unusually fast.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

It’s not a lie. But it’s not the truth, either.

Zayne doesn’t press, which somehow makes it worse.

After that, it’s like you’ve been filed under Interesting. He starts sitting closer. Starts asking you questions in that quiet, clinical way of his. Why you skipped a step in the solution but still landed on the right answer. How you saw the pattern in the data set before it was introduced. Whether you reverse-engineered the formula or intuited it.

“You don’t think like the others,” he says once, matter-of-fact. “You solve backwards. That’s interesting.”

It’s not meant to be flattering, but it lands that way.

You tell yourself not to let it matter. That he’s just another student. But something about the way he speaks to you—measured, never condescending—makes your brain light up in places most people don’t reach. Zayne doesn’t talk down. He talks across. As if you’re already fluent in whatever strange mental language he’s operating in.

Caleb hates him immediately.

Caleb, who has always been good at most things but never the best, who has worked hard and stayed steady and smiled through every project where Zayne outscored him without trying. Caleb, who mutters “robot” under his breath when Zayne walks past, and loudly announces that “real people don’t talk like that” after one too many overheard comments about theoretical models.

(You’ve never seen him act so petty. You almost find it endearing.)

“He thinks he’s better than everyone,” Caleb says one day, slumped beside you at lunch. “Bet he doesn’t even have friends. Just facts and spreadsheets and whatever’s shoved up his—”

“Caleb,” you interrupt, without looking up. “He’s not that bad.”

That’s the first time you realise you’ve started defending Zayne. You’re not sure you like that. But it’s true. He’s not kind, exactly, but he’s precise, and there’s something in that precision that feels familiar. Comforting.

Caleb doesn’t say anything after that. Just peels the label off his water bottle and refuses to meet your eye.

And you get it.

It takes a moment—longer than it should—but you do. Because this isn’t about Zayne. Not really. It’s about you. It’s about the way your world has always had two people in it: you and Caleb. The way he’s always been there—beside you, ahead of you, behind you, whatever the moment needed. And now you’re in rooms he doesn’t enter. Speaking in shorthand he doesn’t know. Drifting.

And for the first time, you think: he’s afraid.

Not of Zayne. Not of being outscored or overlooked. He’s afraid of being left behind.

It’s not an easy thing to spot—Caleb doesn’t do open vulnerability. He isn’t the sort of person who makes a scene. He just folds into himself, grows sharper at the edges. Throws out a few more barbed jokes than usual. Hovers over your shoulder and bears his teeth.

He’s always been a protector. That’s how he exists in the world: guarding things. Guarding you. Even when you didn’t ask for it. Especially when you didn’t ask for it. He walks on the street side of the pavement. He memorises your schedule without meaning to. He’s the one who knocks back when you tap the wall at night.

Even now, with Zayne in the picture and things shifting underfoot, he doesn’t push you away or accuse you of changing. He just circles a little tighter, stands a little closer, like he’s trying to remind the world you’re already spoken for.

And maybe that’s what makes it worse—the way he never demands anything. Never asks you to choose.

He just braces himself to be left behind and pretends he isn’t afraid.

It pisses you off.

Because Caleb is home. Caleb is the first face you learned to trust. Your first friend. You don’t know where he ends and you begin. That if the universe cracked open tomorrow and you had to choose someone to stand beside you in the ruins, it would be him.

But he’s a stupid teenage boy, and completely oblivious to any of your emotions. So he just sulks a little more than usual. He takes longer to respond to your texts. He avoids eye contact when you catch him looking. He kicks pebbles into storm drains, and gets into fights at school.

You think maybe he wants you to ask what’s wrong—just so he can say nothing in the most unconvincing tone humanly possible. But you don’t ask. You don’t push. You just walk beside him like always, your backpacks bumping slightly as you fall into step, the silence stretching long and uneven between you.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, head ducked like the pavement’s suddenly fascinating. Every so often, he mutters half-hearted complaints—about school, the weather, how Zayne probably practices blinking in a mirror and still hasn’t nailed it.

You let him talk. You let him not talk. You let him exist in that strange space between anger and sadness where Caleb lives when things get too complicated to name.

At the corner near your street, he finally says, “You don’t even like him that much, right?” Not looking at you. Not quite managing to make it sound like a joke.

You glance over. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight, like he’s already bracing for an answer he won’t like.

“I don’t not like him,” you say, and immediately regret it. Because it’s not the kind of answer that softens things. It just makes him shrug too hard, like he’s trying to shake something off.

“Right,” he says. “Cool. Yeah.”

He kicks another pebble, harder this time. It hits the curb and skitters into the gutter with a sound that feels unnecessarily final.

You sigh. “Caleb. I’m not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t answer. But he walks a little slower after that.

And when you reach your street, he hooks his pinky around yours, like he used to when you were smaller and scared of thunderstorms and neither of you knew what to say.

No deal is spoken. No vow is made. But it feels like one anyway.

~

You’re fourteen when you start realising that the feeling of wrongness you’ve been carrying around with you might mean something.

It’s not just dreams anymore. Not just phantom bruises and flickering gaps in your memory. It’s more insistent. Closer. A low-frequency hum beneath your ribs that no one else seems to hear. Sometimes it feels like your heart is stuttering—like something inside you is trying to move in a rhythm that doesn’t match the rest of you.

You try to ignore it. You try to pretend it’s nothing, just growing pains, just too much caffeine, just you being dramatic. But the world is changing, and pretending is starting to feel harder.

Because around this time, you start hearing more about Evolvers.

They’re no longer background noise on the news or a quiet topic for academic panels. They’re everywhere now—featured in public service announcements and splashed across front-page headlines, on billboards with stylised codenames and blurred-out faces. Hunters being praised, feared, marketed. Children in your year whisper about Evol Classes like they’re houses in a fantasy novel—Psychic, Elemental, Simulation. Everyone wants to know which one they’ll be. If they’ll be anything at all.

The school nurse starts carrying Evol detection kits. Guidance counsellors begin holding “talent assessments.” There’s a quiet kind of hysteria underneath it all, dressed up like opportunity. Like evolution is the next academic stream. Just another test to pass.

You try to play along. You listen. You nod. But none of it feels real.

(Because this world is still strange. Deeply, fundamentally strange. You doubt you’ll ever fully acclimatise.)

Zayne starts talking about it more. He has theories, of course. About Class distributions and gene expression, about combat bias in Hunter selection and the ethics of private-sector augmentation. His Evol is public knowledge now—ice, sharp and efficient, just like him. Elemental Class. A perfect fit.

Caleb pretends not to care, but he always has a way of being exactly what people want to see. Top marks, captain of the basketball team, the kind of smile that makes teachers trust him and classmates fall a little bit in love with him.

But you know him better than that. You’ve seen the way he stiffens, just barely, when the subject of Evols comes up. The way he makes a joke and changes the subject whenever someone mentions Class registration. The way he keeps his hands in his pockets when he’s angry.

He’s not careless. He’s careful.

You haven’t seen anything float. Nothing dramatic. But sometimes you feel the air going still around him, the weight of a moment stretching thin, like the world holds its breath when he’s near.

He hasn’t told you. You’re not sure why he hasn’t, but you trust him.

Caleb doesn’t lie—not to you, anyway—but he withholds. He gives you everything and nothing in the same breath, and you’ve long since stopped expecting clean answers from him.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that he guards what matters most. And if this is something he’s keeping quiet, then it must matter.

So you trust him. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

And you—well, you have nothing.

No classification. No listed Level. No registered Evol.

Just that feeling. That quiet, insistent hum.

You start reading late into the night. Medical journals, declassified reports, scraps of data buried deep online. You learn about Levelless Evolvers. About fluctuations. About undocumented Classes. You learn the word Anhausen—a strange, archaic thing buried in a footnote, a misrecorded Class, maybe even a mistranslation.

But something about it sticks.

To raise. To heighten. To make someone better.

You don’t feel better. You don’t feel anything good at all. Just the weight of something you can’t name curled around your heart like a second pulse.

No one else seems concerned.

Grandma pats your shoulder and says you’re probably just a late bloomer. The school nurse shrugs at your clean scan results. The guidance counsellor smiles too much. No one questions the blankness in your file.

And so the silence settles in. Official, approved, unremarkable.

Caleb is pleased. He says as much, that first evening after school when the topic comes up and you shrug, trying to look unbothered.

“Good.” he says, without hesitation. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-expecting the usual teasing—but no. He means it. He’s genuinely relieved.

“No limelight,” he adds, tossing a chip into his mouth. “No agencies tracking you. No recruiters with pamphlets. No creepy uncle-types offering you custom weapons in alleyways.”

You snort. “No one is offering me things in alleyways, you dork.”

He leans back on your bed, arms crossed behind his head like this is the best news he’s heard all week. “You’re safe. You get to be normal. That’s a win.”

You nod. You say, yeah, sure, because it’s easier than explaining the thrum under your skin. The way your hands sometimes shake for no reason, or how your vision flickers when you stand too close to certain people.

You don’t want to worry him. You’re not even sure if your research is right, or if what you’re feeling is just some leftover residue from the Rift—something your body never learned to process.

It could be anything, really. Aftershocks. Nerve damage. Ghost data from a life you’re not supposed to remember. You’ve tried to explain it to yourself a dozen different ways—hormones, trauma, something metaphysical that hasn’t been named yet. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. There are so many things wrong with you that trying to name just one feels almost pointless. Like picking one crack in the glass and pretending it caused the whole shatter.

So you nod. You smile. You let Caleb be relieved.

And you keep digging.

~

That night, you fall down another research hole and stumble across a name: Lumiere. No Class, no Level, no face. Just grainy footage buried in a decade-old crisis report.

You swear you recognise him.

This changes things.

[billieeilishmommy]

just so you know,, i know

in which you have been more sad recently, causing you to not want to do anything, not even hang out with your girlfriend. and she knows somethings wrong

a/n please yall this is my first angst fanfic with billie,, and i kinda used my own personal life for this guys sorry if it's specific,, use of y/n

tw depression, mentions of not eating, crying, cussing, mentions of sh, loss of family

(if you are not comfortable reading things with those topics do not be afraid to stop reading! and know im here for you. your not alone, i love you all and your here for a reason babies)

ever since you lost your dad, you haven't been acting the same. yeah, your dad wasn't around, but that doesn't change the fact that its your dad. apart of you is missing now and you wont be able to get it back.

obviously billie has been with you the whole time, but eventually she had to go because of her music and you understood that, honestly you would rather be alone, of course you loves billie being there though.

you were currently laying in your bed, surrounded by plates and cups, most of them having food in them since you couldn't bring yourself to finish them, but it made you feel overwhelmed, but you just couldn't get yourself up to clean it.

all you wanted to do is lay there and think about this, everything bad was happening to you and you don't know why.

the last time billie was at your house was around 2 days ago, and you haven't talked to her since then. you wanted to, but you didn't want to look on your phone because you knew that you would feel guilty for not responding so you didn't. you laid on your bed watching your comfort shows and youtubers over and over again until you found some sort of relaxation.

all you were thinking about is how this grief will never go away. its stuck with you forever no matter what.

eventually you'll start to live with it and continue on with how you used to be, but not right now. all you wanted was comfort but you also just didn't want to be around anyone.

a few days later, the last time you've ate was around 3 days ago and the last time you've talked to billie was 7 days ago. you missed her, and who knows what she thinks about you. hell, she probably thought you blocked her. that was why she came into your room with no notice, just showed up.

