#and my husband just sent me the link while he’s at work

[starlitangels]

Dragon Prince season 5 Dragon Prince season 5 Dragon Prince season 5 Dragon Prince season 5

DRAGON PRINCE SEASON FIVE!!!

[vaokses]

Anger, a daughter (Pirtir, Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You return to Dragonstone after nearly two years away, having done what was expected of you and secured your mother's standing with the Great Houses. The safety that you felt after once again doing what was expected of you is taken once you learn that in your absence, your family arranged for you to marry Aegon.

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Threats of violence. The usual Targaryen incest stuff.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother’s claim. It is mentioned she has Valyrian features (the hair). She rides Vermithor. She and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King’s Landing. How relevant or impactful that ‘thing’ was depends on who of the two you ask. I’ve stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King’s Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry. Mysaria left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, but is still the information broker of the first season, just working from afar. The Reader has spent nearly two years touring Westeros, as her mother did, in search of a husband.

A/N: No Aegon or any of the greens yet, but I wanted to set up some things, so this can be considered a prologue of sorts. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Title is from the "anger, a daughter" by volatilepoetry (link to the piece here, I couldn't find the author's socials)

“Cousin.” You greet with a wide smile, taking the riding gloves off as she comes closer, a mirror of your own smile on her lips. 

“Sister,” Baela greets in kind in well-practiced Valyrian, at your reprimanding glare answering with a defiant one of her own. She grabs your hands in hers, smile wide and mirrored in your own face. “I thought you would return to Dragonstone, at the end of your…tour.” 

“Even I tire of politics, of playing,” You admit, linking your arm with hers and letting her guide you towards the Driftmark castle. “I wish to rest for a while, before I am to report back to f-…to Daemon. I hoped our grandmother would grant me a few days here?” 

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible,” She tells you, pulling from her belt a rolled up message and offering it to you. “A raven brought this shortly after dawn.” 

You immediately recognize Daemon’s handwriting, as well as the parting message he directs at his daughters and you in place for a goodbye. Fly, daughter. 

Your sister is needed at home, tell her to return to us at once. You must ready yourself to fly to Dragonstone at my command. I’ll send word. Sōvēs, tala. 

“So, who did you choose? Whoever it is, you made father angry.” 

“Your father.” You correct, but she pays it no mind, as she always does. 

“So, who will be the lucky man?” 

You turn to face her as you both stand in the base of Driftmark’s stairs. 

“I didn’t choose anyone.”  

Of course, a Tyrell knight caught your eye and your attention for a while, and you could use the strength of the alliance marrying Vaemond Velaryon’s son would bring, or Rickon Stark’s. You even considered the proposal of Hobert Hightower’s grandson, if only to see your mother breathe fire at the mere idea of it, were you to propose such a union. 

But the tour was never organized for the purpose of finding you a husband, this you knew from the beginning. It is the reason you agreed to such a circus in the first place. As Rhaenyra’s first-born child, heir to the Iron Throne and future Princess of Dragonstone, you were sent throughout Westeros to remind the noble Houses of the pledges they made, of where their allegiance is to lie if they hope to remain on the Crown’s good side. 

What foolish Lord you couldn’t charm with a well-placed smile or compliment, Vermithor’s presence in their city would remind promptly of the risk of turning on your House, of undermining your mother’s claim. What wouldn’t bend to your will, you would remind how quickly you could break. Such was your task, what was demanded from you, and you played your part as you have always done. 

It matters not if by the end of this tour, after twenty months away from home -though a part of you reminds you it has been much longer than that, it has been over three years-, donning whatever face was deemed ideal to realize your objective; you cannot really remember who it is you were before it all. It matters not if it has been months since you’ve been able to meet your own gaze in a mirror, in fear of seeing a stranger -or worse, a familiar face, your mother’s, your father’s, Lady Mysaria’s- looking back. 

Your eyes meet Baela’s, and you whisper, “Have you heard I am to marry?” 

She hesitates, and that is enough of an answer. You shake your head, step away, stumble over your own feet. 

___ 

You almost feel a young girl again, in the worst possible way, dragged like a dog on a leash after your mother as she departed King’s Landing, gritting her teeth at your cries and answering with soft caresses of your silver hair to your promise that you would never forgive her for taking you from your home. 

Now, over three years later, you are to be dragged back to the city that saw you be born, away from your mother’s side, from your brothers’ and stepsister’s sides. And the people responsible for arranging for such a thing are set on hiding, on ignoring you since your return to Dragonstone. 

For a time, especially since your aunt’s death and Aemond’s claiming of Vhagar, you believed your mother and Daemon kept you unmarried, kept you here, so that if war were to break out, they would have you and Vermithor to send to battle, to which he is no stranger. You believed if you would one day have to marry, it would be to defend your own claim, offering your hand in exchange for an army, to a man that would know to bend the knee before his queen and before his wife alike. 

You believed they kept you near, they let you remain unbound and unmarried, because you served a purpose while free. You believed by playing your part as was demanded from you, twisting and turning to fit into whatever face you were expected to wear, you would have some control over any of it, you would be safe. How foolish, childish, those notions were. 

Since Vermithor flew you into Dragonstone, your mother has secluded herself in her rooms, and you have only Daemon to ask for answers to the madness that brews past the safety of the island. 

“I do not wish to leave. I will not leave, unless you tell me what awaits me in King’s Landing.” 

But you know, some part of you knows, and that part of you is gnawing at you, at your composure, at your resolve. 

Daemon shrugs one shoulder, “Why? It was once your home. That shithole of a city saw you be born, after all.” 

“My home is, as has always been, Dragonstone.” Lie, lie, lie. You remember the halls of the Red Keep better than you know the halls of this very castle. 

“Then you must be used to homesickness by now. Five and ten years raised in King’s Landing, nearly two years touring Westeros. You have spent…what? A year settled here?” 

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t much care, walking past you to pour himself a cup of wine. He lifts an empty cup your way to offer a drink, but you hold your ground, and insist, 

“I detest games, Daemon.” 

“You sound like your mother when you talk like that,” He quips, with cruel humor, chuckling at a joke that only amuses him. You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and jaw set tight, and he lets out another mad little chuckle, “You also look like her when you glare like that.” 

“I only ask that-…” 

“When in your life have you asked for only one thing?” 

“And yet you have always indulged me. Indulge me now,” You ask, walking to him, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen and your face to reflect the softness of the child he has always had a weakness for. What is expected, what is needed, if you are to win this particular battle. Your mother, your brothers, they are to be faced with callous strength, with a temper and a certainty you inherited from the man who made you who you are; but the man himself is to be faced with the pleading eyes of his daughter, with the docile manners of a maiden who needs his guidance, his protection. And so, you show the face required to get the upper hand. Quietly, softly, you plead, “Do not insult me or my intelligence by acting as if I cannot understand whatever game is being played.” 

“You wield lies effortlessly,” He concedes, head lolled to the side as he considers you, “But you should know better than to try with me.” 

You allow yourself a smile, despite yourself, and let go of pretenses. Even so, you aren’t sure if the face you show Daemon now is an honest one, or merely yet another mask to try and gain his favor. 

Shrugging one shoulder as you lean against one of the stone pillars, you admit, 

“It was worth a try.” 

“It is more of an instinct than a choice by now, I’d say,” Daemon corrects, taking a few steps in your direction. You don’t miss the fact that he has positioned himself between you and the door, a physical reminder that whatever he is about to say is as inescapable as this room. “A useful instinct, now that you are to marry.” 

Your refusal is immediate, “No, I’m not.” 

At his answering look, halfway between surprise and anger, you wonder absently if this is the first time you’ve denied him since he married your mother. 

“You are aware this is not a request.” 

“I’ll feed to Vermithor whatever man you try chaining me to. You are aware this is not an empty threat,” You tell him. It feels good, to admit such a thing, to promise such a thing, because it feels true. “I told you I wouldn’t marry unless the war demanded it.” 

“It does. You are to avoid war, and marry my brother’s son, Aegon,” He promises, and he knows it, you see it in his eyes, that at the uttering of a single name your threat is made null. You realize then why it is your mother hides from you. “It is done, a deal has been brokered with my brother and his wife, y-…” 

“You have no right to make arrangements in my name.” You blurt out, a desperate attempt, not unlike a cornered beast lashing out and wounding its own maws as it bites the approaching spear. Now this, shamefully, terribly, this feels yours. This anger, this desire to hurt. With all the venom of a lifetime of wasted deference, of useless loyalty, you ready yourself to speak a lie once again, “You are not my father. Whore out your sons to the Hightowers if you wish, but you have no right t-…” 

Your words die in a gasp as Daemon hurls the cup in his hand at a wall and advances towards you, quick strides until he stands before you, towering over you with quickened breath. He doesn’t strike you, never has. But it is no less of a threat. A warning not to step out of line, a reminder of what your lies protect you from. 

A twitch in his expression, a glimpse of a snarl, before he warns, 

“Careful now.” 

“We both know there are things my mother won’t forgive,” You answer, “It is you who ought to be careful.” 

“She has approved of this union.” 

You doubt it. You want to doubt it, need to. It is one thing to try and link the warring branches of the House of the Dragon by joining Jacaerys, kind and gentle Jacaerys, and your sweet aunt Helaena. 

It is another to send her only daughter, her heir, to one of Alicent’s sons. 

Still, because some part of you, small and still in the carriage as it drives away from King’s Landing, grasping your mother’s hand in yours even as you curse her and her choices, cannot stand the thought of standing corrected, of being made to face that for the security of her claim Rhaenyra would give you away to a man on the far end of the Crownlands; you do not voice an argument, and instead clarify,  

“I was speaking of what you are threatening to do with your hands,” Daemon leans back with a thoughtful hm that does nothing to hide the way he still bristles at the faintest reminder of powerlessness. Careless, you push forward, insist, “Let us wait, let me stay, and…” 

“And what, hm? Let war come to us? Let those vipers continue to undermine your mother’s claim? Let them put Otto Hightower’s pawn on the throne our forebears forged?” 

You are shaking your head before he is even done speaking, and you can only offer a sigh as an answer, a plea as a retort, 

“Let me fight.” 

