#AND THEY ALL DIED IN THE END FFS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 4 months ago

Note

Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!reader.

Aerys goes on his "everyone must burn" rant and his daughter tries unsuccessfully to talk him down. Finally, Jaime snaps and kills Aerys while ordering his father's men to hold the Princess back. She's not guilty, so he doesn't want her dead.

Robert claims the throne and dismisses Tywin's attempt to marry him to Cersei. Instead, Robert declares he'll "legitimatizes" his rule by marrying Rhaegar's sister, who is being held as a political prisoner. He's planning on using the smallfolks' love of her to soften the blow of taking the throne; if he kills her, there might be a riot he can't afford.

In the weeks Robert had spent settling into his new role as interim King, she's been depressed and inconsolable, especially after hearing of her mother's death. Not to mention just about everyone she loves has either betrayed her, died, or is out of her reach; Jaime, Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys, Rhaella, Arthur, Barristan, Viserys, Dany.

She's no longer speaking, hardly eating, and alternates between crying her eyes raw or staring numbly at nothing. She's barely sleeping. There is talk she'll starve herself. Hearing about Robert's plans doesn't do her fracturing psyche any favors, but it doesn't matter.

She sees memories of their relationship; meeting for the first time after he sees Lyanna and Rhaegar together; how cold he is to her. Running into her coming out of the library with an embarrsing book, which amuses him. Later finding her sketching him- teasing her instead of being embarrassed, finally seeing her instead of her twin. Still doesn't love her, though.

For all her lashing out at him, she still winds up at the alter.

3 three time skip and Targ Princess has given birth to her first child. It's the first hint of happiness she's shown in years and when Robert is let into the room, he's dumbfounded by how attractive her maternal side is to him.

The story ends with him trying to get closer, maybe under the guise of seeing the child and hoping she won't pull away when he finally touches her. Left open ended.

Thank you! Sorry for the original ask. I scrolled down it after you posted yoir response and went "Holy shit, that's a wall of words!"

I hope I shortened it enough. If not, I'll try again or you can cut anything you don't think adds to the story. Again, so sorry. And thank you if you choose to take on my request.

The Crown That Bled

Requests are closed

- Summary: He married you to keep the realm in line. You married him because you had no choice. And happiness is an elusive thing.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Robert Baratheon

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: So, this was still a little too overwhelming for a short story and I've struggled with what to keep and what to discard. This is what I've managed to write with the information provided. I hope this is something you had in mind.

The Sept of Baelor smelled of incense and wilting roses. Smoke curled from brass censers, spiraling toward the high-arched dome where sunlight bled through colored glass, staining the floor in hues of crimson and gold. The bells tolled dully in the distance, sounding more like a funeral dirge than a wedding celebration. The gathered nobles whispered in hushed tones, draped in velvets and silks, eyes darting toward the altar and the lone figure standing beside it—the King, newly crowned and wide-shouldered in his fur-lined cloak of black and gold, Robert Baratheon.

You were not there yet.

You sat in the chambers they'd locked you in, a gilded cage fit for a princess—cold and quiet, except for the caw of a raven outside the window and the steady creak of footsteps as guards paced the hall. Your reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost: hollowed eyes rimmed in red, skin pale and drawn from weeks of mourning and madness. Your silver-gold hair hung in limp strands, unbrushed. You barely remembered the last time you bathed or ate. The food they left was always taken away, untouched or barely picked at. The maids stopped trying to coax you. You no longer spoke to them, or anyone.

They had told you of your mother’s death three nights past, and the sound you made then had not been human. You’d torn the hem of your dress, your nails bloodied your own arms, your sobs had echoed like a broken harp string long after you collapsed onto the stone floor. Rhaella—your mother, the last steady thing in a world of fire and betrayal—was dead, her frail heart giving out after the news of her husband's fate and her son's. You had not wept since then. Not truly. You had simply… leaked tears, as though your soul had cracked and the sorrow slipped through the fissures, silent and endless.

When you first heard Robert intended to marry you, you had laughed. It was a horrible sound, brittle and dry. Then you screamed. Screamed so long your voice disappeared. You spat on the servant who brought the message, shattered a goblet against the wall, and threatened to throw yourself from the tower window. But none of it mattered. You were the last piece left on the board—the only one of value. And Robert, ever the brute, ever the warrior, had turned conqueror and king. He didn’t want Cersei Lannister, despite Tywin’s persistence. He wanted you. Not for love. Not even for desire, though there had once been something hungry in the way he looked at you during court gatherings, long before the war. No, he wanted you to silence the blood in the streets, to win the hearts of those who still whispered your name as they lit candles for the dead dragon prince. Rhaegar's sister. A daughter of the old line. If he couldn’t kill the dragon, he would cage it. Wed it. Breed it.

A knock came at the door. You did not answer.

It creaked open anyway. You didn’t turn.

“Y/N,” a voice said, rough and low and too alive. “It’s time.”

You didn’t move.

He stepped closer, boots scraping the stone. “The realm needs this.”

The realm. You hated that word. The realm had taken everything from you.

Still, you rose. Slowly. Mechanically. The maids came, silent as ghosts, dressing you in the gown that had been ordered. White. As if your innocence could still be claimed. They wove braids into your hair, pinned a small crown of rubies and pearls. One offered you a veil. You shook your head.

And so you walked to the Sept without it, your face bare for the world to see—shattered, exhausted, and empty.

Robert turned when he saw you, and for a moment, something flickered in his blue eyes. Not victory. Not lust. Something quieter. Sadder. He didn’t smile.

You stood beside him, your hand limp in his. His palm was calloused, warm, too large around yours.

The Septon's voice droned on, reading the vows of House and Faith. You barely heard it. Words floated past like wind in a dead garden.

“Do you, Robert of House Baratheon, take Y/N of House Targaryen—”

“I do,” he said before the Septon even finished, the words rasped from his throat like they pained him.

You said nothing. The Septon looked at you, hesitated, then gently prompted: “Princess?”

Your lips parted. The words did not come.

Robert’s hand tightened.

You closed your eyes. You saw Rhaegar on the Trident, dying with Lyanna’s name on his lips. You saw Jaime's haunted face as he watched your father burn the city down in his mind. You saw your mother’s hands, trembling as she held baby Viserys. You saw Dany’s face, too young to understand any of it. All of it gone.

“I do,” you whispered.

The bells rang again.

The crowd clapped politely.

And the man who had helped kill your family leaned forward and kissed your cheek, soft and solemn, as if it made anything better. You did not flinch. You did not cry. You did not breathe.

You were a queen now. But there was no joy in it.

Only ash.

The birthing chamber was quiet now, save for the faint pop and hiss of the brazier in the corner and the distant echo of revelers in the Red Keep, drinking to the health of the new heir. It had been a hard labor, a long one—two days and a night of pain so deep it had splintered your mind, left you delirious with heat and blood and the haunting memories of every Targaryen woman who had died doing this same sacred, monstrous thing. You had not screamed, even when the pain was worst. You had whimpered, sobbed, clenched your teeth until your jaw ached, but never screamed. That part of you had been burned out long ago.

But now, as the sun bled pale gold through the sheer curtains of the tower windows, you lay propped on linen pillows, your hair damp with sweat, skin aglow with the exhaustion of survival. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, your arms were full. A child. Your child. A small, warm bundle swaddled in Targaryen red silk, already calm, already curious. He blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes—eyes that were not violet like yours, but a deep, rich blue that reminded you too cruelly of the man who sired him.

Still, you did not hate him for it. You did not hate him for anything. You loved him. Already. Utterly.

You traced his downy cheek with a trembling finger, and for a moment, a smile—small, stunned, wondrous—broke across your face like sunlight through a storm. The midwives had seen it. The maester had noticed. They exchanged glances, hushed and wide-eyed. It was the first expression of happiness they’d ever seen on your face since the sack of King’s Landing. The stillness in you had cracked.

“My lady,” one of them said, gently, reverently. “The King is waiting.”

You didn’t answer right away. You only looked down again, studying your son's tiny fists, his slow, sleepy blink. “Let him in,” you said at last, softly.

The door creaked open moments later, and Robert entered.

He was cleaner than usual, though his hair was still a bit unkempt, and the heavy cloak of royal blue slung over his broad shoulders gave him a warlike silhouette. He looked older, wearier than the man who had crushed Rhaegar’s chest with a hammer, older than the roaring brute who had seized your hand and crown in one swift move. But his blue eyes sharpened the moment he saw you—really saw you, sitting there in the sunlight, your hair loose around your shoulders, the silver tangled and darkened with sweat, your gown undone at the breast as you nursed your newborn son.

The sight stopped him cold.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. He simply stared, his mouth parted slightly, his gaze flickering over you not with the drunken lust he usually turned on brothel girls or serving wenches, but with something far more quiet and dangerous. Hunger, yes, but layered over awe. You were radiant, even with the fatigue etched into your face, even with the bruising along your throat where the maids had steadied you in the worst of the pain. There was softness in you now that hadn’t been seen since before the war, before madness and fire took your family from you. A part of you had returned, and it shook him.

You didn’t look up right away. You focused on the baby, adjusting the swaddling gently. “He’s healthy,” you said at last. “Strong. They say he didn’t even cry until he was cleaned.”

Robert cleared his throat. “He’s mine, then,” he said, trying for jest, but the words came out too raw.

You looked at him. There was no bite in your eyes today. Just tiredness. And something else—something soft and distant, like the echo of a dream.

“I named him Baelor,” you murmured. “After the Blessed.”

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Not… not a more fierce dragon name?”

“No.” You kissed the baby's forehead. “He was born in fire, but he deserves peace.”

Robert stepped closer, more slowly than usual, as if he feared startling you. He was so large that his shadow cast over the bed, over you and the boy. “May I…?” he asked, and his voice faltered. “May I hold him?”

You hesitated. You didn’t recoil, but your arms tightened instinctively around the bundle in your arms.

“I won’t hurt him,” he said, quieter this time. “Or you.”

You nodded, slowly, and shifted the child just enough for him to slip his arms underneath. He moved with surprising gentleness, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, cradling his son as if he were holding a cup made of glass. Baelor blinked once at him, then yawned.

“Seven hells,” Robert whispered, a chuckle caught somewhere in his throat. “He’s real.”

You watched him closely, head tilted, your hands still hovering near the baby’s blanket. You didn’t lean away. You didn’t tell him to go.

He glanced at you sideways, unsure, and something flickered again in his expression. Not just pride. Not just male satisfaction. But need.

“You smiled when you looked at him,” he said.

“I did,” you whispered.

He was silent for a beat longer, then dared to reach out. Not for the baby, but for your hand. Just two fingers grazing the edge of yours. Barely touching.

You didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

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girlsworldillusion · 3 months ago

Text

I'll fake it until you give up (or will it be me?)

Ravenclaw!Barty - Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: The five times Barty tried to hint at a relationship with you, being actively blocked in the process, and the one time you were the one who did it.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Ella's Notes: This was supposed to be a one shot, yes I know. But it got out of hand and it was so ridiculously long that no one would have the patience to read something like that. So I split it into two parts - but before you kill me, the second part is practically ready, so I'll post it very soon. Let me know what you think of this first part!

In this story I didn't go into any details about the Slytherins mentioned and Barty himself having any association with Voldemort, nor anything about Death Eaters. In fact, you can even pretend that this scenario doesn't exist in this fic, because that was my intention. I wanted to create something independent, an alternative and lighter version of the events. Maybe in a future opportunity I'll write something within this canonical reality, but that's not the case this time.

Happy reading!

Word count: 6,5k

Lovely tags: @just-here-for-ff @amel1ee

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

You felt bad for the blonde girl next to you in History of Magic class, having to put up with your frustrated huffs every few minutes, born of a complete and utter lack of understanding of the subject. Each class made you feel more confused than the last. Which, honestly, was understandable considering who was teaching.

Professor Binns, oblivious to the students dozing off and openly drooling during his lecture, continued to float tediously around the room with his hands clasped behind his transparent body, reciting every tiny and unnecessary detail about the Goblin Rebellion, his favorite topic to lecture on, with the energy of an old and broken vacuum cleaner.