"y/n? are you okay? you haven't talked to me?-" she says, cutting herself off as she steps in your room

"hi billie" you say quietly, your voice hoarse since the last time you've talked was ages ago.

"are you okay baby?" she says to you, not worried about all the trash and plates on the floor, she immediately sits beside you, "sit up for me princess. tell me whats wrong"

your eyes immediately start to fill with tears, and before you can get a word out the tears start falling and you can't get them to stop

"its okay hun" billie says to you softly and wraps her arms around you and gently kisses your forehead.

"billie i can't-" you cut yourself off with heavy breathing.

"yes you can my love, you can breathe okay, you can talk okay, your okay." she reassures you and it helps you calm down a lot.

"are you okay now baby?" she says quietly to you.

"i think so.." you sniffle, wiping the tears from your face.

"whens the last time you've gotten up love?" she asks you, worried. all you do is just shrug in embarrassment.

"its okay baby, have you ate any today or do you want me to make you something?" she asks you in a comforting tone, she knows just how to talk to you.

"im not hungry." you protest and put your head on your knees.

she gives you a look, knowing that your lying. "what do you want me to make you baby?" she asks, cuping your cheek.

"nothing, im not hungry" you say, in a colder tone this time and she nods, not wanting to make you uncomfortable in any way.

"are you okay my love?" she asks softly

"no bils.. i can't do this anymore." you sniffle into her shoulder, genuinely so tired.

"baby don't say that. how about you come over to my house for a few days? you can shower at my house and ill make you food and ill get you a drink at canes, i know you like their lemonade." she says and rubs your thigh.

you nod in response, you stand up for the first time in a while with the intentions to actually go out. "are you hot?" she asks you, you have on a sweatshirt and pajama pants, obviously you were sweating like a mother fucker, but you had to hide your scars.

billie knew that you struggled with this before, but she didn't know that you started again, so you had to lie and say "no im not, im cold actually"

"okay baby, do you want me to turn the heat on in the car?" she asks you

great you think, eventually your gonna have to tell her.

"noo its fine baby" you say to her quietly and she nods at you, taking you to her car.

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

did this eat yall

[mshedgehog117]

Hey so quick question? WAS ANYONE GONNA TELL ME THAT ILL JUST KEEP CRYING THE MORE I READ THESE FOUND FUCKIN FAMILY FANFICS?!?!?!? THE WACHOWSKI FAMILY WITH THEIR LITTLE ADORABLE COLORFUL CHILDREN AND THE ADORABLE MOMENTS FUCK!

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Geto Suguru x Reader Fanfic Part 2

You sell yourself to a brothel to feed your family and Geto Suguru is in charge of training you to be the perfect submissive sex doll. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Geto’s. I’m not sure how many parts it will have. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Dubcon. Submission. Extreme humiliation. Voyeurism. Light degradation. Masturbation. Oral sex. Deep throating. Fingering. Public nudity. Lots of implied stuff with the other trainers. This is the “meet all the trainers” part. Divider by @benkeibear!

Suguru awakens to find his new doll in his bed, curled up to him in her sleep, her soft naked body warm against his. He raises up and looks at her sleeping face, already feeling guilty for the things he’ll be doing to her today. 

It was her bad luck that he was the only available trainer when she arrived. Well, better him than Sukuna he supposed, but she truly is a bad match for him. She’s naturally very shy and sensitive, making his humiliation-based training particularly hard for her. 

He doesn’t want to hurt her. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but preparing her for her life as a doll is the kindest thing he can do for her now that she’s already signed the contract. Without proper training and preparation, the next ten years will be hell for her. 

The early days of training are critical. It’s when boundaries and trust are established. One of the main elements of his style of training is building trust. She has to trust her master, to believe her master won’t hurt her, to look to her master for safety. Only then can she fully submit and give herself completely. 

To facilitate this, Suguru insists his doll remain naked during the training. Part of it is the humiliation angle, but more important is establishing for the doll that she can be totally vulnerable with him, and that he will protect her even when she has literally no other barrier against the rest of the world. And to drive that point home, he has to parade her around the house, letting the other trainers leer at her, but not allowing anyone to touch her. A couple of the trainers help him out with this, pretending to be more threatening than they actually are just so that he can appear more protective. 

She’s going to hate that. She’s probably going to cry. Fuck, why would a sweet young virgin like her come here in the first place? What was she thinking? She mentioned taking care of her family. He supposes that was a good enough reason if they were desperate, but it still bothers him. 

He climbs out of bed and stretches, then looks at her again. He’s already crossed a line he, as a trainer, shouldn’t have crossed. For his particular training, he never allows a doll to sleep in his bed with him. He’s supposed to be firm, unyielding, uncaring. In the past, if he’s shown even the smallest amount of compassion, it’s led to dolls becoming emotionally attached to him. That’s the cruelest thing that could happen to a doll, because they can’t stay with him. 

So when he senses that a doll might be developing feelings for him, he begins treating them more roughly, more coldly, and that usually nips the problem in the bud. 

But on the very first night, he let her sleep in his bed? Is he going mad? That’s a recipe for disaster and he knows it. So today, he won’t give an inch. He’ll be hard and cold as stone, to establish that all important boundary. 

***************

You wake up shivering. It takes you a moment to remember where you are, and your body subconsciously rolls over toward the other side of the bed, seeking warmth where it found some last night. But the bed is empty. As your mind clears, you realize the covers have been pulled away and you’re lying there in Suguru’s bed, naked, with nothing to cover you. 

Sitting up, you rub your eyes and look at the man standing at the foot of the bed, staring at you. Suguru looks perfect of course, every glossy hair in place, the loose clothing somehow looking sexy on him. You sigh as you try to smooth your hair out with your hands.

“Get up,” he says, and you immediately notice that his tone is a bit sharper than it was yesterday. “There’s a hairbrush in the bathroom you can use. Make yourself presentable so you don’t embarrass me in front of the other trainers.”

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess to resist giving him a look and pointing out that he’s not the one who’s going to be embarrassed. Instead you silently crawl out of his bed and head for the bathroom, very conscious of the fact that he’s watching your every move. 

When it’s time to leave his room, your heart starts hammering wildly again. You’re actually going to walk through this house completely naked. Everyone is going to see everything you have. You feel your face heating up and tears threatening to drip from your eyes. 

“Let’s get a few things straight,” Suguru says before he opens the door. “Do not try to cover yourself. Do not turn your back to anyone who approaches you. Do not try to hide behind me. The other trainers will likely see you. They might even stop to look at you more closely. But they aren’t allowed to touch you. If one of them tries, tell me immediately.”

You nod, feeling numb as a few stray tears leak down your face. 

“Answer properly.”

You look up at him. “Yes, Master Suguru.”

“Let’s go have breakfast then,” he says, and you feel a little sad that he’s seemingly stopped patting your head and smiling at you. 

Those thoughts evaporate as you take your first steps out of his room. The hallway is empty now, but you know you could run into someone at any moment. And there’s no doubt there will be people in the dining hall. 

You walk behind Suguru, looking at the floor, trying to pretend this isn’t happening. But as you start to pass by a particular door, it suddenly swings open and a tall, muscular man with black hair steps out. He has a scar on the corner of his mouth, and looks a little rough around the edges, but he’s undeniably handsome. He’s pulling a rather tight fitting shirt over his head as he says, “Hey, Geto, do you know what they’re serving for-“

He stops mid sentence when he notices you. He glances at Suguru, then his sharp green eyes focus on you. “This your new doll?” 

“Of course,” Suguru says. It’s pretty obvious. 

The man’s eyes slowly move up and down your body, making your skin flush all over. “Got a good one this time,” he says, and he actually licks his lips! 

You can do nothing but stand there, letting him look at you. You wish Suguru would move on already. 

Just then a feminine voice calls out from inside the room the man just opened. “Tojiiiii~ come back to bed!”

He turns his face toward the voice. “I’ll be right back. Gonna grab us some breakfast!”

A second later, a woman appears at the door. You notice two things immediately. One, she’s completely naked, like you, and two, she’s beautiful. She hooks one arm around the man she called Toji’s waist and says, “The only breakfast I want is your cock.”

Toji grins down at her. “You had my cock for breakfast yesterday. And for lunch. And dinner. And a midnight snack.”

She giggles, seeming completely unbothered by the fact that both you and Suguru are witnessing this exchange. You wish you had her confidence. 

Toji playfully slaps her bare ass. “You have to eat some real food or you might start losing weight,” he says with a laugh. “And then what am gonna hold onto while I’m pounding that pussy?”

She gives him a pouty look, but says, “Okay, but hurry back! I get lonely without you!”

Toji gives her a wave as he jogs down the hall, leaving the woman standing naked at the door. She looks at Suguru and says, “You two wanna come in?”

Your heart nearly stops. Are you going to be having orgies? With Suguru, this woman, and Toji?

But Suguru simply smiles at her and says, “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to pass.”

The woman shrugs and closes the door, leaving you alone in the hallway with your trainer. 

You hate to admit it, but the bizarre show you just saw makes you feel a little better. The woman in the room certainly didn’t mind being naked in front of other trainers. Maybe that was just normal around here. 

As the two of you move further down the hall, you’re startled by loud, desperate screaming coming from one of the closed rooms. You nearly jump out of your skin, reflexively grabbing Suguru’s arm. You release it quickly, thinking this might be against his rules, but he pulls you closer to himself and puts an arm around you. 

“It’s okay,” he tells you, “that’s just Sukuna’s room. Be thankful you didn’t get stuck with him.”

As you listen to the screams, you honestly can’t tell if they’re cries of agony or ecstasy. Maybe it’s both. “What’s he doing to her?” you ask, clinging to Suguru’s side. 

He looks genuinely disturbed as he says, “I don’t want to know.”

Once you move far enough away that you can’t hear the screams anymore, Suguru separates from you. It’s a cold, empty feeling and you hate it, but you know you can’t cling to him forever. 

You finally reach the dining hall, and your entire body goes rigid when you see that there are more people in here, more people that will see you naked. You quickly spot Toji standing at a long table full of food. He’s balancing two plates on his arm as he fills them with food. Aside from him, there are three couples. 