“You will fight as I see fit that you do,” He answers, simply, carelessly. “You will play your part, as is your privilege, your duty.” 

“If I had been a son, y-…” 

“I have had a lifetime of hearing your mother speak the same nonsense. I will not hear it,” Daemon interrupts, before leaning closer and reminding you, cruel, mocking, “You are not a son.” 

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world, I-…” 

“Then you should find it easy to tame a smaller one,” Daemon promises, not without cruelty. “We will depart in a month. The betrothal will be officially announced then, with us all in King’s Landing. Plenty of time to say your goodbyes.” 

“There have been…whispers of a royal event for months now. I didn’t know, I-…” 

“Did you think they were setting up a tourney for one of those shits? Or that my brother had somehow managed to sire another child?” 

You shake your head, but your heart races and your breath quickens, because how could you not see it before? 

You served your purpose, without faltering, without question. You amended the bonds your mother’s carelessness and her husband’s viciousness had broken, you strengthened the claim her mistakes had weakened, you lied and charmed to protect your brothers from the fate she imposed upon them. And now your use is through. 

The reward for your deference is a noose around your neck. 

“You had me travel the entire continent, entertaining countless proposals from the most insufferable of men and breaking bread with the most boring fucks alive, while you planned on giving me away.” 

“The tour was never meant to find you a husband, you knew that. A future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, birthing children for a…a…Tyrell? Or a Stark?” Daemon asks, as if the mere idea is unfeasible, ridiculous. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, and as wretched as that little cunt is, Aegon is my brother’s. A Targaryen.” 

You do not care for his tales of superiority, you do not care for those fantasies. Instead, you merely insist, “You plotted against me, while I was far from home.” 

“No. There is a plot, but it was not against you. If anything, this was done in your name, for your benefit,” He argues, pragmatically. Daemon leans closer, head bowed to meet your eyes. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure your claim, to ensure your ascension after your mother’s.” 

“To ensure your blood sits the Iron Throne.” 

He doesn’t deny it, and you don’t expect him to. The faintest of gestures of his head towards the door orders you to walk. You follow the unspoken command, for what else can you do but obey, and walk towards the door. 

“It is settled.” He calls out after you. At the absence of your answer, of your compliance, Daemon barks a call of your name. An order, a threat, even if it isn’t voiced as one, making you stop in your tracks. “You are a loyal daughter, and you know better than to forsake your duties to your mother. You won’t betray her.” 

“What you are asking of me is betrayal,” You argue, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “To marry our enemy, to lay with him, what is that if not a betrayal of my mother, of her claim?” 

“It is a sacrifice,” He corrects, but such appeasements, such manipulations, better suit Lady Mysaria. He has too much pride for the deceit to work, and so the lie stumbles in his tongue, rushing forward a truer sentence, “And I don’t ask.” 

___ 

Lady Mysaria finds you in the eastern balcony overlooking the sea, welcomes herself into the room and walks towards you, stopping only a few steps behind you She doesn’t announce herself nor ask for permission to speak, and you know better than to expect her to do either, after years of knowing her as your parents’ advisor. 

“I’m guessing you do not come here bearing good news.” 

“What would be good news to you, Princess?” 

“A freak dragon-riding accident leaving my future betrothed somewhere in the depths of the Narrow Sea?” You ask, rueful smile curving at your lips. 

“You speak as if you wouldn’t grieve for him.” 

“I would not grieve Aegon, or any of them, for I do not know the people they have become in these passing years.” 

“Is that why you ask my spies about him when they reveal themselves to you in your travels? To know the man he has become?” 

You sometimes wonder why you bother arguing with her. Not once have you been able to hold the upper hand for more than a breath. 

“I asked once.” 

You were wary, and far from home, and the flutter in your chest when Alasdair Tyrell laid a crown of Dragon’s breath on your lap -after his victory in the tourney organized to welcome you into the Reach- had felt familiar but wrong. Nostalgia and something else, something far more stupid, overwhelmed you, and you summoned one of Lady Mysaria’s spies, sent with you as a handmaiden, and asked her to tell you what she knew about how Aegon fared, who he had become in these passing years. 

You told yourself that while you knew better than to reach for a past and a bond long gone, neither could hurt you, so many years removed from the girl you were, so many miles away from what you once called home. And it didn’t, the past didn’t hurt you. What could have been did, however. 

“I will concede that you have learned to request information more subtly, but it does not mean you don’t ask, Princess.” 

“No, your spies offer information freely. Information I do not ask for,” You argue, but she breathes a short little laugh in response. It irks you, unsettles you, and you find yourself arguing further, explaining further, “I wanted to know if he was well, long ago, a-…” 

“And my spies told you he wasn’t.” 

“And so I never asked again.”

“It is a smart choice, to feign ignorance, but you should know better than to attempt to hide something from me.” 

“I have hidden nothing, for there is nothing to hide.” 

She hums lowly, considering her words with a sly smile on her lips. 

“You must refrain from defensiveness if you are to lie efficiently, Princess.” 

You grit your teeth but refuse her the satisfaction of knowing she prodded at a still-unarmored part of you. Instead, you bow your head as you did when you were barely five-and-ten and she had issued her first lesson on how to survive a world such as this. 

“Of course, Lady Mysaria.” 

“I would have expected you to be relieved, if nothing else, at the revelation of who you are to marry,” She muses. If she understands the threat written in your eyes when you turn to look at her, she cares not for it, and presses on, “You were quite close when you were younger.” 

“I was close to all of them.” 

“I mislike repeating myself. You cannot hide things from me, Princess.” 

You take a breath that feels a tad too shallow, you grit your teeth until you hold yourself under control, you hold your tongue until you’re certain it won’t betray anger, sorrow, something else. It feels invasive, unbearable, like fingers prodding at a well-hidden wound. 

“It was nothing. A passing infatuation of youth.” 

“Passing fancy,” She corrects. “The words the Queen used were passing fancy. If you are to shield yourself with the words of others, do so properly.” 

The troubling and annoying thing about sharing a home with someone that trades secrets is that none can be kept from her, and the frustrating thing about counting amongst those closest to you the person that taught you to lie and deceive is that you find it impossible to fool her. And with no secrets, with no lies, there is no fun in playing the game anymore. 

“What is it you mean to ask, Lady Mysaria?” 

“Aren’t you at the very least relieved? Contented?” 

You shake your head. 

“I do not know who Aegon is any longer. Who I-…” The revelation stumbles in your tongue, remains sealed past closed lips. The admission that you have forsaken yourself somewhere in the road to this day is something she might know already, but you refuse to admit aloud. “I have spent the last two years on lands foreign to me, many of them hostile to me. I am…I am wary, and I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of feeling…defenseless.” 

Mysaria lets silence linger for a few moments as you both watch your brothers’ dragons at flight in the skies above you. 

“You want war,” She states, “You deem fire and blood the only future in which you are safe.” 

It is a truly horrifying talent that she possesses, that uncanny ability of hers of digging under your skin until she finds the truer face out of all you wear and brings it to light in all its ugliness and its monstrousness. 

But perhaps that is why you can allow yourself to speak in honesty now, for the first time since you left Dragonstone for a royal tour, or perhaps for the first time since you left King’s Landing. 

“In war, me and my dragon are useful here, defending my claim. In war, I remain unbound, able to fight back,” You tell her, not caring about considering your words, about guarding your back. Turning your head to look at her, you argue, “In times of peace, I am sent away. Twice over, I have lost my home for the sake of peace.” 

“Hm,” Mysaria muses, and when she walks past you towards the balcony, you cannot help but follow. Your eyes seek the horizon, while the White Worm’s linger on Arrax and Vermax playing in the clouds above you. “You will not find yourself without allies, Princess. A spider can spin a web anywhere in the world, it needs only time.” 

“Speaking of time,” You start, straightening yourself and turning on your side to face her. You bow your head, in goodbye and in something else, something closer to gratitude than your hurt and your pride let you admit right now. “I fear our time together has come to a close.” 

“Your family isn’t leaving for King’s Landing for another two days.” She argues, but she knows, you are certain she does. It is no coincidence, that she has come to find you now, that she has come to say goodbye. 

Because honesty comes easy with her, you admit, “I dislike feeling like prey.” 

You could swear there is the beginning of a smile curving softly at her lips, but Mysaria merely bows her head and whispers a wish of, safe travels, Princess. 

___ 

Daemon approaches, you know him by the cadence of his footsteps by now, as you stand on one of the cliffs near the castle. He says nothing, joins you in watching as Vermithor stands before you, proud and stubborn, head held high despite your request that he bow it to allow you to climb onto his saddle. 

“Are you two having a fight?” 

“The old brat doesn’t want to leave the Dragonmont, and thinks we have a choice in the matter!” Your last words, hissed in Valyrian as you argue with the old dragon, make Daemon chuckle. “If I ask that Silverwing fly with us, y-…” 

“You know better than to ask that from us.” 

“He doesn’t want to leave her side. Vermithor, sweet thing, I feel for your broken heart, I truly do. But I won’t go by boat, much less carriage,” Vermithor answers with a huff of steam, and flaps his wings slightly, a warning that he will shake you off like he would a bothersome fly if you attempt to mount him regardless. You heave a sigh, “Stubborn fuck.” 

Vermithor understands the Common Tongue, you are certain he does, for he lowers his head for a moment as if to taunt you to try, and the call that echoes from deep in his chest truly sounds mocking. 

“It is your own restlessness, your own fear, that make him refuse you. You do not wish to leave, and so he doesn’t want to take you there.” 

“I did not want to visit half the places we did during my tour, and yet he took me anyways.” You argue, and though for a moment you think to ask him if he will try to stop you, you refrain.  

Daemon somehow knows that you have decided to take flight to King’s Landing tonight, and he has chosen not to stop you. Perhaps he understands the restlessness that has only grown in you since you were told of your betrothal, as perhaps that same restlessness consumed him once, when he was also young and sent off to marry for duty. 

“You weren’t afraid during your tour.” Daemon argues, but you shake your head. 