You glance with some irritation at the nearly blank parchment on the table, your meager notes consisting only of dates and names fished here and there throughout the ghost's monotonous and endless speech - nothing that would guarantee you a good score in the upcoming N.E.W.T.s.

You hate with all your might that your impeccable grade record in all other classes is constantly tarnished by this one hellish subject, year after year.

How was it possible that after so much time listening to the same long and exhausting lectures about the damned rebellion, you still hadn't learned anything substantial about it?

It was clear that this was all Professor Binns' fault and his innate ability to put anyone to sleep in ten minutes of class - five if the day was particularly hot.

"And with that, I conclude today's class." The old ghost's dull, drawling voice rings out and for the first time since class began you feel excited by something he says, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "For the next class I expect from each of you a detailed essay on how Urg the Unclean went from a simple goblin to a renowned leader of the XVIII Rebellion, even having his own image on a Chocolate Frog Card."

The smile dies as quickly as it appears and you slam your forehead against the tabletop with an exasperated groan between your teeth, hearing Pandora chuckle beside you, though she’s certainly as bored with the task as you are.

You turn your face away from the cold surface of the table, cheek pressed against the wood and a defeated look on eyes as you glide disinterestedly across the classroom — which looks as ready to kill themselves as you do. Your expression, however, sharpens immediately when you notice him.

Unlike the other students, who are either openly drooling over their desks as they take the best nap of the school year, or rolling their eyes so hard they might as well end up in the back of their heads in exasperation over this class, he remains irritatingly unfazed.

At first you wouldn’t think he was paying attention in class, not with the nonchalant way he rests his face on his hand, elbow propped on the table. His gaze isn't even on the boring Professor Binns, who's still talking (detailing the damned assignment about Urg the Unclean). His face is tilted over his palm, a sly, soft smile on his lips. And he's looking at you.

You keep the side of your face flat on the table as squint at him suspiciously.

You couldn't say when you first became aware of his stares. And even after you noticed it, for a long time you wondered if you were just imagining it. Of course it could only be your imagination. Why, after all, would he be staring at you at every opportunity he got? There was no apparent reason for it in your mind.

But time passed and what was apparently just imagination changed into an irrefutable certainty. You couldn't pretend not to notice his stares, especially since he never tried to be subtle about it; whether it was over the steamy cauldrons in Potions Class, or from the Ravenclaw table during meals, or the piercing gaze he gave you as he skilfully glided through the air on his broom during a Quidditch match, or even from a strategically positioned spot on the table in front of you as you tried to concentrate and study in the library...

Whatever it was, he was always looking.

And it was already disturbing you. Because, no matter how hard you tried, you simply couldn't understand why.

Of course, your mind always ran to the worst possibility of all. Some cruel little game orchestrated with his friends.

Although he was a Ravenclaw, you knew that most of his friendships was centered around Slytherin. Somewhat questionable friendships, such as; Evan Rosier, Regulus Black, Bellatrix, Rabastan Lestrange, Lucious Malfoy, Severus Snape, Wilkes...

Regulus Black and Evan Rosier seemed to be the most 'normal' of the dysfunctional group nicknamed by the other students as the Slytherin Gang; Regulus with his usual superior and disinterested attitude and Evan with the restless and endless energy of a Cornish Pixie. The others, however, were much more openly unpleasant and frightening.

It was not uncommon for you to have to give detentions to Rabastan Lestrange and Bellatrix Black on your nights of patrol as a Head Girl. You would constantly find them doing something they definitely shouldn't, like sneaking out of the dungeons after bedtime to make out indecently in the castle corridors in plain sight, or even cornering some poor younger student to torture with their cruel psychological games - and sometimes physically.

In any case, Barty Crouch's constant association with this group made you automatically label him as one of them, making you wary and suspicious, especially after noticing his stares at you.

Maybe Bellatrix and Rabastan were using him as a channel for revenge on you after all those detentions?

Although, knowing the sadistic and selfish streak of the duo, you doubted they would plan to inflict any torture methods on you through anyone other than themselves.

But anything was possible and the longer he stared, the more paranoid you became.

He smiled a little wider and his stupid crystal blue gaze slowly blinked at you, almost as if he could read your mind.

You blushed, widening your eyes slightly. Could he be a legilimens?

You knew he had the intelligence for it. He was intelligent enough that you were absolutely certain that, even though he didn't seem to hear a single word Professor Binns was saying, he already knew every annoying detail of this subject by heart.

Merlin, he had managed to perform and do ridiculously well in TWELVE O.W.L.s during the fifth year! Which is almost impossible to do, unless you're a damned time traveler, or someone with a level of intelligence and academic commitment that is destined for creatures of superhuman level.

You had your suspicions, and envy, thinking that perhaps he had access to a Time-Turner. But, since Time-Turners were only granted through a direct request from the Head of House to the Ministry, who fully trusted that the student would not use it recklessly, you ruled that possibility out almost immediately. No one in their right mind would trust that Barty Crouch Jr. would not use a Time-Turner to open rifts in space-time and permanently alter events of the past and future for purely selfish reasons, least of all the very sensible and intelligent Head of Ravenclaw House.

Which, of course, didn't help with the question of how he did it.

You yourself had fought tooth and nail, basically living like a living dead person throughout the school year to fit as many classes as possible into your free time during the day, and still managed to complete ten out of twelve O.W.L.s. Of course, at the time, you felt incredibly proud of this, since the standard was for a student, even the smartest, to only complete around seven or eight. Your pride, however, deflated considerably when you discovered that Barty Crouch, a guy with a questionable sense of humor and a worrying level of disinterest in seemingly anything that didn't have a pair of nice legs and a skirt, had surpassed you.

Indignation and envy aside, you felt like you were being pushed to the limit with these constant stares.

Pandora thought he was in love with you. An opinion that, respectfully, you laughed in her face when you heard. There was no way in hell that something like that would happen. Not only was Barty stupidly attractive and therefore completely out of your league - but the mere idea of someone being romantically interested in you made you feel...well, weird would almost be a descriptive enough word.

You didn’t want romance. You never really understood the appeal of it, not at such a young age. Love distracts, it makes people lose sight of the goal, it makes them silly and vulnerable. And you didn’t have time to be silly and vulnerable, not with the weight of so many responsibilities on your shoulders, with dreams and grand ambitions waiting for you in the future. And surely no guy who had trouble keeping himself from cumming as soon as he got in your pants would understand that well enough. You were used to keeping yourself apart, it was almost a defense mechanism at this point. While other girls your age were collecting love, you were collecting good grades in the classes. And that was okay.

Don’t get me wrong, you weren’t necessarily a pessimist (but you certainly weren’t someone who believed in anything; your mother always told you that there was more wisdom in proving it for yourself than in believing in mere whispered words here and there). You just didn’t really understand how this whole love thing could be remotely interesting at your age.

And anyone with half a functioning brain cell knows that Crouch is chaos incarnate: loud, mischievous, and impossible to ignore. He's determined to break every rule ever made by man, but somehow still manages to be absurdly endearing while doing it. It just makes you want to run — to hide. He's definitely the kind of trouble you try to avoid as much as possible in your life.

And that's why the possibility of him being in love with you was definitely not encouraged. In fact, you vehemently refused to even acknowledge it. Simply because it wasn't possible — by any means. Neither would he be interested in you in that way, and much less could you afford to accept any soft feelings from him, on the off chance that they were real. So you cling to the only coherent explanation for all this supposed interest of his: cruel intentions.

Yes, that had to be it.

And it's with that thought in mind that you hurriedly gather your things as soon as Professor Binns finally finishes his almost endless speech and dismisses the class.

You don't look to the side as leave the classroom with brisk steps, but feel his gaze following you anyway.

ii.

Regulus Black was very handsome.

Like, unfairly handsome.

You stare at the Slytherin with a fair amount of jealousy oozing from your pores, a pout on your lips and a furrowed brow. The guy, for his part, doesn’t even seem to be aware of your spiteful gaze upon him, taking elegant, measured bites of the chocolate pudding on his plate, nodding discreetly every now and then to agree with whatever his chatterbox neighbor is saying.

He clearly doesn’t want to engage in any conversation with the boy, but he’s too courteous and polite to make any rude comments about it. Because of course, he’s Regulus Black.

With his aristocratic nose elongated in an undeniably masculine way, but maintaining a delicate curve and a pert tip in a disturbingly cute way - the soft dusting of freckles over the bridge only intensifying the cuteness. His thick, dark eyebrows, drawn in a perfectly symmetrical arch. His pale, smooth skin like the most flawless marble sculpture. His beautiful, onyx curls, framing the sides of his face like he was some ethereal creature from a fairy tale. His eyes, deep-set and beautifully flickering between green and blue, surrounded by the most ridiculously thick curtain of dark lashes you’d ever seen on anyone. And that was just Regulus Black’s face. It was taking absolutely everything in you not to start a detailed analysis of his damn tall, ripped Seeker body.

Now, you hadn’t planned on spending the night cataloging how many unfair ways Regulus Black managed to be more pretty than any other boy you’d ever seen in your life — by Merlin, he was prettier than most GIRLS you’d ever seen, too. You definitely didn't plan on feeling completely humiliated by his appearance that night, as if you looked like you'd been beaten by a Whomping Willow and never recovered from it.

None of that was in the plan, but at some point during Professor Slughorn's endless ramblings and the pretentious comments from the students of this small and select club of supposedly exceptional young people, you found your mind wandering to unwanted places. Unfortunately, Regulus Black was the one sitting right in your line of sight, on the other side of the table - and the poor guy was the victim of your mental fixation to escape boredom.

At first, you saw Slughorn's invitation as an invaluable honor. After all, you had been included in the extremely selective list of the most promising students at Hogwarts. Your body practically vibrated with excitement in the days leading up to the meeting. You picked out a cute dress for the occasion, fixed your hair and even applied a light layer of makeup. Your expectations were admittedly high and you planned to leave the meeting with some good friends and a lot of extra knowledge in your pocket.

But the meeting was nothing like you imagined.

Yes, the students present were all exceptionally talented in one way or another, and the food was quite good too. But the whole thing proved to be nothing more than a parade of superiority and arrogance, so dull and unsatisfying that it drained your energy within the first few minutes.

Slughorn was genuinely proud of having assembled such a group of model young minds, but the students were only concerned with proving who was better than the other. There was no stimulating conversation and extra knowledge as you had imagined - it was just an irritating and inconvenient contest of who had the best and most absurd lived experiences (most of them made up, you were sure) and who, in fact, stood out with it.

You wanted to leave within the first fifteen minutes of this verbal ordeal, but forced yourself to stay for the sake of Professor Slughorn, who was genuinely elated by the whole thing.

Black and you were the only ones who hadn't shared any stories with the others, resigning yourselves to discreet and scattered comments here and there, just enough to let them know you were present.

To escape the absolute boredom, you let your mind wander. And that's how you ended up hyper-fixated on Regulus Black and his immaculate beauty. The Slytherin proved to be a very effective source of distraction, although his flawless face showed no emotion, remaining as expressionless as a doll - it was clear that the guy also wanted to get rid of this meeting urgently.

Your attention is only broken when a dramatic noise sounds at the entrance of the room, announcing someone's arrival.

Your eyes widen when you see none other than Barty Crouch Junior stumble into the room, spectacularly late. He smiles broadly at the alarmed looks at his indiscreet entrance, walking calmly with his hands in his pants pocket.

There must have been some mistake, you think in bewilderment as you watch him walk over to the table as if he belonged there.

Maybe he was just here to deliver a message?

Your hunch is proven wrong when he seems to notice your presence with a surprised look, his arrogant smile softening immediately to give way to a more natural, more sincere one. Even with a few options open, you sigh in no surprise when you hear him sit down in the empty chair next to yours, sliding in with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, as if he was destined from the start to end up sitting next to you tonight.

You refuse to look at him, turning your face downwards as you busy yourself with sinking the spoon into your own half-eaten chocolate pudding. His audacity to sit next to you only makes you more frustrated - it's not like you're sending out the least bit receptive vibes to his company.

"It's very good to have you with us, Crouch. Even if you arrived later than agreed. It's a shame, I'm afraid you missed some very interesting experiences from your colleagues."

You want to roll your eyes at what Slughorn says from the head of the table, hardly classifying any of those made-up nonsense as remotely interesting, but his presence beside you makes you too tense to do so.