At a table close by, reading a newspaper, there’s a blonde man wearing strange glasses. He’s dressed in a very dapper style, with a button down shirt and a tie. Sitting in his lap is a pretty woman wearing a pale pink sundress that appears to be way too short for her. She has a pink bow in her hair, and she’s giggling like a school girl despite clearly being in her mid 20’s. You can’t hear what they’re talking about, but the man seems calm and collected while the woman seems slightly nervous as she fidgets in his lap, eating bites of food off the single plate sitting in front of them. 

Further into the room, you’re surprised to see a woman sitting on a table instead of in a chair. She’s wearing black leather boots that reach her thighs, and sitting in a chair in front of her, between her legs, is a pale young man with his hair pulled into two short ponytails, one on each side of his head. He’s holding a plate of food in one hand and feeding the woman with the other. 

“I didn’t know one of the trainers is a woman,” you say. 

Suguru laughs. “Oh, she’s not a trainer. The guy feeding her is. He trains dominant women.”

You can’t help staring at them, thinking to yourself that this woman got lucky. She gets to boss her trainer around? Sounds like a dream come true. 

Of these two couples, the men don’t so much as glance up at you, as if you don’t even exist. The women look at you briefly, seem uninterested, and return their focus to their trainers. 

But the third and final couple is a different story. Sitting in a chair at a table close by is a tall, impossibly beautiful man with white hair and sunglasses. Kneeling at his feet is a cute young woman who looks around your age. She’s technically clothed, but you’re not sure who should be more embarrassed, you or her. 

The “outfit” she’s wearing consists of what looks like bra and panties, each with black fur trim. The bra is so tiny that it barely covers her nipples, and the panties have a hole cut into the back so that a long furry black tail can hang out through them. It takes you a moment of staring to realize the tail is connected to something that’s literally stuck into her ass. You squirm at the thought. The woman can’t sit normally, it would be impossible, so she’s forced to kneel awkwardly on the floor in front of her trainer, who is pouring food into the palm of his hand and holding it down for her to eat, her pink tongue darting out to lick his hand. 

Suguru directs you to a chair and tells you to sit. You’re grateful to have the table in front of you, covering your lower half. 

“Wait right here, I’ll get us some food,” he says. 

You look at him with pleading eyes. “You’re going to leave me here?”

“I’m just going up to that table,” he says, pointing to the table full of food. “I’ll just be a moment.”

You hate the idea of being left alone, naked, in a room with strangers, but what choice do you have? You nod and then watch Suguru as he walks across the room. With every step he walks away, you feel more and more vulnerable. 

A few seconds after Suguru leaves, the white haired man stands up from his chair and walks toward you. That’s when you notice the bright pink leash attached to a matching collar around his doll’s neck, as she crawls on hands and knees beside him. You find yourself feeling even more sorry for her than you do for yourself. 

The white haired man stands right beside you and lowers his sunglasses, looking at you with eerie blue eyes. “Wow, you’re a cutie,” he says. “I bet you’d look great in a leash.”

You shrink away from him automatically. There’s something unsettling about him even though he’s every bit as beautiful as Suguru. He reaches one hand toward you, grinning as he says, “I bet you’re soft too…”

You draw back, closing your eyes and calling out, “Master Suguru!”

When you open your eyes, Suguru is standing between you and the other trainer, grabbing the arm of the white haired man. “Yo, Satoru,” Suguru says in a pleasant voice. “I see you’ve met my doll. You can look, but if you touch her, we’ll have a problem.”

There’s an edge to Suguru’s voice as he says that last part, a darkness in his eyes. The man he called Satoru backs away, slipping his arm from Suguru’s grip. 

“Oh, don’t be stingy, Suguru! I always offer to let you fuck my dolls!”

Suguru frowns at him. “And I always tell you that’s inappropriate for the training.”

Satoru laughs. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud! Kitty here said you have a pretty face. She said she’s fine with you doing whatever you want with her! Right, Kitty?” He jerks the leash, pulling his doll’s face up to look at Suguru. She looks like she’s definitely not fine with it, but she nods anyway. 

“No thanks,” Suguru says. “I don’t enjoy making dolls cry.”

Satoru looks at him curiously. “But they’re so cute when they cry!”

Suguru shakes his head. “You stick to your training style, I’ll stick to mine.”

After Satoru and his doll return to their table, Suguru sits down beside you and spreads out a couple of plates filled with delicious looking food. “Eat up,” he says. “You’ll need your strength.”

With zero hesitation, you begin eating, trying several different foods and loving all of them.  When you cram a large bite of waffles into your mouth, you can’t suppress a small squeal of delight. You’ve never eaten something so tasty before!

Then you remember where you are, who you’re sitting next to, and you look up at your trainer. He’s wearing a smile while he watches you eat, occasionally taking bites of his own food. There’s something warm about his expression that makes you blush. 

You glance around the dining hall. Toji has already left, carrying plates of food back to his room like a waiter, but someone else has appeared, moving along the length of the food table, filling a single plate. The man has a contradictory appearance. He has several black lines tattooed on his face and what’s visible of the rest of his body, and shocking pink hair. These wild traits are contrasted sharply with his surprisingly refined, elegant mannerisms. He’s wearing a silk robe, open at the chest to reveal more tattoos on his impressively muscular torso. But he carries himself like royalty. 

The man takes his plate, mostly full of various breakfast meats, and sits down at a table across the room. He looks up, seemingly notices you staring at him, and flashes you a grin full of teeth that are entirely too sharp. You flinch and look away from him, automatically clutching Suguru’s sleeve. 

“What’s the matter?” Suguru asks, then sees the tattooed man. “Oh, that’s Sukuna.”

You don’t dare look at the man again, so you stare at your plate. “The one who tortures his doll?”

“Well, I don’t know if his training includes actual torture, but I do know he does something very cruel to his dolls.”

You look at Suguru, waiting for him to go on. 

He avoids your gaze, picking at the food in front of him. “He lets his dolls get attached to him. In fact I think he encourages it. We never see the dolls he trains until they’re being sold to new owners. At that point they’re always making a scene, crying, begging to stay with him… it’s a mess. And Sukuna just stands there laughing, as if the whole thing is amusing.”

You chance another glance at Sukuna, then quickly look away. “Why would they want to stay with someone who hurts them?”

Suguru still doesn’t look at you as he answers. “You’d be surprised what people can be conditioned to enjoy. Look at Satoru’s doll. She’s almost as new as you are, so right now her training probably feels unbearable. But by the end, she’ll adore being treated like a pet.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then you ask him, “Will I enjoy being embarrassed and bossed around?”

He finally looks at you. “If I do my job correctly, yes.”

It hits you then, the truth of all this training. Suguru is training you to not just endure being treated this way, but to enjoy it. To love it. Because if you don’t, then you’re going to be absolutely miserable when you’re being treated this way by your eventual owner. You stare at him, suddenly feeling affection for him that goes beyond being physically attracted to his beauty. 

You blurt out a quiet, “Thank you,” and Suguru looks down at you with a surprised expression. 

As you finish eating, you look at the trainers again. Why is it that every single one of them is absurdly good looking? Maybe it’s a blessing. After all it’s easier to have sex with people you find attractive. But then again, maybe it’s a curse, because it’s way too easy to fall in love with men like these. And even you understand why that would be a terrible thing. 

When you get back to Suguru’s room, he wants to work on your training right away. He makes you masturbate in front of him again, which is somehow worse this time. Maybe it’s because you’re starting to like him, but doing insanely embarrassing things while he watches intently just makes you want to disappear. You try to stick to his rules, asking for his permission to cum and looking him in the eyes while you do it. 

After you’re finished, you expect to have to suck his cock again, but instead he motions toward his bed and says, “Climb on, but stay on your hands and knees.”

“Yes, Master Suguru,” you reply, getting onto the bed in the position he wants. 

You feel the bed shift as he gets on the mattress behind you, then you feel his hands on your thighs, pulling your knees widely apart. “Ah!” you cry out, realizing that your pussy is drenched and dripping from just cumming minutes ago, and it’s going to spill all over his fancy covers. 

You start to turn your head to look back at him, but his voice suddenly says, “Face forward. Don’t look back.”

Then, you feel his fingers on the flesh of your folds, opening you. A shudder ripples through you, being touched by him in this way for the first time. But it’s also, like usual, extremely embarrassing. He’s prying open and examining your messy, leaking cunt, and you can only whimper in response. When one of his fingers, or maybe his thumb, grazes over your clit, you gasp, holding the breath in your chest for a few seconds before remembering to breathe again. 

****************

Suguru stares at the spread open pussy in front of him, and wants to absolutely destroy it. 

His new doll is clearly in distress. She’s embarrassed, of course. He’d purposely made her pleasure herself first so that she’d be soaking wet, her own cum dripping down her thighs. But at the same time, she clearly wants him to touch her. As his fingers brush over her already sensitive and swollen clit, he can see her hole clenching around nothing. 

“Are you really a virgin?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a virgin dripping so much before.”

She stiffens, her whole body going rigid. “Yes,” she murmurs, her voice quiet. 

“Answer in complete sentences.”

She hesitates, her body trembling now. “Yes, I’m really… a virgin… Master Suguru.”

He’s stroking her clit with circular motions, and she’s making cute little breathy moans. “I noticed you don’t finger yourself when you masturbate,” he says. “You only rub your clit. Why?”

Her skin is flushed, as if her whole body is blushing. “I’m… scared to… ahh…do that…”

“Scared to put your finger inside?” he asks, and at the same moment, edges one finger into her clenching hole, just up to the second knuckle. Her entire body jolts, and she makes a terrified yelping sound as she pulls away, off his finger. 

He sighs. “You panic when I even start to put one finger in? How are you going to handle a cock?”

She’s quiet for a moment, save for her rapid breathing. “I don’t know,” she finally says, and from the sound of her voice, she’s holding back tears. 

He puts his hands gently on her hips and scoots her back to him. “Did it hurt?”

“No. It just scared me.”

Suguru begins lightly stroking her clit again. “Let’s try it again, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, then he hears her shaky voice say, “Okay.”

He eases his finger into her again, not deep enough to hurt, just barely enough for her to feel something inside her and clench around it. Her breath hitches as he gently pushes it in and out, never going deeper than that second knuckle, not wanting to scare her again. “How does that feel?” he asks her. 

She’s making those little moans again. “It feels… good… so good, Master Suguru.”

He uses the fingers on his other hand to rub her clit, and her legs quiver, barely holding her up. “M-may I please… cum… Master?”

“Hmm, I need to think about it,” he says teasingly, slowing down his strokes. 

“Please, Master Suguru,” she says, her hands gripping the covers. “It feels too good! I can’t hold back!”