“Of course I was afraid. I did it anyways, because…because it was what you and mother demanded from me, but I was terrified,” You admit. Perhaps it is the darkness and quiet of a night in the vast openness of the Dragonmont, perhaps it is the defeat that clings to your very bones like the most bitter cold, but you do not care for lies, for masks, right now. “I haven’t stopped being afraid since we left King’s Landing.” 

Daemon turns to you, but you cannot look at him. You dread to look into your father’s eyes and see disappointment at your admission; you dread to see anger at your weakness. Most of all, however, you dread to see a shadow of regret, at what he’s done, at what he has failed to do. 

For it wouldn’t change a thing. You would still be sent off, you would still be given away, you would still be left with no control over any of this. 

At your silence, Daemon turns back to look upon the Bronze Fury. 

“And yet you do not want to return. And your dragon defies you because of it.” 

“He took me there once already, you know. A month or so before the tour began,” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you share the memory. “It was…the worst storm I can remember, and he had us fly right through it. I cursed his name until I was hoarse and once it was over, I demanded he take me home at once. He took me to King’s Landing.”

"Did you land?"

"Of course not. It is hostile territory."

“It is your birthright,” Daemon promises. It used to feel liberating to hear him reaffirm your claim and your mother’s. Now it feels heavy. The weight of a crown you do not yet wear is entirely too great, and you bow your head. Daemon continues, “It was Vermithor who called to you, who allowed you to claim him. Vermithor, a dragon who only ever bonded with Kings.” 

“But I am no King,” You argue, returning your gaze to him. “For I am not a son.” 

Thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

Next chapter >>

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Can I request yandere Jason, Jeff and Sully with a Y/N who during one of them attempts to escape suffered an accident and lost their memory?

they dont remember anything, not even that their kidnapped.

Okay I was so, so excited when you sent this in I need you to know that. However, I now can't repeating "they had amneesssiiaaaa" to myself cause of this silly video my partner showed me about video games where they keep repeating that and it's very funny and I'm gonna link it here even though it's very unrelated

You were so close to freedom, so close to finally getting away from your captor. You'd worked so hard to plan your escape, including the memorized route you'd take to get out of there while he was distracted, leaving you plenty of time to leave. You could taste your freedom on your tongue as you sprinted through the woods, left, right, left, right, right, but before your final left on the path, you'd gotten too tired, and you'd tripped on a stray tree root, falling and slamming your head quite hard onto the root of a separate tree, rendering you unconscious. You could have been out for just a few minutes, or even a few hours, but it gave your captor enough time to track you and find you, hovering over you as you finally peeled your eyes open. He expected you to cry or beg for forgiveness, but you didn't. No, you could only blink up at him in confusion and ask, "Who are you?"

Jason:

Jason thinks this must be some sort of blessing from above, some kind of repayment for all of his years of suffering. The two of you before your last attempted escape were most certainly not where he wanted you to be in your relationship, but now you have no memory of that, no memory at all. This has to be the best thing to ever happen to him, to happen to the two of you. He took advantage of your amnesia immediately, without even a hint of guilt in his mind. He'd told you that he was your dearest husband, that the two of you had been on a little walk and you'd fallen and must have bumped your head too hard. He gently escorted you home, and you were so quick to trust him that he couldn't help but internally laugh. In the coming days, he would continue planting seeds in your mind, about how you've always been incredibly loving and affectionate toward him, that you like it when he touches you whenever he wants, that you allow him to force you into whatever kind of situation he wants.

You go along with it with that adorably innocent look on your face because you just don't know any better. He never falters, convincing you to become his little doll just as he's always wanted you to be, it's so much fun for him, and it makes him so happy, and because he's so happy, you're so happy as well. Of course, the thought crosses his mind that maybe one day you'll remember the truth, but he reaches a conclusion to that easily; if you regain your memories, well, he can just cause you some head trauma again! Just enough force to make you have amnesia again, and he can start all over as many times as it takes because now that he knows what it's like to have all of your love and attention, he's not giving it up ever again. You're just the cutest little toy, and he'll do whatever he can to keep you that way, keep you being so loving and sweet and wonderful, no matter what your slowly returning memories try and convince you of, he'll win in the end.

Jeff:

Jeff is going to be the one to most easily fuck it up, that much is obvious, but he tries his best. Yandere Jeff has no control over himself or his emotions, as much as he tries to, and his anger issues are much worse than they are in normal Jeff. See, Jeff doesn't even believe you at first, thinks you're playing a trick on him and he yells at you for it, but when you react with more fear than usual a part of him realizes that perhaps this is the truth, and he stops and apologizes, not wanting to waste the opportunity he has here. He tells you that he's your partner and that you had gone on a walk by yourself and gotten lost, that he was coming to find you, and that you must have tripped and hit your head. You hesitate, but you accept his outstretched hand and follow him home, unknowingly walking right back into the hell you'd been trying so hard to get away from. Your time spent with Jeff isn't as bad as it had been, as he's trying so desperately to not fuck this chance up, but you're naturally suspicious of him due to his clear uncontrolled temper.

He doesn't hit you anymore, because he knows that will definitely fuck everything up, but sometimes he can't help but yell at you when you do something he perceives as wrong (because you've forgotten all of the ridiculous rules he had set), and so he does his best to remind you of them, forcing apologies out of his throat. It never crossed his mind that you could get your memories back, but with the repeated tone and threats he'd always used before, things started to come back to your mind, memories that had been sealed away by your fall, and the more he forces himself on you, his lips, his hands, his body, the more you grow internally hesitant, and the less you believe the lies he's spewing. It's only inevitable that one day you'll try and escape again, but only because you don't know the true extent of his violence, and he won't hold back next time, no, next time his gentleness with you will fade permanently.

Sully:

The look of fear in your eyes is one he's familiar with, but the confusion you throw at him is most certainly not, so Sully hesitates as he goes to pick you up and bring you back. When yandere, Liu and Sully are flipped, as Liu is the incredibly manipulative one who forces you to be there, and Sully is the soft sweet, and gentle guardian who looks out for you. Sully always follows Liu's orders, always restrains you, and makes sure you remain there, but now... Now he could finally save you, he could let you get away, but at the same time, he fears what Liu might do to you if he has to hunt you down all over again, and his fear of Liu wins out. He explains that he's your partner (one of two, as he explains his situation with Liu), and he takes you back home. He looks out for you this time, however, preparing you for what's to come. He tells you what Liu is like, tells you how to behave (as the two of them don't share memories), and he makes sure you're ready.

He leaves a note for Liu that you have amnesia, and so Liu is none the wiser when he sees you for the first time after your accident and suddenly you're all lovey-dovey with him. However, the one you truly fall for is Sully. Whenever it's Sully you're with he's always trying to help you regain your memories, always trying to do the right thing, and he's so obviously sweet with you, all of Liu's cunning and manipulation vanishing as Sully tries so hard to help you. If you, amidst your amnesia, play your cards right, you might even be able to convince Sully to help you escape next time. At least, so long as Liu doesn't catch on to what's happening. If he does, Liu might just have to hide you away somewhere secret, somewhere Sully won't be able to find you and protect you. It's up to you to either submit to your fate with them or take a chance and risk it all as both of them grow clingier and clinger with you as they force themselves on you in their own ways.

[iamthemain-character]

Tongue Tied

draco x reader

she/her

TW: Heavy insinuation of nsfw things (ironically i wrote this at work)

this is purely a self indulgent blurb for my favorite editor. apparently 5k words is not enough, you thirsty hoe <3

image link at the bottom

Draco’s head fell back against the back of the chair, his eyes closing blissfully. His fingers flexed in your hair, feeling the soft strands that were tangled around his rings. The pads of his fingertips rubbed your scalp, his way of being gentle after all the harsh pulling he had put your head through–not that you had minded, really. His thighs were left trembling, the fire burning in his veins circulating like magma, keeping him in the peak of bliss he had just experienced.

You leaned your forehead against his thigh, your lungs aching for the breath that had been denied while your mouth was full. Your lips were parted, slick and glistening with the evidence of your worship for your husband. You softly rubbed your nose against the soft skin of his inner thigh, basking in his warmth and scent.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” Draco murmurs, pulling his fingers down from your scalp, running through the ends of your hair. He gently pulls through the tiny knots he created, the sensation eliciting tingles down your neck and back. “You’re so goddamn perfect for me.”

You couldn’t verbalize your reply, pressing a kiss to his skin. The simple gesture sent a surge up his body, and his hand cradled the back of your neck, forcing your gaze up. “Look at me.” He demanded.

You couldn’t pull your gaze away from his body in front of you, a hint of pride swelling in your heart as you saw the flush contrasting his pale skin. You felt an equal pink cover your skin, recalling how he had felt on your tongue simply moments ago.

“Do you see what you do to me? You take me so well, so insistent that you make me feel good.” Draco continues, his own voice dripping with pride and satisfaction. “You look so pretty down there, knowing exactly how to make those perfect lips of yours drive me crazy.” To emphasize his point, he brought up his other hand, his forefinger tracing the shape of your lips. “You’re incredible. My perfect wife, doing such a good job indulging her husband.”

You shivered a little, his praise stirring up a sensation in your lower body that couldn’t quite be ignored. He smiled, his eyes darkening as he leaned his face down to you, knowing exactly how to get you excited. “Now, let me reward my wife for her excellent work.”

[friend-lover-traitor-narrator]

Like No Time Has Passed At All [icemav]

(Link to AO3 here)

Summary: The dagger mission was successful and old married icemav are having some fun in the bedroom while Bradley is in the house, too.

A/N: This is just a little smutty idea that plopped into my head after re-watching TGM a couple of days ago and which kept me from continuing with You Can Be My Wingman Anytime. But now that this one is out of my system, I can go back to writing that one too.

Pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Jake "Hangman" Seresin (only implied)

Warnings/content: 18+, porn with plot, porn with feelings, old!icemav, married!icemav, unprotected sex, rough sex, fluff and smut, domesticity.

Word count: 3.7k

The efforts of the last couple of days are still sticking in Mav’s bones but he’s home now and happy. The mission was more than successful. Bradley had asked if he could stay for a night or two before he is sent back to his squadron like the other daggers. Ice is already waiting for Mav to snuggle up in bed with him and honestly, Mav couldn't wish for more right now.