"I'm sorry about that, Professor, I had to finish some important work before I came. I promise I'll be here on time next time."

There's not much sincere regret in Ravenclaw's voice, in fact you swear you can hear something mischievous in his words, which almost makes you want to lift your head to look at his expression.

But, determined as you are to ignore anything Barty would no doubt say to start a conversation, you tilt your head down a little more so that your hair partially hides your face, still showing great interest in the pudding. Crouch, breathing beside you, makes a small sound of confusion at the obvious walls you’ve been putting up, before the sound turns into something akin to amusement.

“You know, ignoring me isn’t going to make me leave,” he says cheerfully — far too cheerfully for someone who’s supposedly (and rightly so) being ignored on purpose.

His recognition of your intentions means you can’t keep up your charade any longer. So, with a heavy sigh, you peer through your hair, already knowing what to expect.

There, right next to you, casually sitting like he was the male protagonist of some clichéd, cheesy romance novel, Batry Crouch smiles.

You feel your eye twitch.

Unlike Regulus, with his ebony curls elegantly arranged around his face, Barty always had that look of someone who tossed and turned all night in bed and didn't even bother to use a comb when he woke up. Locks of light brown hair stuck out in every direction, a mess of strands as chaotic as absolutely everything about him. A few lighter strands stood out among the brown mess, oscillating in a rich shade of gold and honey. And oh Merlin, did the look suit him.

"You look so beautiful tonight. I like that dress on you." He comments, seemingly oblivious to what his words spoken out of absolute nothingness could do to you. Or perhaps very purposefully aware of them. "By the way, you always look beautiful so..."

He's waving his hand in the air as if to emphasize the point that those supposed good looks were normal for you. And of course you get really nervous. It's true, no matter how much you try to deny it to yourself. No matter how much you deny the reasons for being nervous either. You're just not used to compliments, from anyone. Yet you appreciate them very much. Not that you're ever going to admit it, especially to someone as unruly as Crouch.

But you're worried that ravenclaw will notice how nervous you really are anyway, Merlin knows that would only boost his ego and further intensify his apparent commitment to poking you in the most annoying ways. It's a colossal effort to try to calm yourself down while simultaneously trying to stop the blush that was forming on your face. But by heavens, it's really challenging to do so when he's staring at you so openly and intently - oh my, he really doesn't have any respect for the boundaries of proper social behavior, did he?

Your eyes sparkle, cheeks turning pinker as you stare at him with a mixture of shyness and a violent session of anger daggers from beneath your lashes. You’re visibly flustered the longer he stares at you (and unlike you, he’s very comfortable with it), your hands fidgeting with each other on the table in a nervous gesture, having long since given up on poking at the poor chocolate pudding.

Barty blinks briefly at your nervous gesture before returning his eyes to yours. “You know you look so cute when you’re all blushing like that,” he teases playfully. “You look like a little strawberry or something.”

You let out a low, uncomfortable meow in your throat, feeling like you could burst into a ball of flames at any moment. What kind of dysfunctional compliment is that? He’s so horrible at it!

“But then again, I’ve never seen you blush that much,” Barty continues as if the observation wasn’t completely humiliating and unnecessary, his head tilted closer to your flaming face with genuine interest. Your gut churns and protests, seemingly trying to eat itself. What’s with that damn look on his face anyway? “Wait…do I make you shy, princess?”

You hate him. You hate him so much, You swear to Merlin, Barty is the worst. He can’t let a girl blush without drawing undue attention to it?! Sure, it’s a little like baking in your dress from how hard your body is blushing, and yeah, maybe you’ve never reacted like that to anyone else — but that’s no big deal!

Except Barty’s looking at you like it is. Like he wants to cut you open, dissect your insides and see for himself just how deep your supposed secrets are, and it’s doing things to you.

Your face won’t stop burning. “What a stupid ideia, of course you don’t — of course I don’t…” Your sudden, complete inability to form a coherent sentence only makes you more frustrated. “Just shut up, Crouch.”

But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. This is Barty.

“If you’re going to lie about this, at least be convincing,” he smiles wider, a sickly sweet humming sound in his throat, as if the whole situation pleases him beyond words.

You frown, hissing through your teeth as you ball your hands into fists, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Stop smiling, idiot. This isn’t funny.”

The teasing glint in his blue eyes softens to something gentler at your discomfort.

“I’m not smiling to make fun of you little lion, believe me.”

Barty hums, lifting his hand from the table to reach out towards what appears to be, to your complete horror and shock, your face. Any naughty joke dies in your throat, your eyes widening in response, a blush creeping across your skin. A sharp gasp escapes your parted lips and you blink owlishly at those fingers so close to reaching your cheeks.

The boy freezes along with you, surprised by your reaction, his fingers frozen in midair as if he had been struck by a Glacius. You barely notice, though. All you can hear is the anxious beating of your own heart, the electricity that seems to crackle from the fingertips that threaten to brush against your skin.

He’s not…he shouldn’t be touching you. And he’s not, in fact. But then why does that make you feel suddenly dazed and pliable like long-whipped cream? It’s almost a disappointment that he hasn’t extinguished those last few inches and touched your flaming cheeks. You almost regret not knowing what his fingers would feel like on your skin.

What?

The thought comes so quickly, so naturally, that it almost makes you jump.

“Huh...” He breathes and you blink pathetically, coming back to the present with a startled expression and hands strangely damp with cold, nervous sweat. His eyes grow curiously darker, and he realizes, you know he does, you know the exact moment he understands something that not even you are willing to acknowledge, and holy shit, no. Just—no. No.

And when you turn your face away to escape that undesirably intense eye contact (and the equally undesirably feelings that come with it), you realize that damn Regulus Black has finally gotten tired of pretending to pay attention to what the boy next to him is saying. Because now his attention is completely focused on you and Barty and the strange exchange that just happened.

He’s wearing what you’d initially think is a completely neutral expression, but a closer look reveals the slight lift of his eyebrow as he slowly, appraisingly slides his eyes between you and Barty, as if silently contemplating something. For some stupid reason, as he stares at you like that, you feel a lot like a child caught by mom doing something their shouldn’t. He seems to find whatever he’s looking for when he allows a small, almost imperceptible smirk to lift the left corner of his lip, his sharp gaze shining with far more mischief than you’d expect from someone as emotionally distant as him.

You silently wish the ground would open up and swallow you right there, taking you to the deepest abyss - or any fucking place where you can just forget this whole thing ever happened. Your face is so heated with humiliation that you can literally feel your cheeks tingling with red, which only makes Regulus’s smirk grow a little wider.

Your resentment towards Barty Crouch Jr and his colossal guilt in this unspeakable situation grows along with that stupid grin.

“I’m leaving,” you announce abruptly, much louder than necessary, glad that Slughorn is now too engrossed in a conversation with a Hufflepuff in the far corner of the room to notice your cowardly and untimely exit. Before you do, however, you narrow your gaze at Barty while practically hissing through your teeth. “And, by Merlin, you better forget this whole thing ever happened or I swear I’ll spell you and make you vomit slugs all weekend, Crouch. I’m just going to — damn, just...bye.”

And then you’re off, without even allowing the ravenclaw to answer you — he’s already said too much, anyway.

Your stubborn gryffindor streak is trying too hard to sugarcoat the situation and convince you that this was a brave and completely strategic exit, to avoid more trouble. But the truth is, it's just you running, shamelessly running away with your tail between your legs while you can still feel Barty Crouch's gaze burning into the back of your neck and Regulus Black's annoyingly knowing smirk etched into your mind the entire way.

iii.

You never neglected your duties as Head Girl, ever.

So it was extremely unusual that you, on your patrol night, would be hiding in a dark, secluded alcove with a gray cat curled up on your lap while you cried everything you hadn’t cried in longer than you could remember.

You supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later, given the circumstances. But it was really inconvenient that it was on the night of your patrol.

A few days ago you received an owl from your parents with the news that your aunt, probably the person you loved most in the world, had passed away. Despite your intense feelings for her and the absolute shock of reading the letter, you didn’t shed a single tear. Not that night and not in the nights that followed. You grieved, of course; silently and internally. But for a moment you truly believed that this was it - this was all the grief you would ever feel.

Maybe you felt things differently than other people. Maybe you didn’t need to wallow in grief and tears like most people tended to do during their mourning.

And then, as you were patrolling the halls earlier that night, you spotted a cat approaching. At first, there was nothing special about it; cats were everywhere in the castle. Except this cat, furry and gray and with the smug air of someone who was countless miles above you in the social hierarchy, was almost identical to the cat your beloved aunt had kept. The same cat you spent the summers teasing, fluffing its soft, well-groomed fur while the animal gave you its best utter scornful glare — your aunt’s laughter ringing in the background, amused and affectionate.

And that was it.

Before you even realized what was happening, you felt the first tears roll down your cheeks, chest shaking with a shaky sob that fought to escape your lips. Like a burst dam, you felt something break inside you, intense and abrupt. There was no way to control the torrent of emotions that threatened to suffocate you, all you could do was run to find a place where no one could witness your collapse.

The cat, surprisingly, followed your hurried steps all the way, settling between your ankles as soon as you found a safe alcove, wrapping its long tail around your legs as you slid down the wall until you fell to the floor. You cried and sobbed and it purred the whole time; its soft, furry little body rubbing against your skin in a strangely comforting way. It made you feel a little better with its presence, the way it went out of its way to keep you company - as it knew it would do you good at that moment.

Small sobs escape your lips and the weight on your chest threatens to suffocate you for a moment and you choke, covering your mouth.

It's clear that this is undoubtedly a dramatic and unfortunate consequence of trying to internalize your feelings as you always do. But the worst thing is knowing that, when this sudden storm of emotions passes, you'll do it again. Because that's what you always do with your feelings. Run and hide.

The only consolation is knowing that no one other than the poor cat who had the misfortune of crossing your path (or would it be the opposite?) is witnessing this embarrassing moment. You're alone.

At least you think you're alone — until you're not anymore.

The flames in the braziers arranged on the stone walls cast shadows on the floor as someone approaches. And you don't need to look up to know who it is. There's no need to, because you feel the weight of his gaze, the same impossible-to-ignore gaze as always. You know it's Crouch without a doubt and you don't want to be seen like this. Not by anyone, but certainly not by him.

This seems to be enough of a motivator for the cry to die in your throat and suddenly your focus is solely on getting away of here. Get away from him. You need air, space, something.

You stand on shaky legs so fast you feel dizzy, your balance already precarious from the headache from crying so much, and the impact makes you stumble. For a split second, you think you might fall — your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts — and then a strong hand grabs your wrist, another braces on your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground. The cat running away during the confusion.

You don’t process what happens immediately, the abrupt turn and your own reeling mind making it hard to form a coherent judgment. Your mind is still stuck on running away and I can’t breathe, and it takes a second to realize that Barty is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful on your body, his expression wavering between amusement and concern.

“Hey hey little lion, what’s the rush?” He teases as always, but his voice loses its careless tone as he seems to get a better look at your face. And you can only imagine the shitty visual you’re giving off. The flames on the walls highlighting the wet trail of tears on your flushed cheeks, your eyes puffy and red from crying, teeth sinking into a quivering bottom lip, hair messy around your face. You look like hell, and you know it.

It doesn’t help that Barty is still examining your face, his eyes narrowing beneath heavy brows that furrow together.

You pull away from him, a little too quickly, a little too abruptly.

“I’m fine.” You spit before he can elaborate on whatever it is that’s on his mind.

Crouch doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?Because honestly, princess, It's not what it seems.” He tilts his head to get a better look at you. "Did someone hurt you? Tell me who made you feel like this, please, I swear I-"

"I said I'm fine." You cut off the endless stream of words, looking down as you adjust your shirt against your body, shifting the weight to your other foot, ignoring the new wave of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. In the same way that you purposefully ignore how his readiness to solve whatever it is that made you feel so bad makes you feel...things. "Go bother someone else, Crouch."

Barty exhales, something heavy in the sound. You look up at the sound, almost uncomfortable with the change. For the first time, his blue eyes aren't filled with that same joy or mischief its always had. Just something inquisitive, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don't have the strength to deal with right now.