He removes his finger completely and stops stroking her clit, giving her a moment to regain control. But the sudden loss of pleasure makes her whine. She pants for a moment, her pussy clenching air, arousal sliding down her thighs. 

Fuck, he wants to shove his dick all the way in on the first thrust. 

“Master Suguru?” she asks, her voice small and hesitant. 

He resumes his earlier motions as he says, “Yes?”

“Are you… going to have sex with me now?”

He blinks. He wasn’t expecting that question. “Do you want me to?”

She doesn’t respond, so he presses his finger just slightly further in. “Answer.”

“Y-yes! I… ahh… want you to… Master Suguru,” she gasps out the words, then says,  “May I please cum now?”

“Why do you want me to?” he asks, ignoring her pleas, still stroking her. 

Again, she doesn’t reply, only moans her sweet cries. 

He leans over her, putting his mouth close to her ear, and says, “Answer and I’ll let you cum.”

She shudders, her whole body trembling. “Because… you won’t hurt me.”

He draws back, staring at her soft, delicate form. “You can cum now,” he tells her, and she does. He watches her body spasm, her pussy clamp down on his finger as she moans loudly. And then she collapses on his bed, her face buried in his pillows. 

“I won’t fuck you tonight,” he says. “I don’t think you’re ready for that right now.”

She turns her face to look up at him, her eyes glossy and shimmering with unspilled tears, her face red from exertion and embarrassment. God, he wants to fuck her virgin pussy into oblivion. 

But he can’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. 

He hasn’t told the owner about his new doll being a virgin. If he does, he knows what will happen. He’ll be told to leave her “unspoiled” so that whoever her owner is will get the privilege of deflowering her. A fully trained virgin doll? It’s such a rarity that it’s almost unheard of. If a virgin ends up as a doll, it’s almost always on the direct market, not from a training establishment like this one. Because who could imagine a doll going through the training process without losing her virginity? And women who ended up at the Doll House were generally a bit older than the “barely legal” dolls who were often sold directly by their greedy families. 

Suguru is torn about what to do. On one hand, her value will double if the owner finds out she’s a virgin, and Suguru’s commission will be greatly increased. On the other hand, sending her out as a virgin doll would be cruel. She’d be totally unprepared for one of the biggest aspects of being a doll, not to mention the fact that he doesn’t know who her owner will be, what sort of person will be taking her first time. It could be a sadistic monster who would enjoy being as rough as possible on her. 

And then there’s the other reason he’s hesitant to pop her cherry. Being her first lover is a sure fire way to make her develop an emotional attachment to him, and he can’t allow that. And if he’s being totally honest with himself? He’s afraid he’ll develop an attachment to her. 

So for now, he’s holding back until he can decide what to do, even though he’s been imagining her tight little pussy stuffed full of his cock all day. He’s hard as a rock right now after watching her cum twice, so he pulls his erection out of his pants and looks at her. 

“You’ve been neglecting Master Cock all day,” he says, smiling at her and lightly stroking himself. 

A smile dances at the edge of her lips, but doesn’t fully spread across her face. She slides out of bed and to her knees in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Master Cock,” she says, looking at his shaft as she takes over stroking duties.

Her hands are soft and warm, still a little unsure in their movements, but she’s learning fast. She runs her tongue up and down the length before taking the entire thing in her mouth, part of him literally going down her tight, wet throat. She pulls back to breathe and to use her tongue to lap at his leaking tip. 

He doesn’t have to give her directions this time. She’s using her whole mouth, tongue and lips and throat, to pleasure him. She’s taking him in so deep that she’s occasionally gagging, as if she can’t get enough of his cock, as if she worships it. 

His eyes are glued to her. She looks so fucking pretty on her knees between his legs, choking on his cock. But he thinks she might be even prettier with that cute face covered in his cum. 

She can tell he’s close, from the way his dick is twitching in her mouth or from the quiet moans he’s trying to suppress, he’s not sure. But she pulls back and looks up at him with the sweetest expression as she says, “May I please have your cum, Master Suguru?”

He’d much rather be shooting it into her womb, but painting her face with it is the next best thing. She opens her mouth and extends her tongue, and he lets his cum shoot out across her nose, in her mouth, over one eye, splattering her cheeks and chin. 

It seems that she didn’t expect that. She probably thought he’d cum on her tongue again, but she’s handling it well. No panicking or trying to immediately wipe it off. Instead she looks up at him. “Is it okay if I clean my face, Master Suguru?”

He tilts his head to the side, letting the small front strand of hair fall over one eye. “Oh? After I went to the trouble of making you so pretty? I thought you’d at least keep it on until after lunch.”

There’s finally a spark of alarm in her eyes, but before she can say anything, he laughs. “I’m just joking. You can go wash your face in the bathroom.”

“Thank you, Master Suguru!” 

He watches her get to her feet and step lightly into the bathroom, then sighs to himself. He’d planned to be a little harder on her today, but he just can’t bring himself to be too cold or cruel to her. She has a glow to her that he can’t diminish. At least for now. 

But this situation can’t last forever. He’ll have to make some important decisions, and make them soon. For her sake as well as his. 

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv

[stylespresleyhearted]

any mota fanfic recs?

OH MY GOODNESS DO I EVER 🗣️🗣️

the *amount* of talent found in the mota fandom alone is insane, it blows my mind. i read these pieces and my mind can’t comprehend that someone wrote something so beautifully heartwarming or heart-wrenching and is allowing me to read it for FREE on the internet. it belongs in an archive of beautiful literature. (I think i meant a library …)

of course i got to start w marina (mommy 🫶🏻) : @precious-little-scoundrel

dear john - of course i gotta be biased it was part of my yelling and the beginning of john egan stealing my heart. john writes a letter to lana tierney, a famous actress, who writes back and slips in a gift to raise the major’s spirits 😉 (also coming up with the acornym A.C.O.R.N was so fun)

she’s also got a phenomenon currently ongoing Those Who Can - I support all these characters and Marina beautifully juggles so many sensitive, delicate topics and does so with the respect and understanding needed to do so.

But in all seriousness I followed Marina from the Elvis fandom (where we were also in cahoots) to MOTA fandom & she’s so lovely, supportive, protective, and in many ways has become a rock for me. what i don’t see in myself she manages to bring out and encourages me to keep trying my hand at writing so i’m grateful for her always ♥️

@joeyalohadream her cooler-verse fics oh my gooodnesssss i am NOT exaggerating when i say i have reread like at least 13 times. i love love love to read them late at night or early in the morning it’s comfort reading to me and the love language displayed between john and gale in her stories resonates deeply with my love language so i think it helps me further invest into the story. so heartbreakingly good. it truly only hurts because they love each other SO MUCH.

- at this point i’d be lying if i said i haven’t read everything she has written though. let your heart be light currently occupies my time, thoughts, and soul. there’s one portion in it’s different with you and me that has made me reread a handful of times: She eyes him in his uniform and he sees the way the night could go. The way it should go.

But all it makes him think about is Gale.

Gale, who doesn’t watch the girls at the pub, but who watches John.

Gale, who tenses up when the guys crowd him, but melts under John’s arm like it’s the most comfortable place in the world for him to be.

Gale, who went a whole day and a half giving him the cold shoulder after John came back to their room painted in red lipstick stains and smelling of cheap perfume.

So, he chats and he smiles, but he doesn’t flirt and he doesn’t touch. Because if there’s even a possibility in this world that there’s a chance Gale is like him and that he likes him, he’s not blowing it for anymore nights of chasing a fleeting good feeling.

@johnslittlespoon i stumbled upon their tough and sweet universe and ohhhhh myyyy looordddd. Yes pls. Age gap. Younger bucky. Biker gale. Biker Gale who is so tender and gentle and caring and sensitive to all of Bucky’s emotions and helps stabalize him. Gale who asks him what he wants to do and how his day was and respects his boundaries and cares for him. brb gonna go cry. so soft for them. (Im secretly hoping benny and brady are gay in this fic but idk lmao) also marge is awesome but we all knew that. and paulina’s a bad ass every fic.

@swifty-fox geez louiseee where do i even start!!! i just reread wormwood today (retaliation has been promised 🥵) and one thing that continuously draws me in is the backstory they manage to create. obsessed w little beasts it’s burnout! John and pastor! Gale and i wish i had the words to talk about how amazing it is. we were left on such a cliff hanger and they’ve been brought into each other’s family now (kinda) and gale said this line: only me? that i haven’t been able to stop thinking about. i can’t believe (and also can’t wait) that these two are gonna date and be a couple and hold hands and kiss and cuddle and - 🤯 most recently there is cicada season and i don’t want to go into that one i just want everyone to read it. their way of writing human complexity, sin, acceptance, grief, anger, insecurity — everything is so raw and cutting and beautiful. i wanna poke swifty’s brain bc they are so smart and knowledgeable but alas i want to remain unblocked.

I feel like I’m missing SO MANYYYYY GAHHH there are so many one shots i’m sure i’ll probably reblog to add 😭😭

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Aug 24th

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1. Hi! For 3 grueling days I've been on a hunt for a fanfic where Lan Wanji and Jiang Cheng go back in time and change everything! I remember that at one point that WeiWuXian is exposed for hurting himself after Jiang Cheng yells at Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan for bing shitty parents and runs off crying where he is later joined by Jiang YanLi and WWX. Also that YZY immediately regrets everything along with JFM. And then a disciple says that he's never heard heart wrenching sobs before. Please help. It's a wonderful read. Thank you!!! @makkachinno

FOUND? Brother-In-Law’s by Loveable_Psychopath (M, 332k, WIP, JYL/JZX, wangxian, JC/WQ, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, Memories, Butterfly Effect, Sexual assualt, Self Harm, Self Doubt, BAMF JC, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Recovery, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Everyone Lives au, PTSD, good parent YZY, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Warning: JGS, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Second Chances) chapter 29 for the screaming part and the cying is the next chapter

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2. Hi!! For this fic finder :

Its a fic i read long ago , wangxian was alr an established couple, It was after the canon series had ended i beleive and wwx has an identity crisis abt being mo xuanyu and theres a recurring theme of the burial mounds haunting him and it talks abt his ptsd (specifically I remember of cannibalism? The fic was maybe dead dove too..)

Wwx wld sleep walk aswell and during one of his sleepwalking episodes he didnt recognize the juniors and thought he was a teenager.

In the end i think he revists the burial mounds?