Nevertheless, Mav wants to check in on Bradley and apologize to him once again and maybe already catch up a bit on what has happened in Bradley's life in the years they hadn't talked to each other. So he walks up to Bradley's old room where he is staying now, too.

Mav finds the door to Bradley’s room standing open just a bit and he can hear him talking to someone. He can't catch what exactly Bradley is saying but he sounds happy. The voice which is answering him through the speaker sounds familiar, too, and Mav has an idea who it could be.

As nosy as he is, Mav takes the not fully closed door as an invitation to poke his head through the slit in the door. As expected, Bradley is sitting on his bed, notebook on his lap, talking to the screen.

“Wait a moment,” Bradley says when he notices Mav peeking through the door and looks up at his surrogate dad with a questioning look.

“Hangman?” Mav mouthes.

Bradley rolls his eyes at Mav but a lopsided smile appears on his face and he looks exactly like when he had his first girlfriend.

Mav smiles back at him, gives him a thumbs up and quietly closes the door behind him, leaving the two alone. He can still catch up with Bradley tomorrow.

Mav changes into his pajamas and goes to his bedroom where he finds Ice sitting against the headpiece, reading glasses on and immersed in a book. When Mav comes in, he peeks up from his book with a soft smile but doesn't say anything.

Mav smiles back at Ice and silently crawls into their bed, too, snuggling up to his husband and wrapping one of his arms around Ice’s waist.

“I'm so glad you two finally made peace with each other again,” Ice mumbles and places a kiss on the top of Mav’s head. “Have you talked to him like you wanted to?”

“Not yet,” Mav replies, mumbling against Ice's chest. “He's on a video call with Hangman. Didn't want to disturb them.”

“Lieutenant Seresin?” Ice asks back, surprised.

“Yeah, the two actually remind me a lot of us back in the day,” Mav mumbles with a smile and hoping for them that they will be just as happy with each other like he is with Ice.

“I see,” Ice replies and they fall into a comfortable silence both sucked up in their own thoughts. Mav reminisces in memories of when he and Ice had first started to hang out with each other back in ‘86.

“You don't mind me finishing this chapter, do you?” Ice asks then and it's not really a question because at some point in their thirty-odd years together this has become a routine for them. Ice going to bed earlier, enjoying a good book. Mav joining him later, quietly snuggling up to him after a stressful day at work, enjoying Ice’s loving warmth. When Ice is finished, they go over to sleeping - or sleeping with each other.

“Not at all,” Mav replies like he does every time. For some minutes, they just cuddle like this. Ice still reading. Mav cuddling with his husband.

At some point, Mav's hand drops to Ice’s thigh and he starts to draw little circles on the fabric of Ice's pajama pants. He would much rather like to go for option two today instead of simply sleeping.

Ice continues reading but one of his arms now wraps around Mav’s waist and his hand slips into the backside of Mav’s briefs. Ice keeps his hand just resting there but Mav knows that it means that he doesn't want to sleep, either. After so many years, they understand each other silently, no words needed.

As if coincidentally, Mav lets his hand softly brush over the fabric covering Ice’s limp dick. Ice breathes out languishly. “Mav,” he scolds him in a whisper but Mav knows that Ice is not serious about it because he starts to softly knead one of Mav's buttocks.

“Am I distracting you, Admiral?” Mav whispers and he feels Ice's dick twitch below his hand. He first found out that it turns Ice on when Mav drops his rank in bed when it had slipped his mouth right after Ice's promotion to Lieutenant Commander. The first promotion he had gotten after they became a couple. Since then Mav has occasionally made use of it because he knows that Ice loves to hear it from time to time and Mav loves to say it, too, because sometimes he still can't believe that he is actually married to the COMPACFLT.

Back in the day, Ice would have been fully erect by now. Nowadays, it took him longer but Mav didn't care. They both were old now and their bodies simply didn't work anymore like they did in their twenties. Mav loves Ice's body now just as much as he did thirty years ago and his own body isn't as quick as it used to be, either. So, it really doesn't matter and somehow Mav even loves it that it takes both of them longer to get there because it gives him the opportunity to tease Ice more, to slowly seduce him until he wants to take him just as desperately as when they were young.

Mav starts to softly stroke Ice through the fabric. He doesn't pretend anymore that it’s coincidental and he can feel how Ice slowly hardens in his hand. Ice lets a finger slip in between Mav’s buttocks, slowly moving it back and forth. Mav feels himself harden, too, and grinds against Ice’s thigh letting him know what he's doing to him.

Ice finally closes his book one handedly and puts it on the nightstand together with his glasses. Mav suspects that he already hadn't been reading for quite some minutes now but it's his sign of telling Mav that he’s ready for more.

So Mav straddles him, still fully clothed, and starts dry-humping him slowly. A deep moan escapes Ice’s lips but the moment it's out he covers his mouth with his hand.

“Shit, Bradley's here,” he mumbles a second later but Mav shuts him up with his lips on Ice’s, smiling into the kiss. Mav suddenly feels twenty years younger. Back when Bradley was living with them, Ice had always been so cautious not to be heard by Bradley but it had only rarely worked out. He knows that, both of them know that because teenage Bradley didn't shy away from telling them on a regular basis.

Mav’s mouth goes wandering down Ice's jawline, then onto his neck. He cherishes Ice's throat scar with his lips, one of the remnants of the terrible battle they have fought together and Ice has finally won. Mav knows of course that it can come back but for now Ice is well and that is all that matters.

When Mav slowly reaches the neckline of Ice's pajama top, he doesn't hesitate long but quickly gets rid of it and pulls it over Ice's head. Then he continues to plant sloppy kisses on Ice’s chest until he arrives at one of his nipples and twirls his tongue around it.

Ice lets his head fall back against the headpiece and he bites his lip in a desperate attempt not to moan. Mav hasn't seen Ice like this in years because normally, Ice is loud. Always has been. And both of them love it but today it's different. Today they're not alone in the house and for now, Ice seems to be determined to keep quiet.

Fully aware that it will take Ice's full willpower not to moan out loudly, Mav continues to twirl his tongue around Ice’s nipples in between kisses and while still riding him. Ice gasps and squirms underneath him. Then he’s ramming his hips up against Mav and Mav loves to see him like this. Desperate for Mav’s body, desperate for more.

Ice unambiguously tugs at Mav’s shirt and Mav gets rid of that, too. Now it's his turn to bite back a moan because Ice starts roaming over Mav’s upper body with his long, slender fingers, pulling him down to kiss him feverishly and still thrusting against him. Ice lets his hands travel down to Mav’s butt cheeks, squeezing them firmly, pulling them apart and Mav desperately needs to get rid of his remaining clothes now. So he quickly shuffles his pajama pants and his briefs down in one go and sits back up on Ice’s hips, fully naked.

Ice slowly, languishly lets his eyes wander over Mav’s body until his sight shamelessly rests between Mav’s legs. Ice lasciviously licks his slightly parted lips and Mav’s dick twitches in anticipation. Ice grips Mav’s hips and drags. Mav knows what he’s implying here. Mav smirks, their hungry eyes meet for a second and he pulls himself up on his knees.

Mav looks down and quietly sighs at the gorgeous sight in front of him. He sees Ice staring at his throbbing cock and liking his lips again. Ice takes his time and Mav loves it but hates it at the same time. He wants to be touched, to be welcomed by the wet warmth of Ice’s mouth. But Ice takes his time because he knows exactly how to tease Mav.

Ice caresses the backside of Mav’s thighs, slowly moving upwards to cup his cheeks, kneading them slowly but firmly. Like this, Ice pulls Mav just a bit closer and then he takes him into his mouth. Mav grabs the headpiece to support himself and lets out a loud moan, ignoring the fact that he should stay quiet because this feels just too good. Ice starts bobbing his head back and forth, his tongue varying between the underside and the tip of his cock. Mav is breathing heavily and Ice knows exactly what he’s doing here. He glances up at Mav and his eyes glisten impishly before his right hand moves further around to Mav’s butt crack. He pulls his cheeks apart with his other hand and lets a finger brush lightly across his entrance. Mav gasps breathlessly and already can't wait to sink in on Ice when he has prepared him.

Ice continues to work on Mav's dick while teasing his hole. After a couple of minutes, Mav is panting heavily and he has to pull away if he doesn't want to come early. Ice lets him sit back down on his hips and Mav leans down to kiss him, tasting himself on Ice’s slick lips.

“You're driving me crazy,” he whispers against Ice’s lips.

“I know,” Ice smirks, his voice deep and heavy with arousal and Mav kisses him again with all the love and passion he’s never lost in all those years.

Ice sighs into Mav’s mouth and still kissing him, Mav notices him blindly reaching for the nightstand. Mav backs away from the kiss and quickly helps him to get the bottle of lube out of the drawer.

Lovingly smiling at each other and excitement sparkling in their eyes, Ice holds out his hand and Mav clicks the bottle open, letting the velvety liquid drip down on Ice’s fingers. Ice spreads it there and Mav puts the bottle away before closing his eyes and leaning down to kiss Ice again and at the same giving him better access.

Ice’s hand quickly wanders back between Mav’s butt cheeks and he brushes his index finger over Mav’s entrance again, making Mav hum in pleasure. Then he applies a bit more pressure and slowly pushes his finger in. Mav sharply breathes in but his exhale is already a deep moan. He’s relaxed, knows what it feels like to have Ice inside him and still just simply loves it every time.

Ice starts moving, slowly fucking Mav with his finger and Mav mirrors the movement with his whole body, eyes closed, softly moaning with each thrust, their plan, well, mostly Ice’s plan to stay quiet already long forgotten. It doesn't take Ice long to add another finger, then a third and Mav becomes greedy. Ice’s fingers aren't enough. He wants Ice to fill him completely. Ice slowly pulls his fingers out and Mav whimpers for a split second but it's okay because he knows that it will only even get better.

Ice tugs at his own pajama pants now and because Mav is still straddling him, he shuffles a bit and helps him, yanking both the pants and boxers down in one motion. Mav takes a moment to impudently take in the gorgeous sight in front of him. No matter how often he has already seen Ice like this - naked, in their bed, breathing heavily and with a thick, throbbing cock just for him - he just knows he will never get enough of it, of him.