"Why...why do you do this?" he asks, softer now, but no less intense. Your brows furrow in confusion at the question, eyes still bright with unshed tears. He sighs, giving you a look that is nothing short of wistful. “Why do you try so hard to pretend that you don’t need anyone to care? You always act like you carry the whole world on your own and you’re doing just fine.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips tighten. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge how close his words are to the truth. Your throat tightens.

“Why do you care?”

Barty lets out a sigh, tilting his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if you’re something he’s trying very hard to decipher. Then he laughs, low and humorless.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice is lower now, something dangerously close to vulnerability. Your fists clench to the point of pain at your sides. “I care because it’s you.”

You blink at him, unable to understand, unable to accept whatever it is he’s trying to tell you. In fact, something inside you whispers that you do. But it feels like too much, like more than you can handle, more than you can comprehend. You feel impossible, a being made of knots and thorns, too tight in your own skin.

“Please,” you sigh then, tired and tearful, the next wave of tears finally spilling over your waterline to run down your wet cheeks, “let’s not do this now…I just, please—”

“Shhh,” he silences your incoherent protest as he pulls you closer with a firm but still gentle tug on your wrist. Your head sinks into the hard planes of his chest as you follow the pull with the naturalness of a wooden doll, your eyes wide and still leaking water — because, Merlin, he’s hugging you.

Your nose is buried in the white dress shirt of his uniform, and the first thing you notice is how strangely good he feels. Warm and comfortable against the chilly wind that blows in through the hallway’s openings, smelling like the wood that fuels the flames of the many fireplaces around the castle’s many and the fresh mint of the tea you drink before bed. And you don’t know what to do with it, what you’re supposed to be doing here. Your body is stiff and trembling as he gently wraps his arms around you, as if you’re something priceless, leaning in so he can bury his nose in the roots of your hair.

“Relax.”

And as if that small, whispered ‘relax’ was all you needed to pull yourself out of your own mind, you slowly feel every muscle beneath your flesh give way and do exactly what he asked; your body relaxing against his, doe eyes blinking against the softness of his shirt, lips parted as you let his presence comfort you.

He feels safe, trustworthy. And it’s so rare that you feel this way that even though you know it would be over in an instant, you don’t want to, and it doesn’t matter, and…your fingers ache to touch him back. It feels like a lifetime before you allow yourself to and you’re returning it. You wrap your arms around his waist to hug his back, gripping the fabric under your hands so tightly it hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to let go, face sinking into his chest to sob some more. Please, don’t make him let go.

“It’s okay, we’ll have time to talk later,” he murmurs into your hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he doesn’t. He lets you cry and sob into his shirt, completely ruining it in the process. But Barty doesn’t care, not even when you sniffle and move to pull away after realizing how messy you’ve been. He just mumbles, 'It's okay, princess, I just want to help you feel better' - something that makes you blush and cry a little more. Because, good heavens, no one has ever said something like that to you.

At one point, you realize that you're both sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and you're half-sitting on the floor, between his legs, face still against his chest - feeling his deep, even breathing calm you down.

By the time tears stop falling, you're exhausted. You've been exhausted for so long, but this kind of exhaustion is different. Better. You realize that you're lighter now than you've felt in a long time, thanks to Barty Crouch Junior. And you...don't know how you feel about that.

And you're too exhausted to think about it.

But you do know one thing.

You don't hate this comfortable contact with him. You don't hate his fingers gently combing through your hair, untangling knots you didn't even know were there. You don't hate his whispers close to your ear, reciting the name of every constellation visible in the dark sky.

You certainly don't hate this moment of peace, a white flag you've raised to wave lazily between the two of you.

When you pull away some time later, struggling to smooth out your wrinkled skirt and shirt, you mumble a thank you to him with heated cheeks and shy eyes. And when he smiles back with his hands in his pockets and head tilted to the side, telling you not to mind, that it was nothing - and you freeze, feeling...

Disappointed?

It was nothing, really. This could never be anything other than 'nothing'. But for some reason, hearing that from him hits you in a completely unexpected and senseless way.

He notices the change in the shine in your eyes, rushing to rephrase what he said with a series of 'wait, that came out wrong' and 'please, I didn't mean it like that'. But you calm him down, assuring him that everything was fine and that it really was nothing, he’s more than right about it.

Before he can argue with that, you’re walking, smiling over your shoulder as you bid him a hasty goodnight before rushing off to your dorm.

Barty was right. This was nothing.

#harry potter #barty crouch jr x reader #barty x reader #barty crouch jr smut #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #marauders #marauders era #ravenclaw #ravenclaw barty #gryffindor reader #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #slytherin boys #slytherin gang

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curlyboys · 13 days ago

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for all the shit that went down with everyone in s8 it's fucking insane that we didn't get the return of frank/another psychologist/therapist whether mandated by the job or as a personal choice.

a lot if not all of the characters could have actually worked through their issues and grown if they'd had someone unbiased and qualified to talk to - instead of getting shitty advice and treatment from those too close to them and have it "fixed" [re:glossed over] with a *handwavey* happening that steamrolled over the emotional potholes instead of patching them up.

i'm dead serious: i think it could've saved season 8.

bc it's not some untried method - they've done it before! multiple times! it works! the characters get to unload without feeling judged or like a burden, etc. their feelings are acknowledged, but they also gain awareness of those around them, and above all implement some thoughtful advice afterwards.

instead: we got bobby treated like a therapist in the early eps by everyone, terrible ooc advice given to buck throughout, and a few oddly shoehorned scenes where both buck and eddie separately talk to bobby's priest as a therapist stand-in. none of it made any notable positive difference bc no one actually learned and grew from it bc how could they?

Buck really fucking needed the support this season. Eddie needed a fucking reality check and attitude adjustment. Hen and Chim both needed someone to talk to. and Maddie, i mean ffs.

imagine: Buck returning to therapy after Bobby dies bc he feels trapped at work and feels unsupported and guilty about that, and he's also heartbroken and pining, and gerrard is back, and he's homeless again, and his best friendship is broken, and–

they could've ended the season on an in-progress fix instead of claiming everything was fine for Buck despite his life being in shambles. he deserved that much.

bring back therapy in s9 please.

#tbh there's a bunch of eps i didn't watch in 8b but i feel like the d dash would've mentioned it #911 abc #.txt #s8!buck

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wangxianficfinder · 1 month ago

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In the mood for...

June 10th

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1. Hellooo, could you recommend some fics where wwx died instead of yanli or zixuan, I’m craving for angst rn🥹🥹🥹. I appreciate it so much, thank you!!

ius in bello by Lise (T, 2k, JC & JYL & WWX, Canon Divergence, Tearjerker, Sad Ending, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Not A Fix-It, POV JC, 🔒[Podfic] ius in bello by flamingwell)

Dead, Not Gone by Tysis (T, 22k, WangXian, Fix-It of Sorts, The Wens Lived, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, WWX is ghost, protective juniors, Apparently Four Can Keep A Secret, for now, Not Everyone Dies, But also, Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, The Lack of Proper Communication Will Kill You)

finding you always, all ways by BlueFrogs (T, 31k, WangXian, ChengQing, Reincarnation, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Romance, Memory Loss, technically there is character death, but he comes back lol, Age Difference, due to reincarnation) link in #13

Golden Phoenix by Alineko (G, 34k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, JL & WWX, JC & WWX & JYL, JZX & WWX, JL & LJY & LSZ & OYZZ & WWX, MXY & WWX, WIP, Reincarnation, Reincarnated WWX, Jin WWX, Child WWX, Minor WangXian but when he is older, Protective JYL, JC Gets a Hug, WWX is JL's Brother, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Cute WWX, Stressed JC, Light Angst, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Protective WWX, WWX Shenanigans, Crack Treated Seriously, Golden Core Reveal)

in this place where we don’t have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, XuanLi, WangXian, ChengQing, for like the first time ever someone besides WWX actually succeeds at killing WWX, now historically killing WWX without WWX’s active participation, has proven to be a tricky proposition but here we go, killing WWX has made a lot of people very angry and is widely being regarded as a bad move, WWX: I made necromancy look cool and now all the kids are doing it, WQ: what—like it’s hard? JC shouts, he is a godsend, if you ever need a character to just yell the thing, JC is available for your shouting needs, JZX: the least objectionable of all the Jins, JC is getting like all of the best comedy lines in this story, it is his secret birthright, somehow ‘WWX died at Qiongqi Path’ went from being the central premise of this story, to being a thinly veiled excuse for JC to yell at people who look funny at his brother, no regrets tbh) link in #13

To Be Named by Suibian_613 (T, 39k, WangXian, WIP, Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Out of Character, WQ is out of character, Everyone is probably ooc, ,canonical violence, Canonical Character Death, let WWX and JC become bros again, somewhat softer JC, he has better emotion handling because spoiler: JYL lives, Somewhat Sentient Burial Mounds, WN & JC Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry)

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2. itmf a fic where lz rides a motorcycle,,bonus points if wy had no idea and is flabbergasted by the realisation! also welcoming any fics where lz is just a bad boy in general which subverts wy's expectations

it's a simple thing (really) by YunmengLotus (E, 18k, WangXian, Modern, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Under-negotiated Kink, sexual acts while inebriated, Alcohol, D/s undertones, Unreliable Narrator WWX, breath play, wwx has a PHD in mental gymnastics, Friends With Benefits, LWJ has a motorcycle, this is much more serious than it looks, Dubious Consent, Rimming, Spit As Lube, Gay Panic, Getting Together)

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3. Hey i do not know if it is a fic comp yet, but i think transmigration fics are quite consistent to be added. For the next itmf too, i would like a transmigration ff without any a/b/o or wip that have wordbuilding preferably(if not thats fine too) @just-troy0-0

The Scapegoat by chiyukimei (T, 4k, WangXian, JL & WWX, Major Character Death, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, WWX and JL Bonding, not Jiang friendly, Not JC Friendly, mentions of abuse)

i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending)

take me back to a time by DizziDreams (T, 143k, WangXian, College/University, Modern with Magic, Time Travel, Sharing a Bed, Fish out of Water, Man Out of Time, WWX questionable decisions, LWJ lizard brain, Angst with a Happy Ending, WWX’s lack of self-preservation, Student WWX, Time-Traveling Wizard LWJ, Slow Burn, Character Death, reference to abuse, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Abuse, Canon LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Mutual Pining, Chronic Illness, Not A Fix-It, WWX be like “i should be scared but instead im just horny”, feat: lwj horny grip, Case Fic, Russian Translation Available, Transmigration, America, Spanish Translation Available,[Podfic of] take me back to a time by dreamhazer)

💙 Song Unwritten by Kytrin & Mslead (E, 94k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, cql meets mdzs, Transmigration, Parallel Universes, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, References to Depression)

❤️ I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los (E, 57k, WangXian, WWX/Others, Mutual Pining, Marriage of Convenience, Arranged Marriage, No Sunshot Campaign, Fix-It, WQ Lives, Transmigration, Time Travel, Weddings, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy, Black Widow, Protective Siblings, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Sugar Baby, consort, Politics, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Crack Treated Seriously)

🔒❤️ the thing with feathers by RoseThorne (G, 43k,wangxian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Fear, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect)

~*~

4. Itmf: Hello, are there fics in which Lan Zhan tries to to manipulate WWX to start a relationship with him? Bonus points if WWX realizes this but a) doesn't care or b) also manipulates Lan Zhan to have him as a boyfriend. Dark!wangxian is more than okay. Same with Genderbender, age gap, underage or Omegaverse. Thank you!