Thank you for the work you put in for the fandom!💗💗 @jnxi839

FOUND? Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Feels, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, LWJ just wants to sleep with his husband, Protective JC, WWX Sees Dead People, LJY pulls through, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX is tired, LWJ literally just wants to sleep with WWX again is that too much to ask for??, Soft JC, Yunmeng Siblings Feels)

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3. Please help find fic

Wei wuxian cursed to be close to Lan wanji and stops feeling pain. Open ending. Curse gets progressively worse as fic goes on. They have to stay at an inn during the fic because wei wuxian hurt his foot. @opalkittencat

FOUND? Tether by Annerb (M, 161k, WangXian, Cursed LWJ, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Family Feels, Yin Iron, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, aftermath of a war)

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4. hi!! i’m looking for a fic and it’s driving me crazy bc i’ve read it more then once. but it’s a modern au and it starts with llan zhan going on a random date and getting stood up. and wei ying pops up to sit with him and make him feel better since he’s alone. and immediate wangxian love ensues. and at one point point they overhear the guy talking and basically being like “haha that guys so boring i told u he would go out with me. i didn’t even show up.” or something like that. ofc that’s a complete paraphrase but that’s the general vibe of what the guy says . i don’t think the fic was very long. oh! lxc is also very protective in it but i can’t remember how. so sorry this is so vague i rly cant remember more of it. hoping anyone could help 😖 but totally understand if this is not enough info to find it. also tysm for all u do! this blog is so helpful!

FOUND! Blooming Days by Atsushiis (G, 7k, WangXian, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & MM, Modern, College/University, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Kiss, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, LWJ Has Feelings, Let LWJ talk about his feelings agenda, Romance, Falling In Love, Wangxian are softer than a baby bunny, gratuitous handholding, Give LWJ hugs agenda, LWJ Protection Squad, Spanish Translation Available)

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5. so I remember this ff- it was on Wattpad (idk if y'all do Wattpad) if it was a sort of modern au with WWX as a teacher, one of his students have a crush on him, but he leaves and a sub (Lan Sizhui) is covering for him, I really remember that the class took a field trip to cloud recesses, where they found out about WWX and LWJ. Sorry if it was not so specific. and it is totes find if y'all cant find it, but the cover was sort of a Wangxian modern fanart, if that would help? @bitter-lemonzz

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6. I have been searching for the fic for so long but cannot find it. It was about Wei Wuxian accidentally being pushed into a pond by Lan Wangji and then it's angst. I think Madam Yu was a supportive figure for WWX in this fic. (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠) @yilinglaobunny

FOUND! i won’t say i’m in love by kazzywx (E, 18k, WangXian, rape/non-con, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Miscommunication, Angst with a Happy Ending, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, skippable NSFW scenes, wwx’s is basically meg from hercules with his “i wont say im in love” shtick, Hurt WWX, Boypussy, WWX Has a Vulva, Intersex WWX, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Mating Bites, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Mpreg, WWX & WQ Friendship, WWX & WN Friendship, Possessive LWJ)

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7. Hey, someone told me that you could help me find this fic. It's a short story...might be a one shot where after the canon wwx sets wen ning up on various dates and at the end wen ning finds 'the one' that he tackles (if I'm not wrong) because of some misunderstanding. Also I think the final male character that wen ning shows interest in is from another famous fandom. It's all sweet and cute. Please if you know this story or can find this story, let me know...I've been searching for a long time. Thank you so much! You are doing an amazing job❤️ @madarmy

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8. Hi! I am looking for a specific canon au fic where soulmates are announced by an angry goose. Like, literally, when soulmates meet a goose pops up out of nowhere and heckles them until they recognize (? fall for?) each other. I think it was during the Cloud Recesses Lectures and Lan Qiren kept getting interrupted because geese kept popping up between the students. I remember honking geese breaking the quiet and calm of Cloud Recesses :D

FOUND? 🔒💖 No Matter What I Do I Feel The Pain (With or Without Goose) by Trickster_Angel (T, 3k, WangXian, Soulmates, The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, Crack, Not tagging animal abuse but they have to fight off the geese, Not Serious, Humor, First Kiss)

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9.Hi! So, I've looking for this fic that take place when wei ying is in the burial mounds with the wens and decides to end his life, and wen ning is the one that tells lan zhan of it, and he has a panic attack? anxiety attack? and it leads to everyone helping the wens while they grief ... (sorry if there is misspelling, second language) @belenleal2111

FOUND? To Offer a Heart by WhiteCrane (M, 111k, WIP, wangxian, major character death, Sad WWX, Hurt WWX, YLLZ WWX, soft wangxian, Cinnamon Roll WN, WWX Whump, WQ is a good sister, WN is a good brother, everybody loves wwx, yunmeng siblings, Triggers, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Taking care of WWX, Give WWX a break, Canon Divergence, Disturbing Themes, Changing Perspectives, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Grief/Mourning, Temporary Character Death, Getting Together, Redemption, Sibling Bonding, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Brother-Sister Relationships, Parent-Child Relationship, Sad and Sweet, Tragedy, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF JYL, BAMF WQ, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Everyone Needs A Hug)

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10. hello! I hope you're doing well 🌷 I'm looking for a fic where female! WWX is getting married to the second son (Lan Zhan) of the esteemed Lan family who are well known tea merchants. Nie Huaisang is female too. Uncle Jiang arranges this marriage for Wei Ying. The fic starts with Uncle Jiang saying "Wei Ying, I accepted a marriage proposal for you you're getting married next month". Jiang Cheng keeps saying UNKIDNAPPABLE! because that's why the Lan Clan extended a marriage proposal to Wei Ying cos she's impossible to kidnap. WWX and LZ don't know each other prior to this. They have a summer wedding and the makeup auntie puts 3 layers of thick white face powder on WWX's face and tells her not to touch her face after which wei ying immediately feels the need to scratch her face off. Lan Zhans hand is a bit damp when he helps WWX into the palaquin cos it's hot as balls and he's sweating under 3 layers of robes. Wei Ying said she can't wait to become a dowager cos she'll get to wear clothes that are her style (darker). Someone tells wwx to not stand up too straight and she folds into an exaggerated slouch and then yelps and straightens up again when MianMian (her handmaid) slaps her butt. Sorry, that's all I remember! Thank you please help me find this 🙏🏼 @darkchocobun-blog

FOUND? a harmony between qin and se by Alaceron (E, 62k, WangXian, Gender Changes, Historical, Female WWX)

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11. Hi Mods! I am looking for a wangxian fic with these details:

-YilingWei Sect wangxian AU

-WWX takes MXY and his mom (Mo WeiYa) away from Mo manor to keep them safe but he has to go to Koi Tower for some reason about Meng Yao...

-Mo WeiYa imprints on JGY and makes WWX take him back too and treats him like a kid

-there was also a part where WWX said something about taking MXY under his wing and LWJ assumes he's gonna marry his mom and adopt MXY but ofc he was wrong

-JGY later becomes his deputy in his sect despite WWX trying to find a different one...yes JGY was corrupt before and WWX doesn't trust him.

-it was a multichap (I think) and complete (I think). Help?

FOUND!🔒 if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Wangxian, NHS & WWX, WWX & WQ, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family, Burial Mounds, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rumors, Politics, Developing Friendships, Good Uncle LQR, Demonic Cultivation, YilingWei Sect)

~*~

12. This is an odd ficfinder request, but I remember there was a VERY long fanfic I read a while ago on AO3 where the author gave the Meishan Yu a motto that went something like "We remember what is owed." I thought it was "Things to do with Flute During Wartime" but I can't find it in there. Anyone have any ideas? Thank you for ALL you do, mods! <3 <3 <3 @kimboo-york

FOUND! could be any of a few by stratisphyre but is likely the exploration of a courageous heart (all this unexpected glory) by Stratisphyre (T, 54k, JYL/LXC/NMJ, Canon Divergence, Not Everybody Dies, (but some canonical character deaths), Childhood Sweethearts, Arranged Marriage, Threesome - F/M/M, Kidfic, Hurt/Comfort, JYL Best Jiejie, Friends to Lovers, Sibling Feelings, Not JFM friendly, Enormous Amounts of Head Canon, Multiple Pov, Canon Typical Violence, Implied Past Abuse)

NOT FOUND! the other long stratisphyre fic with that Meishan Yu motto as a line in the fic is in stillness, clear water to the bottom by Stratisphyre (T, 40k, CSSR/WCZ/LQR, LQR & Madam Lan, LQR & WWX, Sect Leader Nie/NHS's Mother/NMJ's Mother, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Threesome - M/M/F, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Everyone lives, (mostly), (not you QHJ), Family feelings, Madam Lan lives, references to past rape)

~*~

13. trying to find a specific fic! it's a modern au roommates-to-lovers. the most specific thing I can remember is that Jin Zixuan is the one who asks Lan Wangji to let Wei Wuxian stay in his spare room. thanks in advance! @strinak

FOUND? ❤️ the best of you by sysrae (E, 41k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, slightly undernegotiated kink, but in a very soft and consensual way, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JFM and Madam Yu’s A+ parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues therapy is good actually, the most tender of railings, Reference to animal attacks/animal cruelty, descriptions of past violence)

~*~

14. Hi! In 2021 (approx) I read a fanfic where Lan zhan tries to save, (through a simulation that has Wei Ying's soul) wwx but always fails in the attempt, it is not until Wei Ying becomes aware of this and both confess to each other, that they manage to save everyone and wangxian stay together until old age and the time of his death as companions. However, this occurs within a simulation and wangxian says goodbye. The fic ends with Lan zhan leaving his seclusion but with his mind at peace knowing that he had a chance to be at peace and happy with his love and is ready to raise a-yuan.

I remember reading this on Wattpad and in Spanish. But I always wondered if it was on ao3 and it was actually a translation. Please, if you have any information I would be happy to read you. Saludos

Pd: Sorry for Google traslate

Enviar comentarios @ppninonom

FOUND? my apple tree, my brightness by trickybonmot (E, 5k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Angst, Not A Fix-It, Not a Time Loop Either, sweaty sex, sweat as lube, Come as Lube, But don't worry they're cultivators, LWJ's Regret, LWJ in Seclusion, Hopeful Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Not a ton of comfort but some!, Grief, Healing, [Podfic] my apple tree, my brightness by shash_reads (sunkitten_shash), [Podfic] my apple tree, my brightness by nonminus (nonplussed))

~*~

15. Hi. I saw this ao3 fic on twitter but it refreshed before I could save, I only remember a few tags it was a wangxian case fic where they look after three ghost children, I guess it was The Untamed post canon fic. Can you help? Thank you.

FOUND? a home carved of love by omegawangji (T, 12k, WangXian, Case Fic, Post-Canon, Child Abandonment, Past Child Abuse, Accidental Baby Acquisition, wangxian adopt ghost (corpse?) babies, Soft WangXian, Family Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Pining LWJ, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Good Parents LWJ and WWX, Found Family, Getting Together, First Kiss)

~*~

16. For fic finder: Hello! I am looking for a canon-au fic where Wei Wuxian was able to use demonic cultivation to create shadow copies of himself, kind of like Naruto shadow clones. He used this to fight in the Sunshot Campaign and there was a cool scene where he took down a Wen supervisory office all by himself by having a ton of hims fight each Wen soldier. There was also a scene where he dueled with Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng had to cut down all of the clones before finding the real Wei Wuxian. I think this technique caused his soul to shatter after death, but I could be wrong/confusing multiple fics. Thank you for your help!