“Like what you see?” Ice smirks lavishly.

“As if you didn't know that already,” Mav replies and leans forward again to kiss Ice fervently.

In this position, Mav’s butt is already touching Ice’s dick and he feels it bumping against his crack. Mav doesn't want to wait any longer and reaches for the bottle of lube again. This time, Ice helps him to get it. Mav spreads the liquid on his fingers before he gives Ice's cock a couple of strokes. Ice hums in pleasure and immediately starts thrusting into Mav's hand greedily. Mav loves to see him like this, loves that his husband still wants him so desperately. Mav wants Ice just as much and so he starts aligning himself so that he can sink down on Ice easily.

What they are about to do is by far their favorite, most used position, that is Mav riding Ice slowly until both can't get ahold of themselves anymore. Mav loves it this way and he knows that Ice loves it, too. In earlier years, they switched positions more often and sometimes Mav actually misses to be pounded into the mattress by Ice but that hasn't happened in years. Specifically, not since Ice’s battle with cancer. It's undeniable that the disease has worn him down physically and it also has left more than one mark on both of them emotionally. And that's why Mav is grateful for every additional day he can spend with Ice. It doesn’t matter that their sex is not the same anymore as it was ten years ago because it’s still so much better than he would have thought it would be considering their age and what they have gone through. But that is actually an understatement because honestly, he can't imagine having better sex than he has now.

Next thing, however, Mav knows he's on his back, Ice hovering over him. “Tom,” he whispers and Ice looks at him with the cocky smirk he's never lost.

Mav’s heart is pounding heavily in his chest and for the first time in forever he actually feels nervous before sleeping with Ice. Excited? Yes, still every time. But nervous? Maybe the first time they had sex again after Ice's cancer treatment because it had been such a long time without and they weren't sure if everything would work out - it did in the end - but even that was already a couple of years ago now.

Ice pushes himself on his knees, Mav laid out in front of him, bare-naked and excited to be banged in a position they haven't done in years. Ice grins down at him and firmly grabs Mav’s hips, pulling him closer and propping him up a bit. Mav gasps in surprise because only seconds ago he didn't know that Ice is still so strong - or better is so strong again - and Mav is turned on by that even more than he already is, his hard cock twitching as if emphasizing his thoughts.

Ice adjusts himself and then finally, Mav feels Ice enter him, slowly but in one go. Mav can't restrain himself from crying out in pleasure and Ice groans, too. He gives both of them a bit of time to adjust to the feeling and leans down to kiss Mav heatedly for a moment, before he slowly starts thrusting. For a moment, Mav keeps his eyes open, taking in the sight of Ice hovering above him, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, moaning under his breath. Then Mav’s eyes fall shut and he’s panting because Ice is intensifying both pace and vigor now.

Ice shifts back on his knees, firmly grabs Mav's hips again and now he is actually pounding Mav hard. His thrusts are rough and his pace is unrelenting and Mav just loves it. He hasn't felt like this in years. His cock is bouncing wildly between their bodies, sometimes slapping either against his own or Ice's stomach and everything just feels so good.

He looks up at Ice, their fiery eyes meet and Ice smirks at him in such a dirty, lewd way that Mav is immediately very close to coming. Ice is still fucking him adamantly but his movements become more erratic, too. Both of them are moaning with each thrust now and Ice reaches for Mav's dick, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts.

Then Mav squirms and arches his back. His eyes roll back into his head and with a long and languish moan he comes on his stomach in several thick jolts. Ice keeps thrusting through Mav’s orgasm but Mav is clenching hard around him and that pushes him over the edge, too, groaning loudly.

Ice collapses on top of Mav, breathing heavily. They softly kiss each other and with a loving smile, Mav gently strokes away a stray strand of hair from Ice’s forehead which has been sticking there sweatily.

Ice smacks another kiss on Mav's lips and slowly pulls out. Mav feels Ice’s cum dripping out of him and knows that he will be sore for the next couple of days but he couldn't care less because it will inevitably remind him every waking hour of how perfectly he just got railed by his hot husband.

Then they both quickly clean up themselves and the mess they’ve made before crawling back to bed and snuggling up against each other, Mav’s head resting on Ice’s chest.

“Didn't know you still had it in you like that,” Mav mumbles appreciatively, softly tracing the stripes on Ice’s pajama top with his finger tips.

“You know what? Me neither. I guess having Bradley in the house makes me feel younger,” Ice chuckles deeply and Mav feels his chest vibrating.

“Maybe we should invite him over from time to time now that everything is fine again,” Mav laughs.

“That would be so inappropriate,” Ice scolds him but can’t keep himself from laughing, too.

“Has that ever stopped me?” Mav answers challengingly.

Ice just shakes his head but smiles. “Good night, Pete,” he replies resolutely and kisses his husband goodnight.

–

The next morning, Mav and Ice come down into the kitchen to find Bradley already sitting at their table, a cup of coffee at his side and a bowl of froot loops together with a bottle of milk in front of him.

Froot loops have been Bradley's favorite cereals for as long as Mav can remember. So they had become a permanent feature in their kitchen ever since Bradley had moved in with them. Over time, however, Ice has grown fond of them, too, and so they still always keep a pack or two, just in case Ice wants to eat some out of the blue.

Sitting there like this, Bradley looks exactly like his teenage self, only that he’s twenty years older now and smiling at the screen of his smartphone whose future existence hadn't even been known back then. As soon as he notices his surrogate dads’ presence, he locks his phone, puts it on the table and looks up at them, chewing.

“If you like our froot loops so much, why don't you come over more often,” Mav suggests with a smirk that is screaming shenanigan before Ice can stop him. Instead, he just rolls his eyes at him and shakes his head but is nevertheless smiling.

“Am I right in assuming that this is not about froot loops or the fact that you missed me so much?” Bradley asks, scooping another spoon of cereal into his mouth.

“Yes,” Ice replies with a nod.

“And am I also right in assuming that I don't want to know what it's really about?” Bradley continues, obviously interpreting the look on Mav’s face correctly.

Ice confirms that again and walks over to the kitchen cupboard. He takes out another bowl and a spoon and sits down next to Bradley before making himself a bowl of froot loops, too.

The whole time, Mav just keeps standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He smiles and for a moment, he just watches his two boys interact with each other and eat the most silly type of cereal in the world. Then he pours himself a cup of coffee, too, and sits down opposite the two.

“I've been such a fool,” Bradley suddenly drops in between two spoons, shaking his head and Mav just frowns at him. “For thinking that I could for once sleep here without being pestered by your old men’s noises.”

Mav immediately sees Ice’s face turn red and how he innocently shovels another spoon of cereal into his mouth.

“You’ve once lived here for years. Don't tell me you didn't know what you’re embarking on,” Mav replies with a shrug.

“Jake even asked me in what kind of filthy motel I'm staying that I have to endure those terrible noises and if he needs to lend me some money so that I can get a room in a proper hotel,” Bradley goes on, ignoring Mav’s comment.

“Jake, huh?” Mav counters and smirks wantonly.

Ice laughs, Bradley’s ears turn bright pink and it feels like no time has passed at all.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, mention of death, mention of sandors death, joss and Podrick being cutie pies,

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

Chapter 22

You hold your son in your arms walking around the room as you rock him and hum too him. He coos in your arms he holds onto your finger. You smile down at his little face admiring his feature yet to come in your excited to see him grow into his fathers looks. 

There’s a knock on your door. 

“Enter.” You say the door opens and joss enters. 

“Your grace.” You says bowing slightly. You smile at his persistence to come in and check up on you once in a while. Its been just over a month since you gave birth to Joss, and the recovery has gone smoothly and being fully healed your back to doing the normal things relatively. 

“The lady Sansa is looking for you. She’s by the wearwood.” He speaks 

“thank you. Ill be right out. Leave the door open” You say he nods and exits leaving it open as per your request. He dosnt leave he just merely stands to the side to wait for you. with your newfound talent of doing things one handed you lay out the fur blanket on the bed before laying your son on top. 

You turn and pull on your cloak and gloves before going back to your son. You swaddle him in the furs before pulling him back into your arms and heading out holding him close to you and walking out to find Sansa joss follows close behind you as usual. 

“Joss?” You ask him on your way over. 

“Yes?” He asks 

“may i task you with something this evening?” You ask.

”of course your grace.” he answers. 

“Will you go into the town and fetch some new furs as he grows i will need more.” You say. 

“Of course your grace.” He says and smiles before trailing away from your side to the stables to collect a horse for his ride. 

————

You see Sansa red hair before herself. 

“Sansa.” You call. She turns around to face you her face lighting up as she sees you holding joss in your arms. she holds out her arms asking for permission to take a hold of him and you happily ablidge as you both move to the stone carved bench and take a seat. 

“You were searching for me?” You ask her once seated. 

”ah yes. John sent word through raven about the success with the dragon queen. She will be joining us in the next coming months, John will be arriving home soon to prepare…and he says he’s bringing a friend.” She says breathlessly. 

“You dont sound pleased to have another royal arrive.” You say she chuckles and shakes her head. 

“Her father was the mad king…shes a targaryen they are, to say the least, the more so crazy of the rich royal families.” She speaks bouncing joss slightly. you snort at her rude comment. 

“Do you think she actually has dragons?” You ask she nods. 

“John drew a picture.” She says about the ravens scroll that was sent. You nod and sigh looking at the tree. 

“May i ask you something?” She asks. 

“Hmm?” You answer mindlessly. 

“Do…hm..” she trails off thinking on how she wants to word the topic that could either piss you off or make you cry. 

“When…you look at, joss…” She says signalling to your son and not the squire. 

“…is there any part of you that may have resentment, or pain for the death of sandor?” She asks. You sigh and look at her. 

“No..i miss my husband dearly and every night wish that he were still here to see his son grow but..i have a part of him and i'm grateful for that. Although I do sometimes remind him of how much pain he caused me. When he’s king I hope he goes out of this world just as stubborn as he wanted to come into it…with a fight.” You smile looking at your sons blushed face as he sleeps in Sansa’s arms. 