🔒 Have him stripped, bathed, and brought to my tentby KizuKatana (E, 30k, WangXian, Dark LWJ, A/B/O, Huli-Jing WWX, powerplay/powerdynamic, dubcon (due to power dynamics), Overstimulation, Edging, Biting, Scenting, Possessiveness, LWJ Has a Big Dick, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, warlord, Emperor LWJ, civilian (sort of) captive (also sort of) WWX, dragon sex magic, Not traditional Chinese emperor history fully alternate reality of immortal creatures)

A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (E, 41k, wangxian, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, LWJ goes crazy, Manipulation, Grooming, Except LWJ and WWX are physically the same age, but LWJ kept his 30 year old mind, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Conditioning, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Anal Fingering, WWX is a Lan, Minor Character Death, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiangs, Abusive Jiang Family, Jiang Family Bashing, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, Horny WangXian, Qingheng-jun Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Self-Lubricates, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Lanling Jin Sect Bashing, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, BAMF NHS, Burial Mounds Lore, Sentient Burial Mounds, Married WangXian, Adopted LSZ, Breathplay, Dark WWX, Yandere LWJ, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

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5. hii this is for itmf

can i have some recs for divorced wangxian, where they r still endgame pls. completed fics, longer the better :)

thank you! @bunnycoffeeumcat

🔒 Life as a House by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 55k, WangXian, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Post-Divorce, Father-Son Relationship, Reconciliation, Therapy, Angst with a happy ending)

no balance by silverclaw (T, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, Post-Divorce Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Netflix Show Host WWX, Concept Artist LWJ, the give LWJ friends agenda, Temporary Amnesia)

~*~

6. Hello hello! I was wondering if you have any fics where LWJ hurts WWX in some way, emotionally or otherwise, and has to earn forgiveness? Like, properly work for it. Cheers and thank you!

🔒 Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, [Coldread of] Concord by Deastar by AuntieIroh)

🔒 Life as a House by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 55k, WangXian, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Post-Divorce, Father-Son Relationship, Reconciliation, Therapy, Angst with a happy ending) link in #5

Honesty is the Best Policy (Except if You’re an Asshole)by piecrust (E, 22k, WangXian, Porn with Feelings, College/University)

these are all Royalty alternative universes, so I hope that’s okay:

much sweeter than by mellowflicker (T, 3k, WangXian, Royalty-ish AU, Arranged Marriage, a little bit of YLLZ WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

True Gold Fears No Fire by defractum (nyargles) (M, 82k, WangXian, Royalty AU, Ancient China, Wuxia, Historical Inaccuracy, Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn, Mutual Pining, Emperor!LWJ, empress!wwx, Eventual Happy Ending, Misunderstandings)

~*~

7. Hi, I wonder if you can name any fics where

A) WY loves eurodiscopop or just disco 🪩

B) loves roller skating (I already know one where he is burger place waiter on skates 😄)

Thanks 😘

7B)

Disco Overload by Enk (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Minor Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Blood, Minor Injuries, First Dates, University Students, Wingman NHS, Getting Together, Fluff)

Thank you for waiting by Wheezy8 (E, 94k, WangXian, Romance, Modern, Roller Derby, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death)

~*~

8. hi can u recommend all outsider pov fics on wangxian (like it can be lan xichen or juniors or any oc anyone) @imliterallygonnagetviolent

🔒 break the silence with these beating hearts by Reverie (cl410) (T, 1k, WangXian, POV LQR, Good Uncle LQR, Hanahaki Disease, The mortifying ordeal of talking to your crush, Mild Blood, Tumblr Prompt)

rerun from the outside by Eicas (T, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Crack, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, JC POV)

trouble with time by cloudpd (T, 5k, WangXian, Time Travel, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, POV Outsider, Humor, POV JC, he's so fed up with wangxian, rightfully so, wangxian are shameless, kind of crack, POV LXC)

and he sang about the stars by hauntme_then (M, 29k, WangXian, Brotherhood, Growing Up Together, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh)

the world is but a stage for the two of us by MandMandM (Not Rated, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Established Relationship, Shameless WangXian)

Wait, What? by MarbleGlove (G, 1k, WangXian, Time Travel, POV Outsider)

~*~

9. Can you recommend me some wangxian fics in which wangxian is straight couple or one of them is crossdressing?I have read some fanfics from shana storyteller and am looking for some more like them

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

❤️ We'd roll and fall in green Series by x_los (G/E, 26k, WangXian, Gender Changes, Always a Different Sex, Accidental Marriage, Marriage Festivals, Holidays, Awkwardness, Fist Fights, Pining, Crushes, Sisters, Episode 7, mentioned canon-typical domestic abuse, mentioned canon-typical sexual violence (implication of minors), (not depicted just discussed as possibility), First Kiss, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Politics, School, Horror, Murder Mystery, Road Trips, Bitchy LWJ, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Competence Kink, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Self-Sacrifice, Battle Couple)

~*~

10. Can someone recommend wangxian fanfic where Wei Ying is obsessed or madly in love with Lan Zhan ? please @dim2512

~*~

11. Hi! Itmf some protective wei wuxian like wwx being protective of the juniors or any flavor of protective wei wuxian really...

💖 the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire)

Bunny Baby by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, LWJ Has Feelings, Soft WangXian, Gender-Nonconforming LWJ, Protective WWX, Bad Parent LQR, Fluff and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, POV WWX, Autistic LWJ, [Podfic of] Bunny Baby by frostedhearth, Conejito by evirtual3)

🔒keeping score by hauntedotamatone (T, 6k, LSZ & WWX, Background WangXian, the opposite of reconciliation, Protective WWX, Duelling, Grief/Mourning, not for jc fans, Swordfighting, Resentment, LSZ centric, No JC & WWX Reconciliation)

The Kid In My Garden by kathie_raddare (G, 7k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Age Regression/De-Aging, kid lwj, doting WWX, Protective WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Family Feels, mending wounds)

dormiveglia (in between sleeping and waking) by comforting_monachopsis (M, 13k, WangXian, XuanLi, Diary/Journal, Golden Core Reveal, Canonical Child Abuse, Canonical Character Death, YLLZ WWX, Oblivious WWX, Protective WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Sort Of, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, Dead WWX, Angst and Tragedy)

🔒Echoes, Feelings, Yet to Disappear by GravityWinsAgain (M, 1k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Married WangXian, Protective WWX, Angry WWX, descriptions of LWJ's whip scars, descriptions of YZY's abuse of WWX, Discipline Whip, but like only in the context of the scars it left, Hopeful Ending)

silk threads and precious metal by Sevidri (M, 4k, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Whump, Blood and Injury, WWX' Canonical Vengeful Streak, LWJ Makes A Beautiful Damsel in Distress, Non-Consensual Ribbon Touching, Protective wwx, Hurt LWJ)

Crack me open, pour you out by Tenillypo (E, 16k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Cursed LWJ, Protective WWX, Oblivious WWX, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Porn with Feelings, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, POV LWJ, Hurt/Comfort)

green flame, black flute, red ribbon by Fleetling (T, 3k, WangXian, LJY & LSZ, LJY POV, wwx kills people violently and with extreme prejudice, Hurt/Comfort, i think, yeah warnings for kidnapping, intimidation using weapons)

~*~

12. Hii I know it hasn't been long since my last itmf 😓 but I hope the mods don't mind me sending another one so soon. I'm itmf

A) wwx being taken care of by an oc adult, if it's Jiang family (minus jyl) bashing then that's even better, also if the oc us a woman I would love that

B) AUs in which jyl adopts wwx, I don't mind canon setting but modern is preferred

Canon dynamics only and completed/no discontinued or forgotten works please, thank you 🩷 @menimimimeni

12A)

💖 And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Screw the Cultivation world tbh, The Lan precepts deserves better, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, domestic life, Social justice boyfriends wangxian, Happy Ending)

The River Brought You Here by ChilianXianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, not JC friendly, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of "what builds a home" by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

🔒Crimson leaves by barisan (T, 4k, WangXian, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Rogue Cultivator WWX, WWX gets lesbian grandmothers, WWX learns about his parents, WWX is a Wen, (Through his lesbian granny but still), Getting Together, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Pre-Canon, Genius WWX)

🔒Flowers Blooming by Ilona22 (M, 35k, WangXian, Adoption, Prostitution, Family Fluff, Family Drama, Growing Up)

~*~

13. Hii itmf a fic where wwx died instead of yanli or zixuan, it’s also okay if it’s both. Thank youuu!!!

~*~

14. hello! are there any cameraman LWJ fics?

on your marks, get set, bake! by BlackWiresOnHerHead (G, 41k, Modern AU, College/University, The Great British Bake Off AU, Humor, no GBBO knowledge required for entry, [Podfic] on your marks, get set, bake! by avawtsn, meilanmeilan (avawtsn)) maybe 'get ready, set, bake' by BlackWiresOnHerHead. It's about WWX in a great British bake off style competition from the junior quartet's pov.

phase boundaries by chinxe (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, kind of a buzzfeed unsolved au, Pining, Humor, accidental wingman jc) buzzfeed unsolved au with cameraman lwj

~*~

15. hiiii any fics where wwx is very appreciative of lwj and admires him very much, and talks/thinks a lot about how handsome, how strong, how kind, how smart, etc. he is? @ashxi-wx

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

spoke like we meant it by BlackWiresOnHerHead (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern, 5+1, Fluff, oh my god they were roommates, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Pining, Cuddling, Accidental Confession, Humor, Abandonment Issues, Light Angst)

Three B's by diamondbruise (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Attempted Seduction, idiots to lovers, one braincell shared between two beautiful people, Getting Together, Bad Pick-Up Lines, one (1) to be precise, Extreme stupidity, wwx is nervous and cannot be held accountable)

new phone, who's this? by uchiuchi (T, 5k, WangXian, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Confession, Modern AU, they are in love your honor, Friends to Lovers)

Work in Tandem by MimiSpearmint (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Single Parent LWJ, when you just want disability-led sword lessons for your child, swordflight instructor!wwx, swordflight instructor!lwj, Fluff, give lwj friends agenda, Protective LWJ, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Implied off-screen D/s negotiations) especially chapter 4

Once Patience Bears Fruit by FinallyGotTheInvitation (E, 215k, WangXian, Immortal LWJ, Immortal LSZ, Mortal WWX, soon to be, Immortal WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Oblivious WWX, Protective LWJ, Reincarnation, Sex Magic, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, novel canon, "Straight" WWX, Age Difference, switching POV, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Flirting, Power Dynamics, Light Bondage) basically everyone reincarnates in the modern day including wwx.

~*~

16. hi, itmf fics with resurrected/reincarnated characters other than WWX, post canon or during story. thank you

💖 do not envy the roots that hold you down by eccentrick for rianitida (T, 12k, WangXian, Reincarnation, WQ is a Lan, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort) Wen Qing reincarnated as a Lan

🔒 Turnabout and Start Again by runningondreams (T, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Role Reversal, Soulmates, Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, SuicideI, mprisonment, Violence, Minor Character Death, Mild Gore, Pining, Identity Issues, Getting Together, Happy Ending)

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, WangXian, QingLi, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, slightly dark!JYL, wq lives because i said so, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, manipulative relationship (background xiyao)) has Jiang Yanli resurrected in Qin Su’s body

you've heard that melody before by Stratisphyre (M, 65k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, POV Multiple, Multiple Canon Character Deaths, Depictions of depression, Light Dom/sub, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics) In you’ve heard this melody before, Wen Ruohan gets resurrected in Mo Xuanyu’s body

To Make a Miracle by mercyandmagic (M, 49k, XiYao, WangXian, SangYu, WN/A-Yan, SongXiao, ZhuiLing, OYZZ/Round-Faced Girl, Angst with a Happy Ending, Suicide, Main ships are xiyao wangxian zhuiling and sangyu) Lan Xichen resurrects Jin Guanyao

Once Upon A Time in Qinghe by paranoid_fridge (T, 22k, NHS & NMJ, wangxian, LXC & NMJ, Angst, Humor, and quite some stuff inbetween, Spoilers, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sort Of) Nie MingJue is resurrected

Once Patience Bears Fruit by FinallyGotTheInvitation (E, 215k, WangXian, Immortal LWJ, Immortal LZS, Mortal WWX, soon to be Immortal WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, almost every character dies, and then, ALL CHARACTERS LIVE, Fluff and Smut, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Oblivious WWX, Protective LWJ, uncovering the past, Reincarnation Sex Magic, magical sex, "dual cultivation", Age Difference, Drunken Kissing, Light Bondage, Major character death in a flashback, Angst, "Straight" WWX, Until he finds out he is in fact not straight, WWX has a bit of self discovery, Power Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Intercrural Sex, LWJ Has a Big Dick, Orgasm Edging, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, WWX is a Brat, Virginity Kink, blowjob, Multiple Orgasms, Biting WWX is a Tease, POV Alternating Blindfolds, mentions of CNC fantasies, mentions of somnophilia, Riding, Prostate Orgasm) basically everyone reincarnates in the modern day including wwx.