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17. Fic finder request plz!! It’s a fem Wangxian in an omegaverse setting where Alpha NMJ has Alpha LWJ visiting and they invite WWX over. I remember at the end, LWJ came into the kitchen to get fancy water for WWX and wanted to know what snacks she liked. I can’t remember anything else. 😭😭😭

FOUND? good friends by plonk (Not Rated, 11k, NMJ/WWX/LWJ, WangXian, Modern, Gender Changes, A/B/O)

~*~

18. Hi!! It's my first time asking here!! I've been trying to find a fic where wwx makes the cultivation world forget abt the wens and him, and by consequence the baby lwj is pregnant with!! I will be so grateful if u guys could help me find it!!

FOUND! could be this threadfic (locked to followers)

~*~

19. Hi, there's this one canon divergence fic I read where WWX inevitably becomes part of the Burial Mounds and has become pretty vampire-adjacent and he thinks of himself as a monster. When LWJ finds out, there are multiple times in the story where he cuts his hand/arm and pours the blood in a bowl so WWX could "eat."

At some point in the story it's revealed that WWX was transported to Diyu before he died and yeah. At Wangxian's wedding he invites the overlord(?) of Diyu and even tho he didn't go, he was amused by the invitation and sent someone else to be there for him LMAO 😭😭

Can you please help me find this fic? I also highly rec it! Thank you!

FOUND!🔒A Heart Undying by NonsensicalRambling (M, 114k, WangXian, Undead WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical dead things the burial mounds, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, No Yīn Tiger Seal, Morally Gray WWX, Animals Eating People, WWX's questionable choices, Morally conflicted LWJ, Oblivious WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei, YLLZ WWX, Sect Leader WWX, LWJ & WQ have an Understanding)

~*~

20. fic finder req: a really sad post canon fic. it's a hurt/no comfort sick fic, where lwj falls ill with what eventually turns out to be a terminal illness (maybe a blood curse of some sort?). I think lwj falls unconscious at some pt, and they use the incense burner to spend lwj's last moments tgt with family and wwx. wx tries and fails to find a cure for it, and only succeeds many years after lwj dies, working closely w the gusu healers. the fic ends with them meeting in the afterlife, where lwj has been waiting for wwx. I've tried all the tags I could think of, but it's lost among my countless bookmarks... i haven't been able to find it and I'm worried it's been taken down. please help!

FOUND! I will be gone by seachronicles (M, 28k, WangXian, Angst, Sickfic, Hurt LWJ, Hurt WWX, Sick LWJ, LWJ Whump, WWX Whump, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, but a lot of hurt, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Reincarnation, POV LWJ, POV WWX, Sad WWX, Sad LWJ, Married WangXian, Major Illness, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, but very briefly)

~*~

[tremsing82]

ACOTAR Future Families Headcanons

Ok I have few fun family headcanons for the acotar ships. (Disclaimer: I am not an fanfic author/writer so none of this will ever show up in a fanfic, I just like to create characters for headcanons, if anyone wants to use any of this for a story your more than welcome to do so just tag me so I can read it please 🙏😊😊😊🙏)

Feysand: they obviously have Nyx. I think they will definitely have 1 more and it will be a little girl. I also expect her name to be Stella (Star). (Personally I was expecting Nyx to be named Noctis and that their daughter would get the name Nyx since Nyx is actually the name of the Goddess of Night.)

Nessian: I am 100% committed to Cassian being a girl dad. My headcanon is that they have 4 girls. All with beautiful untouched wings. All who have embraced their Illyrian Valkyrie warrior training but also love fashion and formal events. I have this funny snippet that lives rent free in my head of Cassian proudly yelling at someone saying “My 10yr old daughter can kick your ass while wearing a tutu.” I think all their names will begin with the letter C: Cassandra(Cassie) Nesta surprised him with this name, Corine(Corie), Calista(Callie), Camille (Camie).

I do have this idea that Nesta and Cassian start their family journey off with them adopted an orphan/abandoned Illyrian baby girl that Cassian found and brought home to get her medical help and to just nurse back to health. Nesta sees him holding this crying baby trying to get her to eat from the bottle the healer gave him and she just melts for them both. And this baby is Cassandra.

Gwynriel: they had twins, boy girl twins. The girl was named after Gwyn Sister Catrin. And the boy’s name is Haden with his nickname being Hades (this is a guilty pleasure name for me, I have wanted to name a character this for years it even was a name on my boy baby name list). If though they want to stick closer to his name being similar to his sisters though, the boy version of Catrin is Cayson/Kasen/Cason (let me also add Kasen is my sons name so I am slightly bias in the boys names for this one).

Elucien: my favorite ship by the way. And yet I headcanon that they have 1 child, a son. I know crazy 😜. I have 2 reason for this 1) I like to think they like to keep their life simple. 2) I think they struggled to get pregnant. Their son is one of the youngest of the cousins, and he is highly cherished by his parents and family.

Their son’s name is Renard. Renard is French for Fox and Reinhard is German for Brave/Strong Council, which I think perfectly represents a child of Lucien and Elain. His nickname is Ren, I love it so much 🥰🥰🥰

He comes off as shy and definitely likes to clutch at his mother skirts when they first arrive at places. He is the quietest of ALL the cousins, lol (including Eris’ kids). But he’s observant and inquisitive and can be intrigued/curious. He likes to bake and garden with his mother, plays chess and work with his spell cleaving magic with his father and grandfather, go on hikes with his father and uncle where he learns about tracking and living off the land, he loves to read books, he loves to paint and draw, and he likes the piano. He literally is the little chameleon of the family, he see what interests other people and absorbs all their knowledge and collects it to try for himself. He’s been a little cautious around Uncle Cassian because Uncle Cassian was super excited to have another Nephew and tried to treat him like Nyx and Hades and that’s just not the kind of kid Ren is. Ren is closest to Nesta and Cassian’s youngest daughter Camille though. Camie is usually the bull in a China shop but with Ren she will slow down and let him show her what he is reading or drawing or teach her a new piece on the piano.

Eris: Eris is my other girl dad. He has 5 girls, which are nicknamed the Autumn Vixens when they get older. Him and Cassian are in a silent competition about who is the better girl dad, Eris beat Cassian recently by being able to do better girls hair styles. I am leaning towards their names being French inspired: Reine, Sophie & Sylvie (twins), Colette, and Elise.

Vassian: Vassa is an all boys mom. She has 6 boys and on her 7th pregnancy it’s finally girl.

[ninjago-memes]

Everyone’s on bunk beds at this point

So like. Where tf is Frak going after the tournament.

[peasofgreeniguess]

Hi, hi, hi

So, I don't remember sending you an ask, and if I did, then ignore this one and focus on the other one!

So I ask for undertale bros, underfell bros, and horrotale bros.

In this scenario, they are In a relationship with reader (Separate but if it makes it eairr to make it poly then do so) and in this, they have been trying for a baby for almost 2 years. Suddenly, Reader gets pregnant and decided to surprise their loved one.

It can be simple like an actal bun in the oven intel they get it or something more challenging like a Scavenger hunt.

How will the boys react and how will they act during the pregnancy?

Please, again I say this. If you already have a request from me, don't worrie about this one and focus on the other one. (Unless this is one better then understandable)

Hope yiu have a safe day/noon/night/or where ever you are!

Alrighty! I love this ask—personally, I love when the reader and the boys have a little family. <33 there are not enough fanfics (that i can find) about it :(( 

AFAB reader and pregnancy headcannons below! But reader is still gender ambiguous so the trans boys and the he/hims can enjoy (like me, hehe, love you seahorses out there) 

UT Sans. 

You two weren't actively trying to conceive; hell, you two weren't even sure you could. 

You and Sans had talked about wanting kids but never got further than that; that was until you started feeling weird. 

Constantly tired and gaining weight, then you started constantly throwing up. Finally, you went to the doctor and got the results. 

So here you are, sitting on the couch anxiously waiting for your mate sans to come home. 

In your lap you hold a small wrapped box; inside you had a “world's best farter” shirt; only the farter was crossed out and spelled "father.”. 

Finally the door unlocks, and sans walks in holding some Grilby’s bags. 

“Hey babe, im home... you ok? You look upset,” sans says, his brows furrowing.

You shake your head, “im not upset, but i have something to tell  you... you should really sit down.” 

Sans does as hes told; sitting next to you on the couch, you place the box in his hands and urge him to open it.

He pulls out the shirt and reads it, confused. 

“Im not a father though...” he asks, and you blankly stare at him. You forgot how dense your mate can be. 

It takes a few moments before it clicks, his eyelights expanding as he looks at you in realization. 

“Oh my god!” 

“Yeah…” 

His permagrin widens as he pulls you into a hug, tears brimming in his eyes. 

You two hold each other for a few minutes, crying of joy. Sans immediately wants to tell everyone, but you urge him to wait until tomorrow; tonight you just want to be with him. 

Either way, you both are extremely excited for your new little family. 

-UT papyrus

“Dd- do you t-think you c-could be p-pregnatt?” alphys asks, rubbing your back as you hurl into the toilet for the fourth day in a row. You gasp for air as you wipe tears from your eyes. 

“No… Monsters can't get humans pregnant... can they?” alphys shrugs. 

And that's how you found out you were pregnant. Sitting on the floor of undyne and alphys bathroom as papyrus and undyne spar in the backyard. 

Alpys was able to grab you a test from the store, and it came back positive. You stare at the two little lines for what feels like  years... What would Papyrus say? You never talked about this stuff with him... and it never crossed your mind that you could get pregnant like that with a monster... 

The back door opens, breaking you from your mini-spiral. 

“What do you want to do?” Alphys asks quietly. 

“I have to tell him... When we get home though,” Alpys nods, telling you to call her if you need anything. 

You step out of the bathroom, trying to hide your anxiety and greet your boyfriend. 

“Hi papy! How was training?” 

"HELLO, MY LOVE! YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT, MY BEST SPAR YET!!” he boasts, undyne slaps him on the back playfully. "Yeah, CAUSE I LET YOU WIN, NERD!” 

Undyne laughs as Papyrus rolls his eyes, gathering his things. “YES WELL, WE WILL SEE ABOUT THAT NEXT WEEK!” 

The two of you bid your goodbyes and take the short trek home, Papyrus telling you all about his training with Undyne. After a few minutes, you both arrive at your shared apartment, locking the door behind you. You call Papyrus’s name. 