“I wish to have a babe of my own, whether it is born from me, or im to come upon one that needs care.” She says and smiles. 

“I would’ve liked to give joss a brother so he’s never lonely but I refuse to give myself to another man. when the time comes i want to visit the orphanage.” You say. Sansa smiles and looks to you. 

“I shall join you and we can give two children the rightful home they deserve.” She says happily you nod, brushing your finger against your sons cheek. 

“Speaking of…joss. Where is he. It seems he never leaves your side.” Sansa jokes. 

“Ugh can you believe it? I sent him away to get more furs but i know he’s going to have a hard time determining which length or color to pick.” You say as Sansa hands your son back to you before you both get up deciding to head back into the halls to warm up. 

————

Standing in the shop joss looks at the furs just a suspected he struggles with choosing the type of furs asking the store clerk a thousand different question about them. The front bell attached above the door rings making Joss double take at the arrival of the other squire sent out. 

“Joss.” Podrick speaks enthusiastically as he sees his fellow looking frantically at the selection the clerk has shown. 

“H-hello.” Joss gets out before running his fingers through the furs now testing the feel once deciding on the color, granted it should’ve been the first thing he does as now he regrets choosing the type and he begins the process all over again. 

“What are you doing?” Podrick asks. 

“H-her grace has asked me to gather furs for the next coming years for the little prince but i dont know if she sent me away to torture me for I cannot choose the best.” He huffs. 

“For now he is a baby no bigger than forearm so he will only need long furs for the next 2 years and the life spans of furs is four. Six if taken care of properly. So you can get him 2 of the long gray. It has soft enough fibers that it will not cause irritation and prevent choking for the prince. You cal buy six other pertaining the length as as he grows older they are most likely to be worn as a cape to there's no need for a backing it can stay as the Hyde, also better for insulation.” Podrick educates your squire as well as telling the store clerk what is to be bought. 

“When have you become an expert on furs?” Joss asks genuinely although it sounds more like a mock. Podrick scoffs. 

“My time spent with Tyrion lannesister wasn’t just golden roofs and armor plating, i took his orders and lists and he had a collection of fine furs.” Podrick answers. 

“I apologize i mean no ill intent for my question it was genuinely a skill i need to learn for her grace.” Joss replies reassuring. He pays the correct amount for the fur selections of one of the guards that went with him taking some in his hold as theres quite a few. Podrick quickly grabs the fur hes chosen an pays before following joss outwards. 

“I could… teach you if you’d like about the difference in fine things.” Pod offers. 

“Take these back her grace I will be alright.” Joss instructs the guard you puts the furs in the saddle bags of his horse before nodding, mounting and riding off. 

“I would enjoy that very much.” Joss says looking at podrick who puts the single fur pelt under his arm smiling back at the other. 

————

“I was a soldier once. All my superiors thought I was brave…I wasn’t. I mean i never ran from a fight, only because I didn’t want to see who i thought were my friends to see me a coward. And no matter the orders I would do them without a blink. Burn that village im your arsonist, steal from the village, fine im your thief, kill those boys, i'm your murder.” Everyone sits around as Brother ray speaks out on the past he wishes to re-write. He takes a seat looking at everyone who’s listening, including sandor. 

“I went to a village, much like the one we are building, and slaughtered those within, I heard a boy away from his mother as i slit his throat. That night the screams of the mother calling out for her son haunted me. And they still do to this way. And will so for the rest of my life.” He sighs standing up once more. 

“We cannot undo what was done in our past, however we can mold our future to be braver, better, happier, kinder. We can use our wits and our strength for the goodness of our next life.” Brother ray speaks looking directly to sandor. 

Before he begins to speak again the sound of horse hooves trods closer allowing the view of three men to ride up to the group as everyone stands. 

“Good Morrow friends.” He speaks. 

“Whats your business here?” The one in the middle asks looking around at everyone. 

“Building a new civilization my lord.” Ray answers. The man chuckles lowly before speaking again. 

“Have you any more spots? Or steel?” He asks. 

“We are welcome to anyone who wants to help with the thrive, but we’ve no gold, no steel. Your welcome to join us for supper however we’ve many hungers mouths here.” Rays continues to answer kindly. 

The man takes another look at the small crowd before backing his horse up a it. 

“Stay safe then. The night is dark and full of terrors.” He speaks before nodding to the other men. 

“Seven save you friends.” ray replies before the three men turn and ride off. Ray turns to the crowd taking a breath reassuring everyone. 

“Now then let us do some more work and supper shall be prepared.” He smiles. Sandor continues to look at the men who ride off recognizing the symbol in the chest plate. Ray gives him a look before sandor turns and heads back off to his station of chopping wood since he's the strongest and does not tire easily. Brother ray however does not go to his of supervising, he follows sandor watching him pick up the axe and begin easily splitting the large logs. 

Sandor stops a second before turning his head seeing ray walking to him. He scoffs rolling his eyes. 

“Seven blessings, fuck that.” sandor huffs as he goes back to splitting logs. 

“Im a fucking septon what was i supposed to say?” brother ray sighs back to sandor. 

“They dont believe in your seven god shit, theyre from the brotherhood, they serve the redgod…Fucking cunts.” sandor says putting down the axe breifly to talk to ray. 

“Anyway weve got nothing for them.” ray speaks, sandor scoffs at his comment. 

“Sure you do…youve got food, you’ve got steel, even if you say you don't, and you've got women, a man like that whos been out on horse back for long enough is gonna want a women no matter the cost.” sandor retorts back to brother ray. 

“Not you? Youre a man, youre around women?” ray suggests. 

“No not me. I dont need another woman.” he huffs turing back around and picking up the axe once more. Brother ray walks around sandor to face him to continue the conversation. 

“Another? Hm?” ray prods at sandor for mentioning the slightest of you. Sandor huffs and continues to chop. 

“When i found you i thought youd been dead for days. When you were stinking already and covered in bugs, and bone was coming through your leg right there. But youre all healed up apart from the little limp.” brother ray chuckles as sandor looks up at him stopping his chopping yet again for a moment to talk. 

“I was gonna give you a proper burial but the you coughed, Ha, nearly shit myself…i thought, you would die by the time i got you back here, but by that time you didnt. And i reckoned you’d die a dozen more times over those next few days but you didnt…what was it that kept you going?” ray asks. Sandor glances at the ground for a second before taking a breath and letting it out in a sigh. 

“What is her? ‘The Woman’?” ray asks once more. 

“Shes pregnant, with mine, might have given birth by now its been about a year. I made her a promise that i would come back, find her. And i would like to keep it.” he says looking brother ray in the eyes for once. Brother ray nods and walks around sandor beginning his walk back to the village area. 

“Come on now get some supper.” he says. 

Sandor picks up the axe and begins swinging once more. 

“It’s gonna be a cold night. You’ll need firewood.” sandor says chopping and splitting the wood. 

“Ill save you a bowl. Might even have some ale hidden away” ray smiles to sandor before hading back to the village plot. Sandor chuckles and continues chopping although his math is slightly off and with in the next new chops he’ll have to go into the forest for a moment to collect more.

Next chapter here

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Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator @haus-of-a-thousand-fandoms @friendlyspacemartian

[a-shade-of-blue]

New Gaza fundraiser asks I've received (22 October)

Sahar & Issam (@esamadnan94): Sahar and Issam were newly married and had just moved into their new home when they became displaced. Issam used to be a lawyer but is now unemployed. They are fundraising to evacuate and buy basic necessities. (https://gofund.me/06e95d5d) (#205 on @/gazavetters vetted list, shared by 90-ghost)

Basma Al-Ghoul (@basmaalghoul): Basma and her husband have 3 children: Toleen (8), Malak (6) and Kamal (4). Basma used to be a makeup artist. Her husband is also responsible for Houria, an aunt of the children who has lost her parents. Houria suffers from gallbladder disease.  (https://gofund.me/2f9b40b9) (#780 on Butterfly Effect Project vetted list, vetted by nabulsi)

Haya Jouda (@haya-jouda, @haya-jouda-1): Haya worked as a dentist and has 3 children: Jameel (14), Bahaa (12), and Youssef (7). Youssef is suffering from type 1 diabetes, a severe vitamin D deficiency, and dysfunction in his kidney and liver. They have managed to evacuate to Egypt, but now they lack the money for Youssef’s medical treatment. (https://gofund.me/25f8b108) (#170 on @/gazavetters vetted list)

Ahmed Al-Mashaal (@bird-of-paradise7, @najah-tamim, @save-my-daughter-najah, @save-my-daughter): Ahmed has lost his son Tamim due to the lack of medical resources in Gaza. He does not want to lose his 1-year-old daughter Najah too. Najah is currently trapped in Northern Gaza with her mother. Ahmed is in southern Gaza caring for his sick father (who suffers from heart attacks), his injured brother and his younger siblings. One of his brother suffers from partial memory loss and a skull fracture from an explosion, and is in urgent need for medical treatment to remove a sharpnel stuck in his head. (https://gofund.me/d1edc0bf) (vetted by @/gaza-evacuation-funds, shared by 90-ghost) 

Yousef, Hassan (@hasanamasi22, @virushasanhh): Hassan is in the southern part of Gaza while his wife and 2 children, Yousef and Malak, are in Northern Gaza with his parents. Their house has been bombed and they are struggling to buy basic necessities. They wish to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/eea040f7) (#196 on @/gazavetters vetted list)

Fatma Kuhail (@fatmakuhail22): Fatma is 22 years old. She and her husband Tariq have 2 children: Masoud (4) and Masa (1). They have lost their home and are currently displaced and living in a tent.  (https://gofund.me/2b3d706f) (#227 on @/gazavetters vetted list) ($150 CAD raised of $15,000 goal)

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received, updated daily (along with other verified ways to send aid to Gaza).

How are gfm campaigns vetted?  See here, here, here and here.

See post here for other verified ways to send aid to Gaza.

Don't forget your Daily Clicks on Arab.org, it's free!!! and Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.

See links below for my Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers from the Palestinians who sent me asks for if you want to help more people! As well as resources for palestinian students if you are a palestinian student!

Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 - 21 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 22 - 24 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 25 - 28 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 August - 1 September

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-10 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11-14 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-18 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 19-22 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-26 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27-30 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 1-4 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 5-9 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 10-14 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-21 October.

Resources for Palestinian Students!

Initiatives and resources to support Palestinian students, academics and universities:

This is a list of initiatives and resources for Gazan students seeking to complete their studies, including initiatives, resources, training and scholarships. See list here.

Scholarships for Displaced Palestinian students:

Putting this here for the palestininans who follow me: If you are a displaced Palestinian student looking to fund your education, this document lists the scholarships available around the world for displaced Palestinian students.

[bethelighthalazia]

Chapter 1 - Arrival

Summary:  It´s the day of y/n´s arrival at the Bang mansion, or “the den” as it's called by some. Not all people in her new life seem too happy about this, but will she be able to gain everyone's trust and maybe find her place in this new family?

Genre: fluff, angst

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader

Additional Characters: OT8 Stray Kids, Ateez Yunho

Word Count: 1440

AU: Mafia AU

Warnings: none? A gun mentioned, but that's all, i think

networks: @mirohs-aurora-society 

notes: I am using some physical descriptions for Y/N, it being glasses, freckles and a crooked nose. In this chapter, I am using the members’ stage names mostly as their codenames, but they might be replaced with their real names later on.

other links?:   << prev  masterlist  next >>

© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.

Your father's car came to a halt in front of a rather secluded mansion, the driver turning in his seat as he turned off the engine. 

“We're here, Ms Jeong. Your father's orders were to drop you off at this address,” he said, getting out to open the car's door for you, bowing when you stepped out. Then he went to gather your suitcase and a few small extra bags from the trunk of the black car, put them on the ground next to you and left. A sigh escaping you, you shook your head.

You always knew about your father's dirty business, never questioning his decisions, since that was how you were raised, to be the obedient and well behaved daughter and heiress to the ‘black pirates’. Well, lately almost no one feared your family anymore, especially since the ‘black pirates’ were overpowered by the new mafia in town. They called themselves the ‘Stray Kids’, following a man named Mr Bang, the exact same man whom your father owes a lot of money to. However, your father managed to settle a deal with him, and this is why you are now standing here, alone and with the little luggage your father sent with you to meet your new husband.

Yes, your father's debts voided under the condition of you marrying Mr Bang. It still baffled you as to why the most wanted bachelor, desired by every woman in town, would want you. After all, you never truly fit in the beauty standards with your slightly crooked nose, freckles and your glasses. Your eyes trailed along the path to the mansion's gates, then down to your luggage. 

“Well, that's my life now.” You sighed, grabbing your suitcase in one hand and your other bags in the other hand and started to walk, but you soon got stopped by a voice behind you. 

“Wait, let me help you, lady!” The rather deep voice startled you for a moment, your head whipped around to see who called you. A blonde male, probably your age, with a gentle smile on his face. He was accompanied by another one, he seemed a little older, a hard expression on his face. “Who are you?” The older one asked, his voice just as cold as the look in his eyes. They probably were part of Mr Bang's men, so you bowed in their direction, greeting them properly. “Jeong y/n, I have a meeting with Mr Bang.” Your voice was trembling, even though you hid it quite well, you were scared. After all, you´re about to meet your husband soon, a marriage arranged by a deal your father made.

“A pleasure, Ms Jeong. My name is Felix, this is Lee Know.” The younger one smiled, pointing at himself and then the older one who only let out a little grumble before taking your suitcase while Felix took some of your bags. The men then started walking, leading you up to the mansion where another man greeted them. “Felix, you picked up another chick?” The one at the gate laughed, catching a glare from Felix as the blonde shook his head. “Stop it, I.N.! This is Ms Jeong, she's got a meeting with the boss.” Those words let the other male get quiet, eyes widened as he bowed and apologized to you. “I am so sorry miss, I didn't know you would arrive today! Follow me, I will show you to the boss’ office.” The other two exchanged a look when noticing how I.N. reacted to your name, but then they shrugged, assuming their youngest just wants to impress. 

They would soon realize how wrong they were though. I.N. led you and the other two men down a few corridors until he knocked on a big wooden door, opening it after hearing a voice from inside. “Sorry to interrupt, boss. She's here now.” The young male said and bowed, stepping aside to let you enter. You hesitated for a moment, your heart beating in your throat and your hands trembling. The ‘boss’, Mr Bang, got up from the chair behind his desk, his appearance quite intimidating, the sleeves of his white button up shirt rolled up, revealing the muscles of his arms, a holster for the revolver on his desk tightly fitted around his chest, a black vest hanging over the chair´s backrest. A scar on his left eyebrow and one on his right cheek making him look tough and a little scary. He only needed a few steps to cross the room, holding a gloved hand out towards you, who shyly took it. In your family, you were feared, known as being ruthless and cold but here? You knew no one, heck, you didn't even know the reason why this man would choose you out of all the women in town.

“Ah, yes. Welcome to your new home, my wife.” He said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, the soft smile on his face contrasting with the intimidating aura surrounding him. A thump behind you let him look up though, raising an eyebrow at his men who dropped your luggage in shock. “Don't mind these pabos, I hope your luggage didn't contain anything breakable?” You needed a few seconds to process his words, still surprised by the gentleness of his words. “Wh- oh, no it's just clothes and- uhm I am Jeong y/n, you can use my name…” You mumbled, feeling your ears and cheeks heat up with a deep blush. 

“Did I hear you right, boss? Wife?!” One of the men, Lee Know, asked, an eyebrow raised. He seemed to hear this for the first time, so it caught him off guard. Felix and I.N. tried to hold the older one back, but he took a step closer to Chan, shooting you a glare. “Why didn't we know about this? You cannot be serious, Chan-” “Enough, Minho. I am serious, y/n will be my wife and you and the others better respect her as the lady of our clan.” Chan's voice dropped a few octaves, letting go of your hand as he fully faced Lee Know while Felix gently pulled you away from the two men for now. “I- uhm, I can leave, so you can- uhm, talk or something?” You stammered, not expecting that your presence would cause arguments in this family, but maybe this had been your father's plan all along? It didn't matter right now though, your father's plans rarely worked out, so this one, if it indeed was his intention, wouldn't work either. 

“No, you can stay. I.N. please call a meeting, I want to introduce Miss Jeong to everyone.” Chan ordered towards the youngest, who instantly hurried to gather all the other members. Lee Know scoffed, but he didn't say anything else, knowing that he wouldn't be able to change his best friend's mind anyway. Just about an hour later, all seven other members of the clan had gathered in the meeting room of the mansion, most of them unaware as to why their boss had summoned them all on such short notice. They didn't have to wait for long until the doors flew open and Chan stepped in, your hand placed onto his arm as he led you into the room with him. Upon seeing you next to Chan, Lee Know scoffed once more, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat as Chan´s right hand, I.N. however quickly scurried to get another chair, positioned it at the farthest end of the table to sit down on it himself, so you could take his seat. 

With a smile, Chan helped you sit down and then stood at the head of the table, hands crossed on his back while looking at his men. They have rarely seen him smile, especially when outsiders were present, yet they clearly could see his rather calm and joyful expression. “My friends, you probably are wondering why I called you all here. Well, I want to introduce someone to you, someone who will live with us from now on.” He said, shooting a small glare at Lee Know before resting a hand on your shoulder, causing you to relax a bit. “I want you to welcome Jeong y/n into our family as a valued member and the lady of this clan from this day forward. Our wedding will be held in a week from now.” 

This news was met with different reactions; some happy for their boss, some suspicious, and some, like Lee Know and one other, standing up and leaving the room.

taglist: @mingis-mizu, @tinyelfperson, @hotteokkay, @minkilicious, @bunnliix,

@gong-fourz, @yeosangiess, @dinossaurz, @scuzmunkie, @h3arteyes4mingi,

@vnessalau, @oddracha

(if you want to be added to a taglist, follow the taglist-link in my pinned post)

[jqmalikhsgib]

ynstyles

5,673,000 Likes

ynstyles slut 4 harry is gonna be tattooed on my forehead!

view all 32,623 comments

harrystyles slut 4 yn is already tattoos on my ass so why not? 

harrynews same babes!

ynrry mother!

zayn oh—

corbstyles i think im gonna be sick

harryforpres i need him in ways i never thought i needed a man

slut4harry im gonna pretend this was a personal shout out from yn!!!

ynstyles

6,738,000 Likes

ynstyles famous for loving you. hated for the same.

view all 43,095 comments

ynrry you two are so cute and your story has so much depth. like you both went through so much. i can’t understand why people don’t love you!

harrynotstyles i love them! they’re cuties 😍

sunflowervol6 i need them both!!

stanselandstyles i think they’re all just jealous. the only explanation

annetwist :( we love you darling. just know that, okay?

zayn fuck them all!

henhenhendall if you weren’t so fake and admit you couldn’t give three shits about harry. you only care about his fame and fortune and you prove that each fucking time.

hendallendgame @henhenhendall and the simple fact that he cheated on her multiple times! the man was clearly bored and didn’t want her anymore. it’s almost as if she got pregnant on purpose with their daughter so he’d feel more guilty and stay. she’s so desperate

ynstyles @hendallendgame @henhenhendall let me just tell you something that no one knows! i was literally divorcing harry. i had filed and sent him the paperwork. he literally cried on the phone every single night, begging me to not break up our family. i didn’t care what he had to say for three whole months. i just wanted him to be there for our kids! but after a while i missed him and i knew he was working on himself so i told him we could try and work our shit out. i wasn’t ever gonna spill anything but i just talked to my husband and he said it was okay. one of the people he cheated on me with was your favorite model. oh yeah, that’s right, misses kendall jenner herself. so kindly fuck off and leave my marriage alone! i love harry more than anyone in this goddamn world! fuck anyone who believes otherwise 🤷🏽‍♀️

tmz

10,008,644 Likes

tmz uh oh! yn styles went on a rampage with two harry styles fan accounts. she talks about divorce but more importantly she spills one of the women styles cheated on her with. looks like miss jenner has some explaining to do! click the link in bio to find out more!

view all 55,834 comments

harrynews the fact that i had a feeling. i love harry but, yikes!

women4women i am not surprised. hopefully yn leaves this man one day

longhairharold wow. i wouldn’t know how to feel if i were yn. to cheat on her with someone of that high class and beauty. don’t get me wrong, yn is prettier in my opinion but, she’s the complete opposite of everything yn is. i just—why harry?

stylesfamily i feel so bad for yn

harrystyles i messed up and i regret all my decisions! i will not be explaining anymore. my wife and i have moved on and we’re gonna raise our three beautiful kids and the fans who still constantly come for her will be blocked! please leave me and my family alone. and always, treat people with kindness

[sassylegshayne]

marry me, idiot.