~*~

17. A wangxian fan fiction where wei wuxian gets adopted by nie sect instead of jiangs

🔒 shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NieLan, WangXian, SangNing, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

🔒💖 The Echoes of that News Ring Loud by Scarlet_Gryphon (T, 111k, NHS & NMJ, 3zun, NHS/WN, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, NMJ Lives, WWX Raised by a Different Sect, Joining the Wei Wuxian Raised by the Nie Sect club, Universal Da-ge NMJ, JGY deserved better, Cinnamon Roll WN, the Nie brothers will do whatever they can to save the world, Temporary character death (but they get better), Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Everyone Lives, Good Guy XY, because let's not leave kids hurt on the street, Let's give NHS Battle Fans club member, Gray-Ace power trio 3Zun, Canon Divergence, discussions of JGS's canon-levels of dickery, brief and non-graphic discussion of past rape/non-con due to QS's origins, Mentions of Nightmares, NHS is a Little Shit, Minor Character Death, Happy Ending)

🔒 If you liked it then you should have put a (sect robe) on it by KizuKatana (T, 49k, WangXian, WWX & NHS, Canon divergent after Cloud Recesses lectures, Public humiliation (not the sexy kind), Sect posturing, no golden core transfer, Madam Yu and JFM’s A+ Sect Leadership, WWX joins the Nie) it coul also be this one - WWX joins Nies as adult/teenager

🔒The Light That Fails to Dim by glowingreverie (T, 310k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore)

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 488k, WangXian, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, NMJ is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining, LWJ Has Feelings)

Mulberry seeds by OurLadyoftheRain (G, wangxian, Canon Divergence, nie WWX, WWX grows up in the nie sect, POV NMJ, Narration Heavy, Time Travel, from an outsider pov, Time Skips, every day all day is 'love wwx time', WWX & LWJ become friends early, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, POV WWX, POV Alternating)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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primluvsbob · 2 months ago

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in honor of thunderbolts finally releasing and the fans finally getting old avengers ffs, here’s my little take on some head canons!!

♫ — nothing’ s gonna stop us now - starship

YELENA

— i can honestly see yelena become weirdly obsessed with plants. there would be plants on every windowsill in the campus. her fav would definitely be the tiny succulents. bob would probably ask why shes so into them, and yelena would shrug, give some bland answer like, “they look nice.” but really, it’s because for once, she can hold onto something fragile in her hands and know exactly how to take care of it. something that stays. just like the thunderbolts did.

— has soft spots for animals (as we can clearly tell in thunderbolts when she took the guinea pig with her). if she finds a stray cat wandering around close to campus, she’d give them food and water for the rest of their lives. would most likely take it into the campus too.

— yelena and bob have a tradition that whenever they’re feeling down they watch baking shows together. it usually always ends in the duo trying to make some sort of bread from scratch at 2am.

— since the thunderbolts would all have their own hobbies… yelena didn’t want to be the odd one out and found peace in puzzles. not the small ones that are 100 pieces… but the ones that are 1000 pieces. she’ll sit there for hours in total silence.

BUCKY

— there’s definitely low jazz music playing all throughout the campus, and it’s all bucky’s doing. no one really complains, it becomes kind of comforting, especially when they get back from a particularly draining mission.

— the thunderbolts are the family that bucky always deserved. therefore, whenever one of them gets injured, he seems calm, but deep down, he’s already spiraling, running every worst case scenario in his head. it takes everything in him not to hover 24/7 until they’re okay again.

— he’s the teams handy man. leaky sink? squeaky door? outlet not working? he already noticed and is taking care of it.

— gets way too competitive during board game nights. like, way too serious. bob usually ends up playing mediator because the entire team is just as competitive as bucky is. who’s the final person to flip the board?? it probably switches every weekend.

BOB

— always has one of those massive stanley's in hand and is annoyingly good at reminding people to stay hydrated. "have you had water today yet?" is his catchphrase.

- legos... don't even mention the word around him unless you're prepared to lose an hour of your time. he'll tell you about the latest set he built, exactly how many pieces it had, and how long it took (with yelena as his self appointed timekeeper).

- loves survival games like minecraft, raft, and terraria, and is constantly trying to convince the rest of the team to join him. so far, the only one who's caved in is alexei. alexei definitely died in the games more than five times but bob refuses to lose hope now.

— bob calls everything with pronouns. he sees a tree? "oh, she's so pretty!" a nice car? "he's cool." a really good painting? "she's perfect." at first, the team teased him relentlessly about it but the longer they were around bob, the more it rubbed off on everyone else. now alexei's out here saying "she's a beaut!" about their new flatscreen tv, and ava casually refers to their new mission van as "she" like it's the most normal thing ever. bucky was the only one who didn't pick up on the habit, until bob caught him one day, muttering "she's good." about his motorcycle. bob hasn't let him live it down since.

AVA

— ava is always cold, which explains why she’s constantly stealing hoodies from certain people. she’s usually bundled up in blankets and scarves, especially the one alexei made for the whole team. she takes care of that scarf like it’s part of her lifeline.

— an avid coffee hater. john once accidentally handed her a cup of coffee instead of tea, and she didn’t speak to him for a full week. but, of course, he had no idea… totally.

— constantly scares people since her footsteps are basically silent. bob swears she’s doing it on purpose because it’s always him that jumps, but really… he’s just the only one jumpy enough to get caught off guard every single time.

— secretly the best at remembering birthdays and little anniversaries. she’s the reason the team always has a card or small gift ready in time. every card is picked out by her, and she’s the one making sure the whole team signs it.

ALEXEI

- gets OBSESSED with musicals after a certain someone (yelena) makes him watch wicked. is honestly convinced that he could be a broadway star... his fav musical would probably be hadestown.

— he strikes me as someone who'd be scarily good at card games. everyone's definitely convinced he's cheating.

- if you've seen alexa and katie then: remember that one episode where alexa's dad became obsessed with making the perfect brisket and stayed up hours straight just for it to be perfect for his daughter... yeah alexei would do that for yelena.

- learns how to knit over the year just so he can make the thunderbolts matching scarves to wear for the holidays. <3

JOHN

— a neat freak... if someone misses their chore of the day, even if it's barely past 6am, he's already halfway through doing it. grumbles about how "no one around here cleans up after themselves." but secretly? he kind of loves being productive. and having everything exactly the way he likes.

- hates texting. he's dry all the time, and usually is just straight to the point. his emoji rotation is limited to: 👍, 👎, 👋, and 👌

- acts like he doesn't care about team movie nights but is always the one to show up with an armful of snacks, and sits through the whole movie with minimal complaints.

— he owns exactly one hoodie. it's the perfect size, just the right amount of fluffiness, but still breathable. and somehow, it's always missing. one day yelena's wearing it, the next it's draped over bob's chair, alexei uses it as a fashion choice (wrapped around his waist), ava claims to borrow it for five minutes, bucky acts like he doesn't care but he's definitely stolen it more than once when no one's looking. john never actually brings up the situation... so, its become tradition at this point.

EXTRA:

— everytime one of the thunderbolts gets a new plushie, they always name it after someone on the team.

#thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#yelena #yelena belova #bucky #bucky barnes #bob #robert reynolds #ava #ava starr #alexei #alexei shostakov #john #john walker #marvel #mcu #thunderbolts headcanons #marvel headcanons

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dduane · 8 months ago

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Hi! I'd love to hear ur take on the whole Spirk Canon discussion going on right now as someone who's written licensed Trek books. Like besides the whole "did Unification 765874 make spirk canon" thing, is it even fair to talk about spirk being canon or not? What would it take for spirk to "be canon"? It strikes me as a very fandom-y (positive) way to interact with media, which is funny since k/s invented fandom culture. But at the same time ur Supernatural comparison was right on the money and paramount has been VERY weird about addressing their relationship in nutrek. What are ur thoughts??

First of all: Despite the excitement of any given moment, people need to be careful about mistaking anything I reblog without further-amplifying comment, on any subject, as necessarily implying agreement or approval. Lots of times I reblog things just to direct attention to them (and sometimes because I think they're funny).

"ur Supernatural comparison" was not mine. It was somebody else's. I reblogged it to direct attention to it. (And maybe I thought it was funny.)

...Also, wut iz dis "nutrek" u speak of? When you've been working in this universe for long enough, with the necessary perspective to look up and down the length of it without idiosyncratically-added heat... then all Trek is Trek. The spectrum along which its varying species all coexist is ever more complexly and interestingly braided than it once was, sure. But that's all. I've got enough on my plate at the moment not to have time to waste trying to force different aspects of Trek into cage fights with each other.

And: "Paramount"? Who is that, exactly? At the pointy end, all corporations are made up of people. Which ones are we talking about? Which production entities? Which creative teams? Which execs, working under whose supervising auspices, and when? Working with whose (character/worldview/policy) decisions, and for how long?

None of this stuff is simple to work out, and it's not helpful to try to come at it as if it's necessarily going to be easy to tease out who's doing what to whom. Briefly: it's normal for it to look weird. But don’t mistake a Big Corporate Monolith for something actually monolithic.

Also, for the moment, ffs, let's all just step away from the business of defining what K/S and/or Spirk actually involves. Enough ink and electrons have been spilled over this whole spectrum of character relationship since the 1960s, and frankly, life's too short. Definitely too short to be trying to resolve it all in terms of something that dropped...when? About this time last night, or the night before? :) Jeeeez, people. Take a breath or three and let things settle.

So I don't think anybody needs to be hearing my deep cogitations about the new short film right now... because there aren't any. No question, Unification's beautiful to look at—and I've told Dave Blass he did nice work, about which i don't think there can be any possible doubt. (Not to mention the high-end technical aspects dealt with so seamlessly in such a small tight package, which have left my jaw on the floor.) The Giacchino score's also quite lovely, but that also is more or less a given.

As for everything else: I decline to spew opinion all over the joint until I've had a chance to assimilate what I've seen, and actually acquire a useful opinion from somewhere or other. Meanwhile, y'all just keep doing what you're all doing, and I'll go make some more tea. :)

#Star Trek meta #Unification #star trek unification

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newfan96 · 2 months ago

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Today’s thoughts on Nick (Ep 9 spoilers)

1. Love the interview in Elle. Max Minghella is gracious and positive and grateful for this role. When he says that Nick got on the plane “like he was trying on a suit” and “it doesn’t really fit” and that he doesn’t know if that’s the path he would have continued on but “we’ll never fucking know.” Oops, let that slip and I love it. He just seems like a class act and I guess I need to watch 3 seasons of Industry to be ready to support him there.

2. I think what pisses me off most (and there are lots of choices ffs) is that the relationship that was cultivated and promoted between June and Nick for 5.5 seasons was not given an ending, no closure.

How do we have their last conversation be accusatory and desperate when they loved each other so much for so long?

He felt her presence at the wedding, she wanted to make herself known to him. Her actions put Rose in the hospital, she almost gets hung. All this since they last spoke.

And they don’t get even a moment of eye contact to connect or assure one another that their history matters, that they both love Holly, that they helped each other survive up until now. This is just sloppy lazy writing.

I could have accepted his death better if they had some moment of understanding or closure. Instead, he says two of the most bizarre things Nick has ever said, and then dies thinking she hates him.

Absolutely tragic.

#max minghella is a class act #nick blaine was a great character

#nick and june #the handmaids tale #osblaine #june x nick #june osborne #the handmaid's tale

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lila-lou · 1 month ago

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✨Played - 5/5✨

Summary: You’re an aspiring actress stuck in dead-end roles, desperate for a break. Then you meet Jensen. Kind, connected and smitten Jensen. You don’t love him, but you pretend to. Until pretending turns real.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst, IMMORAL ffs

Word Count: 5835

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

The next few days were somehow even worse than the ones before.

Not because Jensen did anything wrong, but because he didn’t. He was perfect. And that was the problem.

Now that the line had been crossed, now that you’d let go and felt everything instead of faking it, there was no going back. You couldn’t un-feel the way he touched you like you were something fragile and precious. Couldn’t un-hear the words he’d whispered without even realizing—I love you—and the way your whole world shifted after.