He turns to you, noting your shaky voice with worry. 

“Are You Alright?” he asks, lowering his voice. 

"Um, I have to tell you something important,” you say, gesturing for him to take a seat. 

He quietly sits down, more worried by the second. 

With a heavy sigh, you sit down next to him, opening your mouth to start, but nothing comes to mind. 

“Y/N… Did I Do Something To Upset You? I Apolig-” 

“Im pregnant,” you blurt out, interrupting Papyrus. 

Papyrus stares at you agape. That was not what he was expecting from you. 

You fidget with your fingers as you wait for his response, opening your mouth to apoligize or something, but Papyrus beats you to it. 

“Really?” 

“...yeah”

Tears appear in papyrus’s eye sockets as he stares at you with an unreadable expression; fear grips your soul as you worry that hes upset with you… you knew you never talked about it but you hoped he would be excited. 

"Wowie,” Papyrus says, finally breaking out into a smile and pulling you into a hug. 

“I'M GOING TO BE A DAD!” he cries! You laugh under him, breaking out into your own tears. 

“Yeah!” You are so happy Papyrus is happy; you didnt want toget your hopes up, but you were hoping he would be. 

The rest of the night papyrus is pulling up houses in good school districts and baby clothes because, of course, “MY BABY NEEDS TO HAVE THE COOLEST WARDROBE! OF COUSE!” 

UF sans

Red wanted kids, always had. He never imagined he would get the chance too, but still he liked to imagine having a family. 

So when he met you and as your relationship grew, he would be lying if he hadn't daydreamed about it.

Though he never told you, he felt silly for wanting such soft things. 

So when you brought up the idea to him one night, he was ecstatic! Immdedeatly texting alpys to see how they could make it work; fortunatey, it was possible. 

But after months and months with no results, his excitement died down into pessimism, convinced that the universe was punishing him for his past actions. 

But one day you came home all jittery and excited; whenever he asked what was up, you just giggled and brushed him off, telling him to wait. Wait for what? 

"Doll, what are you plannin’?” sans asks, once again you giggle and shoo him away. “You will see! Now go away, stinky man; I'll show you when I am ready!” you say, closing the door to your room. 

About a week ago, you took a test, preparing yourself for another negative. Until there wasn't one, you sobbed for at least an hour in the bathroom as you saw those two pink lines on the test. 

You knew you had to do something special; you called Grilby and asked him to close the bar early, leaving it empty for just the two of you.

You had planned to take him to his favorite place, get his favorite food, and tell him the best news of his life...

But sans is being a ass and making your life harder.

“Come onnn- sans” "No.” 

“Sans!” you forget how lazy your mate is, opting to sit in his lounge chair and tell him there than go to your plans. Fine then. If that's what he wants. 

"Fine, I'll tell you right here, right now.” 

“Great!” 

“Im pregnant” 

Sans drops the mustard bottle in his hand and sits up, not expecting that. You look at him unamused with your arms crossed. 

“Really??” 

“Yeah. I planned a whole thing to tell you. Payed grilby an arm and a leg to rent out the bar.”

Sans opens and closes his mouth a few times in shock, bringing a hand to his skull. 

“Shit doll, im sorry—were going to have a baby?” 

You nod your head, the softness in his voice causing all your annoyance to fall away. Sans chokes out a sob as you come over and hug him; he rabs onto your shirt tightly as if at any moment you would disappear. 

“Were going to have a baby!” 

UF papyrus

You two actually found out in a really silly way; Alphys wanted to check on your soul after you two soulbonded to see the reactions on a human soul since no human has ever bonded with a monster since before the barrier broke. Once a year she will do a checkup on your soul and the bond to study the changes. 

You and Alphys sit alone in her office, a large x-ray-looking machine sitting in front of your chest. Alpys types on her keyboard as she starts up the machine. 

“A-alright and- o- oh!” You look at Alphys concerned; thats not the reaction you were wanting. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“W- well” she starts, turning the monitor towards you. 

There in the middle of the screen was your soul, a faint red surrounding it—Papyrus’s magic. 

“If you l-look you can see the bond is v-very healthy." You nod, Thats good…

“But if you look right here,” she says, pointing towards a small speck on your soul. She pinches her claw zooming in on the monitor. As it expands, you see the small blob is not a blob but an upside down heart. 

A second soul. 

“T-that is w-what i was surprised a-about…” 

A little soul, you are pregnant... Your throat tightens as you feel the urge to cry. exhaustion and joy flood you. After all this time, finally! 

“Is that?” alphys nods, confirming. 

Alphys finishes her checkup much to your dismay; all you wanted to do was run to Papyrus as quick as you could and tell him the good news. 

You get home and eagerly call his name, searching the house for him.

Shit hes at work; he wont be home for another four hours...

You huff in frustration... but then you   idea. 

Quickly, you get your supplies. 

A few hours later, Papyrus arrives home, tossing his jacket on the couch with a growl. Today has been awful. You sniff the air, noticing the smell of fresh bread? He wanders into the kitchen where he finds you, and with a smile, he silently walks up behind you, wrapping his long arms around your waist. 

“HELLO MY DEAR,” he says, burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck. You squeak in surprise. 

“Hi handsome,” you greet back, turning around in his grasp to face him. 

“I have a surprise for you.” 

Papyrus quirks his brow at you, a surprise? 

Hesitantly he lets go of you, watching you walk to the oven and dramatically fling it open, exposing some homemade milk buns. 

“Tadaa!!” 

Awkwardly he nods at you; you bake often... Why is this special? 

You realise he didn't get it, and you roll your eyes, not wanting to spell it out for him. 

“WHAT IS IT?”

“Its a bun in the oven that i made.” 

Papyrus nods confused. “YES???” "Papyrus, im trying to be cute.” 

“YOU ARE CUTE!”

You stomp your foot. That's not what you meant.

"Baby, im pregnant.” 

Papyrus pauses, then it clicks.

Bun in the oven. 

“OH MY GOD,” Papyrus pulls you to him and swings you around. 

“I DONT KNOW IF I SHOULD BE ANNOYED OR OVERJOYED, BUT IM CHOOSING THE LADDER! WERE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!!” You laugh in his arms as he eventually sets you down, nuzzling your hair. 

“I Cant Wait To Tell Sans” 

HT sans. 

Sans had a shitton of magic; since he was so deprived of magic in the underground when they got out, their magic came back tenfold, causing him to have constant excess. And there was one way that's the easiest (and most fun) way to get rid of excess  magic... and that's why you are here now. 

Eight weeks pregnant in the hospital, you came in for a stomach bug originally, but then the doctor came in and told  you... It looks like all that excess magic has some side effects...

You carry the little paper with the positive test home, finding sans waiting for you at the table. He smiles; if the big dork had a tail, you would swear it would be wagging.

He doesn't verbally greet you, instead hulking over and burying his face in your hair with a loud purr. You smile and pat the side of his skill. 

“Missed you to big guy.” 

You try and act normal; you werent sure how sans would  react... You never really talked about it with him. Sans immediately clocked your mood though, cocking his head in a silent question. 

“Im fine,” you say, moving to the fridge to start dinner. 

"Liar,” he says, a deep, anxious growl rumbling in his chest. 

“Are you sick?” he asks. You forgot that going to the hospital and then not telling your mate what the doctors said is not the best idea. 

You close the fridge and lean against it, crossing your arms. 

You really didnt want to tell sans yet...

“Im not sick,” you say slowly, trying to figure out how to tell him.

“Whats… wrong?” sans asks. 

Sans talks slower due to his injury, but he is still smart as a whip,  clocking any small mood shifts with great speed and accuracy. You can't hide anything from him. 

“Umm… How do you feel about kids?” you ask, testing the waters. 

Sans perks up, thinking for a moment. 

“I like kids,” he says.

“But do you want kids?” 

Sans quickly nods his head eagerly, “Yes.” 

You relax slightly at that, nodding your head.

“How would you feel if we were to have a kid? Like… now?” 

“... that would be nice?” He asks a slight question at the end of his sentence: What were you getting at? 

"Well, that may be the case. Because im pregnant.” 

Sans eyelight grows, walking to you slowly as if you would bolt. Gently, he places his hands on your hips and looks down at you. 

“Your fucking with me… really?” He says happily, and you shake your head no, handing him the paper you got from the doctors. 

“I swear im not.” 

Sans shortcuts you to your shared room, placing you on the bed and grabbing his phone to call papyrus, you have to almost wrestle the phone out of his hands, urging him to wait a little bit before he tells anyone. But he can't help it; he's just so excited! 

And no HT papyrus, as i headcannon, they are asexual :3

thanks for reading! if you want to see more content check out my fanfic "doe eyed" on ao3 and my discord server! 18+ (we do check)

[monoclesnapple]

Intermediate Shenanigans

Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya Nakahara & Gender Neutral Reader + Osamu Dazai & Reader + Odasaku X Reader Summary: Headcanons about taking care of middle schooler Dazai and Chuuya and dating Oda Beginning Note: Shoutout to all the class clowns/funny people, they're great inspiration for scenarios. @kiwibeanv helped with the stories of said funnies. Word Count: 2629 (Fluff/Crack)

First off, you're their parent figure and they live with you. All comfy with you and they trust you a lot. Now to move on to their stupidity.

Immaturity at its finest.

It’s constant arguing, pointing fingers, and the like.

They’re always fighting for your attention, pushing against each other so your hand can pet them.

You’re sitting on the couch, watching TV, when Dazai runs into the living room and jumps to the spot next to you. Since you’re leaning against the armrest, there’s only one seat next to you.

Dazai pushes himself under your arm and hugs your waist as he sighs contentedly. You idly rub his arm for a few minutes before Chuuya comes in with an annoyed expression.

“Oi, StinkZai, do your history homework before you go do whatever.”

Dazai whined and buried himself deeper into your side. “I’ll do it later! I’m tired right now.” He closed his eyes.

“Dazai, you need to do your assignments before you eventually forget and never get them done,” you told him. He let out a groan at that, “Why can’t Chuuya do it? Isn’t he supposed to listen to me since I’m smarter?”

“You’re not smarter than me! Even a shrimp can do better than you!” Chuuya sped to the two of you and pulled on Dazai until the latter fell to the floor.

“Ow!- That’s my spot!” The brunette rubbed his arm. Chuuya had stolen his spot in your arms now and smirked at the other.

“Maybe you should’ve done your homework first, you idiot!” He blew a raspberry and rested his head on your shoulder.

You sighed, “If you two continue to fight, I’m simply going to go to my room and relax without either of you.”

They both froze and looked at you then at each other. Despite their inability to cooperate without trouble, they agreed on the fact that your presence was probably the most important thing they want. They begrudgingly decided to keep quiet, moving so Chuuya can sit on one of your knees while Dazai reclaimed his initial place.