And he? He was even better after that night. If that was possible.

He brought you coffee exactly the way you liked it every morning. He texted you just to tell you he was thinking about you, sent pictures of the sky or something stupid Jared did, just so you'd smile. He didn’t crowd you. Didn’t demand anything. He just showed up for you, over and over again.

And the worse part? You were falling for him. Completely. Unequivocally.

Not for what he could give you. Not for the status or the doors he opened or the way people now looked at you like you were someone worth knowing. You were falling in love with him—the man who rubbed slow circles into your back when you were too quiet, who waited for your laugh like it was his favorite sound, who looked at you like you were it.

And it hurt.

Because now, every time he smiled at you, your chest clenched tighter. Every time he touched your hand, you felt guilt lace through the warmth. Every kiss felt heavier. Every kind word chipped a little deeper at the wall you'd built.

Because you hadn't come into this honestly. And now you didn’t know how to be honest without breaking the one thing that had finally started to feel real.

You stood in his kitchen that Thursday morning, still wearing one of his shirts, staring blankly at your phone as another email rolled in, interview request, another opportunity. All because you were “Jensen Ackles’ girlfriend”.

You set the phone down like it burned. And when Jensen walked in moments later, grinning, still damp from his run, he leaned in to kiss your cheek without hesitation, without knowing how much you were breaking inside.

He was still flushed from the run, chest rising and falling beneath a sweat-darkened shirt that clung to him in a way that was almost unfair. He was gulping water straight from the bottle, neck arched, that little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knew he looked good and didn’t care if you stared.

You did. You couldn’t not.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned against the counter near you, still catching his breath. “Jared’s throwing something tonight”, he said casually, voice rough from the run. “Just a small thing. You in?”.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then, because habit dies hard, you smirked. “A party? What, aren’t you guys too old for that?”.

He grinned wide, eyes crinkling. “Wow. Just gonna insult me before breakfast, huh?”.

You shrugged, playing it off. “Just saying. You and your retirement-age friends might pull a hamstring doing shots”.

He laughed, shaking his head, and you couldn’t help but stare again. Not just because he was hot. Not just because he looked ridiculous in the soft morning light with his messy hair and flushed cheeks.

But because he was happy. With you. Still. Even now.

And you wanted to say yes. You wanted to go. You wanted to laugh and drink and dance with him like none of this was twisted underneath. Like you hadn’t built what you had on a lie. But your throat tightened again. Still. “Yeah”, you said softly, almost before you could stop yourself. “I’m in”.

Jensen leaned in, kissed your temple, then pulled back to down the last of his water. “Good. I like showing you off”.

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Because he said it like you were a prize. But you didn’t feel like one. You felt like a ticking clock. And you had no idea when it was going to go off.

“Joining me, or what?”, Jensen called over his shoulder, voice teasing, light, as he peeled off his damp shirt on the way to the bathroom. He said it like a joke. Casual. Familiar.

But you could feel the undercurrent of it, the intimacy, the routine, the fact that this wasn’t new anymore. You were staying here. Living out of your bag like it was temporary, but it had been a while now. His home was starting to feel like it knew your shape. Your mug on the counter. Your shampoo in the shower. Your clothes in his drawer.

And still, nothing from Lila. You hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. You told yourself she wouldn’t pick up anyway. That she needed space. That maybe she didn’t want to hear from you.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. You were just avoiding the fallout. Just like you were avoiding the man disappearing into the steam of the bathroom right now, the one who kept loving you without knowing the full story.

You stood there in his kitchen, bare legs, oversized shirt, the sun bleeding through the curtains like it had no idea the kind of storm brewing inside your chest. You wanted to go to him. You wanted to keep pretending. But every step forward was another second stolen. Another truth delayed. Another smile you didn’t deserve.

You swallowed hard, forcing the guilt back down where it had lived for weeks now, and padded toward the sound of water running. “Yeah”, you called softly, “I’m coming”.

The party was already humming when you arrived. Low music, soft laughter, the clink of glasses, that kind of casual, lived-in energy that only happens when the people know each other too well to pretend.

Jensen had his hand on the small of your back the entire walk in. Not possessive. Not performative. Just… there. Steady. Warm.

He introduced you to everyone. Some you’d already met, most you hadn’t. Castmates, crew, old friends who’d been with him since the early days of Supernatural. People who adored him, teased him, gave him crap and hugged him like he was their brother.

But when he looked at you? God. It wasn’t the look of a guy bragging about the beautiful, younger woman on his arm. It wasn’t about status. It wasn’t about winning some unspoken competition. It was softer. Prouder.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like you were a miracle he’d just stumbled into and still couldn’t fully wrap his head around.

And that broke your heart a little more. Because you knew what he thought this was. And you knew what it had been. At least, at the start.

Jensen kept you close all night, hand brushing yours, arm around your waist, cheek pressed to your temple as he murmured jokes or inside stories from the set that made you laugh, even when you didn’t fully get the references.

Every time someone asked how long you two had been together, he’d smile that soft, easy smile and say, “Not long enough”.

And people would melt. Because they saw it too. The way he looked at you like you were it.

And as the night went on, you felt it pressing in. The lie. The weight of it. The knowledge that you were the only one in the room not truly celebrating. Because while everyone else saw love, you felt it clawing at your insides, screaming for air.

And when Jensen looked down at you again, eyes bright, a little drunk, so happy—and whispered, “You good?”, into your ear with that gentleness only he could manage—

You smiled. You nodded. But inside? You weren’t good. You were standing in the middle of a room full of people who’d give anything for a love like this.

Jensen had felt the shift. He wasn’t stupid—far from it. He’d been sensing it for days now, maybe weeks. The way your eyes lingered just a little too long on the floor when he told you how happy he was. The way you kissed him like it mattered, but pulled away like it didn’t.

But he didn’t say anything.

Because in his mind, the only explanation that made sense—the only one that fit with who he knew you to be—was that you were scared. That you’d been guarded for so long, it just took time to let someone all the way in.

He never once considered the possibility that the woman in his arms, the one he loved with a quiet, unwavering certainty, had never come into this with honest intentions.

Because he didn’t believe you were capable of that kind of cruelty. He believed in you.

And you felt that belief with every careful touch, every proud glance he gave you across the room as he refilled your glass, introduced you to someone new, smiled every time your laugh slipped out.

You could feel yourself crumbling beneath the weight of it. And that’s when she appeared.

“Hey”, Lila’s voice cut through the music. Low, calm, but not unkind.

You turned, your stomach flipping instantly, the glass in your hand trembling just slightly. She looked good. Confident. Steady. The kind of steady you hadn’t felt in weeks.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”.

Jensen caught the shift in the air, even if he didn’t understand the full weight of it. He looked between you and Lila with quiet awareness, like he sensed something was being held back, something personal, something important. But, in classic Jensen fashion, he didn’t pry. He didn’t corner or question.

He simply leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll go find Jared”, he murmured, his lips brushing your skin. “Take your time”.

You nodded, barely, not trusting your voice.

And just like that, he was gone. Disappearing back into the warmth of the house, into the hum of laughter and clinking glasses, giving you exactly what you needed without needing to be asked.

Lila waited until the door swung shut behind him. Then she turned to you, arms crossed loosely, the quiet between you suddenly louder than the entire party inside. “You gonna tell him”, she repeated, “or do I have to?”.

You swallowed, your hand tightening around your glass. “I—”.

“Don’t lie to me”, she cut in, not harsh, just tired. “Please. Not after everything”.

Your throat burned. The guilt, the fear, the ache of everything you’d built on shaky ground, it was rising fast now, like a tide you couldn’t hold back. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way”, you whispered.

“But it did”, she said. “And he loves you”.

You winced at that.

Lila’s voice softened just slightly. “You love him too now, don’t you?”.

That was the worst part. You did. You really, really did. And it was too late to un-ring that bell.

Your voice cracked when you spoke again. “I don’t know how to fix it”.

Lila stepped closer, eyes full of something that looked like heartbreak, but not for herself. For you. And more… for him. “You don’t fix it”, she said. “You just stop making it worse”.

The tears spilled before you could stop them. They slipped down your cheeks and landed on the rim of your glass, mixing with the condensation, with everything you’d tried so hard to keep locked away. You didn’t even wipe them. You just stood there, letting them fall, hands trembling, chest too tight to breathe properly.

Because it hit you, all at once.

What you’d done. What you’d been doing. You had played the part so well—smiling, seducing, nodding at all the right moments—trying to survive in a world that felt stacked against you. You wore ambition like armor, used charm like currency. You told yourself it was strategy. You told yourself it was temporary.

But the man you used? The one you quietly, carelessly marked as your stepping stone? He had been nothing but kind to you. Gentle. Loving. Real.

And somewhere between the pretending and the performances, you had fallen. Not into the life, not into the role… into him.

And now, you were standing outside a party full of people who adored him, next to your best friend who saw through you, sobbing because the truth was too ugly to keep carrying alone. “I was a mess”, you choked out. “I am a mess. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I thought if I just… if I just got one thing to go right, maybe everything else would stop falling apart. And he… he was there. He cared. And I let him”.

You dragged in a ragged breath.

“I let him love me when I didn’t deserve it. And now I—I do love him. And I don’t even know when it happened, but I do. And I think—”, your voice broke, “I think I ruined it”.

Lila didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. You didn’t fight it. You let yourself collapse into her arms like you were fifteen again, like this was the first time life had broken your heart and not just the latest in a long line of heartbreaks you tried to outrun.

When she finally pulled back, she looked at you with eyes that were firm, but kind. “Then don’t lie to him again”, she said. “Whatever happens after that, it’s his choice. But tell him the truth”.

And this time, you nodded. Not because it was easy. But because you finally knew, it was the only way to love him right.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, but it was useless. The tears kept coming. Ugly, unstoppable, years of guilt and fear and shame bubbling up all at once. Your chest felt like it was caving in, and still, the words poured out, cracked and trembling.

“He’s so… good”, you whispered, voice barely working through the sobs. “Like—he’s not just sweet, you know? He’s steady. I’ve never had that. Not once. Not from anyone”.

Lila stayed quiet. Just listened.

“And he listens to me, even when I don’t say anything. He knows when I need space. He knows when I need to be held. He doesn’t take. He gives—like there’s no part of him afraid of being left empty”.

You were shaking now, your voice breaking apart in the middle of every sentence, every thought barely holding together.

“He calls me beautiful and it doesn’t sound like a compliment… it sounds like a fact to him. Like he really sees me. All the mess, all the fear, all the shit and he still sees me”.

You buried your face in your hands.

“I thought I could fake it. I wanted to fake it. I wanted to get a job and move on and be fine. But then he kept showing up. Every day. And it’s like… every time he smiled at me, it chipped something open. And now I’m just—”, you sucked in a harsh breath, “I’m in love with him, and I don’t even know how to hold it without breaking it”.

You looked at Lila through tear-blurred eyes, completely undone.

“I don’t know how to tell him that I started all this wrong and now it’s the only thing in my life that feels right”.

Lila’s face softened, her voice quiet. “Then tell him just like that”.

You nodded slowly, still crying, still wrecked. But for the first time… honest.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that just inside the house, behind the thin layer of drywall and a cracked-open window that neither of you had noticed, Jensen stood frozen. And Jared stood beside him.

They hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. It had been an accident at first, stepping into the hallway, heading toward the back patio with fresh drinks in hand, only to hear your voice on the other side of the glass. But by the time Jensen registered that it was you, your voice already sounded broken.

So he stopped. And he listened.

Jared did too, silent, wide-eyed, holding both drinks in his hands, no longer sure what to do with either. And Jensen… he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

As your words kept tumbling out, raw and cracked and so real, they gutted him. You said you’d used him. You said you started it for the role. You said he had been your stepping stone.

And his jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard it ached down into his neck.

But then… then you kept talking. And Jensen felt his heart break in a different way. Because he heard the shift. The truth of it. The way your voice shook when you said he made you feel safe, seen, loved. He heard you call him steady. He heard you say you were in love with him. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

Because Jensen Ackles had been through heartbreak. A divorce that left him hollow for months. He knew what it felt like to be used. To be chosen for the wrong reasons. And he had sworn he’d never fall for someone who didn’t want him for him again.

But you did want him. Now. And it was too late to stop how much he already loved you.

Jared shifted beside him, setting the drinks down quietly on the entryway table, his face tight with sympathy. “Hey”, he said gently, like you might’ve just knocked all the air out of his best friend. “You okay?”.

Jensen didn’t answer. His hand was still clenched into a fist at his side, but his eyes… they were glassy. Not angry. Not furious. Just… broken.

“She loves you”, Jared added softly. “You heard her”.

And Jensen finally blinked. “Yeah”, he whispered. “Now”.

Jared looked at him, quiet, still.

Jensen’s gaze stayed fixed on the cracked window, like if he stared hard enough, he could replay every syllable, every shaky breath you’d taken. Like maybe he could make sense of the past weeks, the late-night kisses, the way you clung to him sometimes like you were holding on just to stay upright and the way you pulled away just as fast. “She loves me.. now”, he said again, the words bitter and soft in his mouth, like they hurt going down.

Jared didn’t answer. He knew better than to feed into the ache with a half-hearted reassurance.

Jensen ran a hand through his hair, slow and tight. “And all this time… she was lying”.

“Yeah”, Jared said carefully, “but not anymore”.

That didn’t make it easier. Didn’t undo the fact that he’d opened himself, fully, blindly, to someone who hadn’t come to him with love, but with a plan.

And yet… That voice. Your voice. It didn’t sound like strategy out there on the deck. It sounded like someone unraveling. Like someone who never meant to fall but had fallen all the way.

He could still feel the way you looked at him sometimes when you thought he wasn’t watching. Not like a man who could get you somewhere, but like a man who’d somehow become your somewhere.

Jared placed a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to be hurt, man. But if you love her—and I know you do—then this is your moment. You can either walk away, or you can let her say it to your face. Truthfully, this time”.

Jensen stood still for a long beat. Then he nodded once, slow, heavy. He didn’t say another word. He just reached over, grabbed both drinks from Jared’s hands—whiskey, neat—and downed the first in one long swallow. Then the second. No grimace. No pause. Just the quiet steel of a man steadying himself before walking into something that might ruin him or remake him entirely.

Jared didn’t stop him. He just gave a nod. A silent good luck. A don’t hold back. And then Jensen turned and headed for the back door.

By the time he stepped out onto the deck, you’d already wiped your face, straightened your shoulders, pulled the mask back on like it hadn’t just shattered in front of the only person who truly knew you. You were leaning against the railing, arms wrapped tight around yourself, the air cool against your skin, but not nearly as cold as the storm inside your chest.

You turned when you heard the door open and froze when you saw him. His face unreadable. Not angry. Not soft. Just… steady.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he got there first.

“You ready to go?”, he asked, voice even. Quiet.

Your brows pulled together. “Go?”.

“I wanna show you something”.

You hesitated, the weight of everything unsaid thick between you. But then, you nodded. Because if this was the beginning of the end, or a second chance disguised as something simple, you needed to face it.

You pushed off the railing and followed him into the house, through the party, out to the car, saying nothing the whole way.

The drive was quiet.

Jensen didn’t speak. He didn’t reach for the radio or glance at his phone. Just kept his eyes on the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, fingers tapping a rhythm only he knew.

You didn’t ask where you were going. You already knew. The beach. That beach. Where it all started—at least in the version of the story you never wanted to tell. Where you pulled him into something messy and calculated. Where the lie became physical before it ever had the chance to become something real. The place where you played him.

And now, it felt like you were driving straight into your own reckoning.

He parked in the same turnout, the ocean whispering in the distance like it remembered everything. The air was cooler here, cleaner, but it didn’t make it easier to breathe.

Jensen turned off the engine, the silence between you stretching until it wrapped around your ribs. Then, slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Shifted in his seat just slightly toward you. And without a word, reached for the middle console.

Your heart stopped.

When he pulled his hand back, he wasn’t holding keys or a wallet. It was a small, dark blue box. Simple. Unassuming. But it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t open it right away. Just held it in his palm, thumb running once over the edge of it like he was still deciding what it meant. Then he met your eyes. And what you saw there nearly undid you. Not anger. Not bitterness. But grief.

“Do you know what this is?”, he asked, voice steady, but low. Fragile.

You shook your head, barely.

He opened it. Inside, nestled against soft velvet, was a ring. Not flashy. Not loud. Just… good. Simple. Silver. A thin band engraved with something you couldn’t read in the dim light, but it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t an engagement ring. It was a promise.

“I bought this the day after you showed up at my door”, he said quietly. “After Lila kicked you out. After you let me see you. Actually see YOU”.

Your lip quivered. “Jensen—”.

“I wasn’t gonna give it to you tonight”, he said, voice cracking just barely. “I was gonna wait. Until I knew it was the right time. Until I felt like you were really in it with me. For real”.

Jensen looked down at the ring again, thumb brushing over the simple curve of the band like it grounded him. Then, quietly, he said, “I want to spend my future with you”.

No fanfare. No performance. Just truth. It landed in your chest like a weight and a lifeline at the same time. Your heart stuttered, your hands trembling in your lap as you stared at him. At this man who was still holding hope between his fingers like it hadn’t been shattered hours ago. Like he wanted to believe the best in you, even when he had every reason not to.

He hadn’t told you he heard everything. Not yet. He was waiting. Testing. To see if you’d bring it forward yourself. To see if the love you claimed to have for him could finally stand without the scaffolding of excuses.

And that was the moment. Not a big one. Not loud. But the kind of moment that determines whether a heart breaks, or begins to heal.

You could lie again. You could reach for the ring, let it shine in your palm, and tell him you’d meant everything from the start. But the truth—it pressed against your ribs now, hot and unbearable.

Tears gathered again, stinging sharp and fast, because this was what the guilt had been dragging you toward for weeks.

“I… I need to tell you something”, you said, voice barely holding together.

Jensen didn’t move. Didn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed on the ring in his hand, the soft glint of it catching moonlight through the windshield.

And you broke. You told him everything. Everything.

“… but after Lila kicked me out… I came to you. With nothing. Not even a plan anymore. Just guilt. And exhaustion. I didn’t know where else to go”. You paused, breath hitching, the memory of that night flickering through you like a slow burn. “And then you held me. You didn’t ask for anything. You didn’t try to fix it. You just… made space for me. Like I belonged there. Like I wasn’t something to clean up”.

You swallowed, eyes blurring.

“That night, I expected the same thing I’d always used to distract myself. I thought maybe I could just… lose myself in you again. Pretend it was just physical”.

Your voice softened, trembling.

“But it wasn’t”.

Jensen didn’t look up, but his fingers stilled on the ring.

“You were so careful with me”, you said. “Not just physically. You didn’t take. You didn’t push. You asked me to relax—like it wasn’t about what you wanted, but about making sure I was okay. You kissed me like you had forever. You moved like it wasn’t about release, but about… giving”.

The words were harder now, too honest, too real.

“I’ve never made love with someone before. Not really. I’ve had sex. I’ve had moments. But I’ve never felt safe. Not like that”. You sniffed, voice faltering again. “I didn’t know what to do with it. With how it made me feel. Because you weren’t just touching my body—you were touching everything I’d kept buried. Every scar. Every wall. And instead of avoiding them, you just… stayed. And I—”.

Your voice cracked.

“I think I fell in love with you in that moment. And I haven’t stopped since”.

Silence stretched again, the sound of the waves brushing against the shore in the distance.

And finally… Jensen closed the ring box. Then, slowly, he turned to face you and saw the truth of everything you’d just said written all over your face.

You weren’t hiding anymore. Not behind clever smiles or flirtation or silence.

You were a mess. Shoulders shaking, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp, tears running in quiet streaks down your cheeks. You looked like someone unraveling, not for the sake of being saved, but because you had to be seen. Completely. Honestly. Even if it meant losing everything.

You dropped your gaze, covering your face with both hands like you could somehow hold yourself together. “I’m so sorry”, you choked out. “I’m so sorry, Jensen. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never meant to—”.

Your voice cracked hard, breaking down into something raw and small.

“I didn’t know how to stop pretending once it started. I didn’t know how to tell you the truth without breaking us. But I did break us. I did”. You gasped through the tears, your body folding into yourself as if you could disappear into the seat, into the night, into the past where maybe you hadn’t done all this so wrong.

And Jensen just sat there. Watching. Still holding the closed box in his hand.

And then, he reached for you. Not harsh. Not sudden. Just reached.

His hand settled gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing the wet curve of your cheek. You stiffened—terrified, confused, shattered—but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re crying like I’m already gone”, he said softly.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even look at him.

He leaned in, his forehead pressing lightly to yours. “I should be angry”, he whispered. “I should walk away. I’ve been lied to before. I’ve been used. And I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again”.

You trembled under his touch.

“But what I felt that night?”, he murmured. “When you let me hold you like that? That wasn’t a lie”. He paused, letting the weight of it sink in. “That was real”.

You let out a sound—half sob, half relief—but still unsure if it was enough.

“I don’t know how to forget what you did”, he admitted. “But I also don’t know how to forget this. What we are now”.

Your hands finally dropped from your face. And you saw him. Still here. Still holding on. Even through the wreckage. “Are you saying you—”, your voice broke, and you tried again. “You still want to be with me?”.

His eyes met yours. And this time, there was no test. Just truth.

“I’m saying I’m still in love with you”, he said. “But if we do this… it has to be real. No more masks. No more pretending. Just you and me. All in”.

Your voice was barely more than a whisper. "I don’t deserve you”, you whimpered, the words catching in your throat like glass. Your whole body trembled as if even speaking them out loud might shatter whatever fragile thing still existed between you.

Jensen didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, the warmth of his hand still cradling your cheek like it was something worth holding onto. “Maybe you don’t”, he said, quiet but certain. “Not for the you who started this”.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a new wave of tears breaking loose. But he didn’t let go.

“But the version of you sitting in front of me right now?”, he whispered. “The one shaking, sobbing, telling me everything when she didn’t have to? The one who let herself be seen?”.

He tilted your chin up gently, his eyes locked on yours. Clear, steady, full of something that didn’t feel like forgiveness, didn’t feel like pity. It felt like truth.

“That’s the one I want”, Jensen said softly. “The one sitting in front of me right now”.

You inhaled shakily, your lips trembling as more tears spilled over. He smiled just barely, the kind of smile that hurt at the edges because of how much weight it carried.

“The one who told me I was too old for her”, he added, voice tinged with something warm and nostalgic. “Up on that stupid rooftop. Remember that?”.

You nodded, a broken laugh pushing through your sobs.

“You were such a little smartass”, he murmured, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “Told me no without even blinking”.

“I didn’t know”, you whispered.

“I did”, he said. “From that second, I knew. There was something about you I couldn’t shake. Not even when you kept pushing me away”. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “And God knows I tried”.

Your whole chest ached.

“But I’m here”, he said quietly. “I’m still here. And if you want me—really want me—then you’ve got me. All of me”. He looked down at the box still in his hand, then set it gently between you on the console. “No more pretending. No more masks. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t even have to be ready. You just have to be real”.

He looked back up at you.

“Can you do that?”.

Your breath hitched again—not from panic, not from guilt this time—but from the quiet, aching relief of being seen and still being wanted. You looked down at the small box sitting between you, the promise inside it no longer feeling like a test. It felt like a choice. Your choice.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for it, not to open it again, but just to hold it. Feel its weight. Let it sink in that something so small could carry something so big. You looked at him. Really looked. At the man who had every reason to walk away, but didn’t.

And your voice, though raw, held no hesitation now. “I want to be real”, you said. “With you”.

Jensen’s smile was small, tired, but full of something that looked a lot like hope.

You slipped the box into his hand again, curling his fingers around it. Because you didn´t deserved that. Not yet.

“Not yet”, you whispered. “But… someday?”.

He nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss—soft and slow—against your forehead. “Someday”, he said, like a vow.

And then he opened the car door, stepped out into the ocean air, and walked around to your side.

You laughed, wet and breathless, as he opened your door like it was a first date all over again. “What are you doing?”, you asked.

“Starting over”m he said simply, reaching out his hand.

You took it. Because this time? You meant it.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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