Eventually, they get their emo phases. One day, Dazai just randomly started wearing bandages over his eye, saying that he looks better.

“Why are you wasting bandages?” “Because I look so cool and a lot of girls come up to me and say I look nice! I know that so many people have a crush on me, especially when I’m like this!” “Just wait til they find out that this stupid mackerel is actually a bad person and a major turn off!” “Chuuya, don’t say that, please.”

And Chuuya had a Sonic phase. He thought the hedgehog was so cool, he wanted to be like him in as many ways he can.

He then found out about Conker’s Bad Fur Day and asked you if he could get it. You thought it’d be a wholesome game for kids, but when you looked at the plot and ratings, you didn’t buy it for him. He was sad, but got over it.

And then he came across Devil May Cry and decided to watch the gameplay and cutscenes because you might not buy it for him (you may consider, but it still has some scenes that you’re skeptical about.)

Nero from DMC4 is so cool despite the excessive “Kyrie!” throughout the game, Chuuya wants to dress like him. And dye his hair white.

Every time he loves a character, he wants to dye his hair their own hair color, but you never let him because why should he ruin his lovely hair? (He may or may not ask to dye his hair just so you can compliment him.)

Hot Topic is their favorite store because it has so many aesthetics and they love the style of the apparel.

They start simping for characters and reading fanfics. You know what they’re reading because they use the family/shared device and don’t delete the history. Why are there so many lemons? What do they mean? (Unless you’re a fanfic reader yourself)

They kinda know what sex is, they have a faint idea, but they’re probably wrong on a few things.

Hence, Dazai is excited for sex ed! Wooo! His head is smacked by Chuuya because the latter is embarrassed that he just yelled that out and now kids are looking at them.

When they’re learning about it, Dazai’s snickering at the pictures. But not the childbirth, what the actual fuck did they just watch? 

Oh boy, now they’re the cringe and immature kids who laugh at everything that can vaguely be related to sex.

Anyways, now to the scenario that was the whole reason for this

You were sitting on the couch, Dazai and Chuuya on the floor and you’re petting their heads. You check your phone, keeping a hand on Chuuya’s head and caressing it. He’s smiling with his eyes closed in bliss. Oh, how he loves this affection.

Until Dazai pushes and climbs on him to be the receiver of your pets. He smiles innocently when you glance over, but smirks at Chuuya, who shoves him as well and takes his spot back.

This continues to go on and you’re about to say something, but then the door is unlocked and opened. Dazai excitedly turns to see Oda coming in. He runs over and hugs the man while Chuuya sets himself in your lap.

After greeting Dazai, Oda is carrying him and walks to you and Chuuya, pressing a kiss to your head and ruffling Chuuya’s hair.    

You're in a relationship with Oda, and Dazai loves it.

His two favorite people together, who he might call his parents? How blessed he is!

He doesn’t know who he prefers, so the two of you are equal in his eyes. But when it comes to physical affection, he might go to Oda since Chuuya’s all over you and Dazai’s too tired to do anything. Also, he doesn’t see Oda as often as he does you.

Chuuya thinks Oda is great, but he’s not as close to him as Dazai is. If he had to choose between you or Oda, he’d honestly choose you.

Oda loves coming home to find you three waiting for him on the couch. It warms his heart that he is wanted and loved.

Either he comes home to you all cooking dinner, sleeping in a pile on the floor, playing games (board games or video) , or watching TV.

He still takes care of his adopted children at the curry shop, but he also enjoys the company of Dazai and Chuuya

Sometimes, he would bring those five kids to your house so they can play with Dazai and Chuuya. Everyone has fun, it’s like a party. (Sneaking kisses in the kitchen as everyone else plays video games on the TV)

Oda is a gentleman, whenever you two go out, he always opens the door for you, pulls out your seat, and kisses your hand when you both meet and bid goodbye to each other.

If Dazai ever sees you and Oda share a kiss, he’s cheering in his mind. Whereas Chuuya just brushes it off with an unnoticeable upwards twitch of his lips and an eye roll.

Once, you spotted Oda talking to Dazai outside under the moonlight. You knew the former was telling the teen about the right thing to do. Dazai had expressed his want of being involved in some well known group.

He hinted a little about maybe being a detective or even following Oda’s footsteps of going to the mafia. You really didn’t want him to go with the second option, but at least he’d have Oda to guide him if he’s even alive at that time

Thus, he’s told to prioritize other people’s happiness over his own. It’s tough, but it’s for the better of everyone.

He also says the same to Chuuya, but he goes into more detail with Dazai. You mainly handle Chuu with the lectures since he’s more likely to take your words to heart.

Chuuya has great friends in school, they seem like a lovely bunch, and you trust them. You’ve met them before and they were very nice.

Dazai doesn’t have as many, but you can tell he’s not really clicking with them like Chuuya is with his own. When his mood seems to lower, you go to him when he’s alone and you two cuddle. You can faintly pick up the sound of sniffles and feel your clothing moisten. After the session, you two don’t mention it because you know Dazai doesn’t want to remember that.

With any trauma, you take them to therapy. If it’s affecting either kid negatively, they need to talk about it. Initially, they talk to you, but they go see a professional if that doesn’t work.

Academically, the two of them are good. Dazai’s grades are always A’s even if he procrastinates or doesn’t seem to get his work done.

Chuuya usually gets B’s, but his PE is the best with an A+. He signs up for any sports the school offers if he’s interested.

Dazai’s lowest grade is PE, around a C because he’s not athletic like Chuuya.

Both Dazai and Chuuya have the same PE class and teacher, but their participation and effort are the opposite.

“Okay, everyone needs to do fifteen seconds of push-ups and fifteen sit-ups, let’s go! Get started!” The teacher instructed. They were walking around their class in the gym, ensuring everyone was doing what they were told.

They noticed a student lying face down next to the wall and when they walked by, they pointed at him and asked, “Who is that?”

Chuuya heard their inquiry and answered, “Dazai.”

The teacher was silent for a second before focusing back on the other students, “Let’s go! You should be on the next exercise now!”

Whenever there’s a fundraiser, they’re begging you to please donate so they can get a prize.

“Pleeeaaassseee? You can get a refrigerator stuffed with $200! Or even an iPad!” Dazai’s giving you the puppy eye(s) [depends if he’s bandaged his eye or not] and Chuuya is hugging you and kissing your cheek. “We love you so much, can you pretty please with a cherry on top donate? We’ll pay you back!” (They don’t make money, nor do they have an allowance.)

When it comes to projects, Dazai always waits until the last minute.

“Hey, can we go to the store and buy supplies? I have a project.” He whispered to you.

“Huh...?” You were woken up by him at whatever the time was, so you rubbed your eyes and sat up. Oda was still asleep beside you, a peaceful expression on his face. You kept your voice to not disturb him, “What?” When you checked the time, it was 2 am.

“I need some things for my science project,” Dazai was just standing by your bed, with big eyes, looking as though he had thrown up.

“When’s it due?”

“Tomorrow.” You frowned at that.

“Sorry bud, can’t help you. It’s too late, why aren’t you in bed?”

“I had to work on my project and other assignments,” he shifted in his spot and awkwardly averted his eyes. “I only need two things, glitter markers and a poster board.”

You stared at him tiredly, before sighing. “What happened to the ones I bought at the beginning of school?”

“I lost them.”

You blinked, unmoving. “And you can’t borrow Chuuya’s?”

He shook his head, saying they weren’t what he needed. At last, you moved the covers off your body and made your way to the closet. “Fine, go get ready. You should be thankful I’m even entertaining this idea.”

Dazai silently cheered and sped to his room. Why were you so lenient with these children? They’re gonna be spoiled.

His project was claiming that potatoes can power up devices. As stupid as it sounds, he somehow makes it convincing until it’s actually tested and obviously it doesn’t work. But he still gets a passing grade for the effort.

During one of their classes, Chuuya asked to go to the bathroom and ten minutes later when the teacher was about to ask about his location, he comes back with a lunch tray.

“Where’d you get that?” “I look like a sixth grader.”

He just munched away as everyone stared at him confused before they got back to the lesson.

Another time, the teacher left the room for a few minutes. Since Dazai wondered what their coffee tasted like, he waltzed over to the desk and took a sip and immediately spat it out.

“Ugh! It tastes like shit!” When the teacher came back, the whole class silently agreed to stay quiet and not tell on him.

When it was around Halloween and everyone could wear a costume, Dazai wore a squirrel suit. He brought an acorn prop and clipped it to the front of his pants. When walking up to the stage for the best costume contest, he hit the acorn with his legs, playing with it, until it accidently hit his balls and he crouched to the floor in pain. Of course, the guys winced at it, but it was pretty funny. Someone, Chuuya probably, yelled out, “He busted a nut!”

More nonsense, pantsing sometimes occurred. And Chuuya was the unfortunate target for Dazai. He had snuck up behind the former, and yanked down his pants. Regrettably, Dazai’s fingers also caught onto the waistband of the undergarments and when it came down, he got a face full of balls.

He was so traumatized despite being the one to commit the act.

Food fights can also happen. While Chuuya was peacefully eating his lunch, Dazai threw a tomato slice at him and the fruit made a satisfying splat! on Chuuya’s cheek.

He also tried to throw cheese, but he missed and it landed in the hair of someone who was just walking by. (And somehow did not get in trouble).

For presentations, Chuuya had to do an audio recording, and Dazai just sneezed at the beginning of it, He recorded another but when uploading the audio files, he accidently clicked the sneeze one. Presentation day was funny, but Chuuya didn’t necessarily like it.

If they had online school, Chuuya would be talking to the camera before a ball smacks his face. He falls out of frame, and Dazai is just seen running in the background.

There are also interviews or random school news done by the student council. They hate having to work with Dazai and Chuuya together because they always argue. The one time the video went right was when Chuuya had a voice crack.

Rallies also happen, and students would have to cheer as loud as they can for their team. Chuuya and Dazai are the loudest, but they also suffer from voice cracks. After the rally, they lose their voice for about a day.

Rocketry is an elective, and there’s a weird Russian kid named Fyodor. Both the boys don’t really like him. Since he’s associated with rats (Kids call him Rat, and one person did see him surrounded by rats in an alleyway as though they were dependent on him), they wanted to get a rat plushie. They asked you if you could get them the plush. You decided to buy it for them, not knowing why they actually wanted it.

They taped it to a rocket they made for the elective, put more power into it, and they launched it into the air. When it blasted off, they looked at Fyodor with threatening stares.

Occasionally, you and Oda would volunteer to help with some school activities. The first time both of you arrived, so many students had a crush on either of you. They’d go to Chuuya/Dazai and whisper “That’s your parent?”

Oda’s a dilf and you’re also a milf/dilf.

What a happy family you lot are.