AH ITS HERE!!!! I will say, like I've been saying, I'm still in the really early stages of this fic. like this has been edited twice where as every chapter of sylcd is done three times over so. I really have no clue when the next chapter will be out as I haven't finished it yet; might be during sylcd's final chapters or it might be after. 3.2k words let me know what you guys think!! enjoy mwah xx

series masterlist

"Okay, we have a slight issue." You heard the voice beside you clear as day despite the headphones that sat over your ears.

"Is the issue something you caused for us?" You turned to your best friend with a brow quirked.

"That's extremely rude but very true, yes." Spencer nodded as he took a sip from his cup, spinning his chair to face you. Spence and you had been close for a while, you joining the crew only a few months after Spence had, the two of you spending countless hours editing beside each other. The two of you grew close after a couple of longer projects. The two of you leaning on each other for advice and well needed breaks from time to time.

It has become a joke around the office about Spencer being your work husband; he had a knack for picking you up an drink on his way in, or grabbing lunch for the both of you, or Spencer's ability to pause anything he was working on at the snap of a finger for you. He was pretty much head over heels for you, and you were the only one blind enough to not see it. It's funny to think that you felt the same exact way, and everyone but Spencer could tell.

"So, remember when we started here and we became friends and we made that joke about when we turned thirty."

You stared blankly back at your best friend, the joke about marrying if you're both still single by thirty a distant memory in your mind by this point. It crossed your mind once recently. Last year, you spent your entire 'Dirty Thirty' party that the office threw for you clinging to Spencer.

You made a habit of keeping him alongside you for every big moment of your life since you'd met. You wanted to look back on these moments, that were destined to be great already, to include Spencer.

"Okay, so you do remember, that's great." Spencer clapped his hands together as he grinned at you.

"I saw a TikTok about the wedding gifts you get from inviting companies and rich people, even if you don't know them and I want in!" Spence argued, wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants as he worked his way towards the problem with this rambling explanation.

"I think it's unfair that just because two people are getting married they get to have all that stuff. With all my info had, I made some quick wedding invitations and sent some out, fully expecting PR packages to come back." He trailed off as

"Charles Spencer," You quietly chastised, wanting to not believe a word he was saying, but knowing deep down that Spencer was being truthful. "You are insane, I can't believe you did that!"

"T'm sorry, okay. Listen, Y/N, I thought it was gonna be a funny joke to give you a bunch of fake wedding gifts for our fake wedding on your real birthday! I didn't expect people to accept, but I know that is my fault for inviting some people that actually agreed."

"Charles," You started, using his legal name yet again. He wasn't usually worried about you using it, it wasn't some secret he was keeping it anything, but the tone in your voice told him that you weren't happy at all. "Who all accepted?"

"I'm sorry, I know I'm never gonna say that enough, but it was only a few people!" Spencer knew his voice was just getting higher and higher the more you two spoke, his anxiety spiking.

"Yes, okay, Rhett and Link accepted," A gasp left you as Spencer cringed, knowing his mistake. "Kathy Bates politely declined but sent an autographed headshot!" He removed the framed photo from his backpack before setting it beside your monitor.

He grinned worriedly, gesturing towards it as you let your forehead meet the desk, groaning.

"Besides the people that own the company we work for, who else said yes?" You asked through gritted teeth as Spencer looked to his phone, finding the note that held his list.

"Rapid fire, Tana Mongeau, Carrot Top, and Rob Schneider. It's not that many people, Y/N, we can just call it off." Spencer placed his hand on your back, rubbing softly as you groaned again, completely shocked by just how royally fucked this whole thing was gonna turn out to be no matter what you did.

"I'm so, so sorry, Y/N but. will you marry me?"

"emergency meeting at my desk in ten please need advice bc Spencer's an idiot"

"That's was very rude and I am plenty offended." Spencer quipped, setting his phone down on his desk after reading the group chat message you'd sent out. You shot him a glare, all argued out for the day after spending the last hour trying to convince Spence to let you tell your friends, hoping they'd help you figure out the story you'd make up in place of a wedding.

He finally caved, feeling terrible about the mess he had drug you into, allowing you to explore different ways out of this mess. In no time, Courtney, Damien and Shayne accompanied the two of you at your desks, various stolen chairs offering comfort to your friends.

"What did Spencer do now?" Damien asked, causing Spence to scoff and shake his head.

"I'm starting to get upset that everyone just assumes that I really fucked something up this bad." He defended himself as he leaned back in his chair, practically able to hear your eyes rolling.

"You did, though. You lied to people and now we're getting married." You stayed simply, eyes wide as you began to argue with your future better half yet again.

"You're already my work wife, we're pretty much married." You rolled your eyes once as Spencer countered you, reaching his hand towards your mug of coffee, being stopped as you lightly slapped at him.

"l'm sorry, I don't know if l'm missing something and everyone else is up to speed but, uh, when did y'all get together long enough to lead to getting married?" Shayne questioned, pulling your attention from Spencer as you took in the looks from those around you.

Damien's face held a mix of confusion and excitement, Courtney was rendered speechless and it seems like Shayne was using every last braincell he had to piece together this puzzle.

"Okay, phew, wow, that is what this meeting is about, honey." Spencer cooed as he grinned goofily at you, wrapping your left hand in his as he held your palm to his chest.

You tried your best to hid the smile that so desperately wanted to grace your lips, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes, the feeling of a migraine quickly approaching.

You took your time explaining through the story, Spencer chiming in when needed but mostly stuck to nodding along as you spoke.

"Spencer," Damien pointed his index finger at the shorter man, both with brows raised at each other. "You're an idiot, my guy. Why did Rhett and Link seem like a good idea? Why did any of this seem like a good idea, but especially our bosses."

You sighed, resting your head in the palm of your hand as you awoke your monitor. You sat up as an email sat at the top of your inbox labeled important.

"Congratulations to Y/N and Spencer!"

You couldn't tell how long you spent staring at the desktop, the company wide email from the Mythical Management staring directly back. The noise of your friends chatter drown out as the words in the letter repeated over and over in your mind.

You had to go through with this, or you had to hide behind the arrangement and a shitty excuse of a prank. No other options popped into your head.

"Y/N? You okay?" A warm, familiar hand rested on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Spencer's eyes worriedly searched your face as his brow furrowed at your slumped frame. His gaze followed you, his heart sinking as he Scanned over the email.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back once more.

The other three moved, all looking over your shoulders to read the message. Gasps and murmurs broke out between them as they say back down.

Your small group sat in silence for a moment. You thought you'd have more time to find a solution, a couple of days at least, but now you couldn't leave this room without some semblance of a plan.

"Let's get married." You still sat with a blank stare at the computer, your mind running a million miles a minute. You slowy explained your thoughts as thoroughly as you could.

Spencer and you were known as each other work spouses, even fans making memes about it. The two of you have talked about the agreement in the podcast, on an episode of Board AF, and in an upcoming reddit video with Shayne.

The fans always reacted well when the two of you were together, engaging with the content. There's countless edits of the two of you, even with the small amounts of videos you've been in together.

You can blame it on the arrangement you'd made, pull lan and a few of the other higher ups aside, presenting the idea.

Spencer and you would get married; you could make the content last up until next April, as planning a fake wedding would take some time anyways. That would mean an announcement video, probably a celebratory video with others in cast, even the process of picking out different parts of the wedding for Pit videos if they really wanted to milk it. Maybe even a TNTL gauntlet with your bridesmaids and groomsmen.

The one thing you wanted to thank Spencer for was the convenience of sharing one braincell. You could release the wedding video, the big finale in which the joke is revealed to the audience, playing it up as a fake relationship until April 1st. Spencer had thought it was funny to put the wedding date on the invitations as April Fool's Day, but it worked perfectly.

You took a deep breath, nodding your head as your eyes darted around your friends, anxious for their thoughts.

Spencer quickly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, kissing your forehead before he grinned at you.

"You are a fucking genius, lan's gonna love this idea. We can say we were prepping for the video, getting our invitation letters together accidentally sent it out. We can use whatever stuff we get as presents for the bogus invites for another video, too." Spencer added, looking to his friends as he chewed on his lip.

"I hate how quickly the two of you worked this out. We weren't needed." Shayne laughed softly, shrugging his shoulders.

"So it's not a stupid plan?" You asked, quickly distracted as the office door opens, lan's head peaking inside.

You lock eyes, offering him an awkward smile. He entered, coughing softly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, uhm, can I talk to you guys in a little bit? Probably like twenty minutes, in the conference room." lan spoke, a tight lipped smile on his face as he looked between you and the man seated beside you.

You felt a pit in your stomach growing rapidly as you swallowed, nodding your head. This was horrific, it felt like you had disappointed your dad but he wouldn't admit it yet.

And the conferernce room? There was no doubt in your mind that if this wasn't happening in lan's office then it would be bigger than you expected. Lisa would have to be there, maybe Daniel, if they were that concerned; Rachel would probably be forced into it, no matter how much she wouldn't want to be involved. n nodded before promptly exiting, barely acknowledging the cast members.

You groaned loudly as the door shut, Spencer copying you.

"This sucks and I hate you." You shoved at his shoulder, huffing.

He rubbed his arm, pouting a bit.

"It does and I hate me too." He chuckled as a smile appeared on your soft lips.

Spencer felt like the boundaries between the two of you were figured out very early on, never set prematurely, always discovered naturally. Kissing your cheek was okay, forehead was okay, drunkenly kissing your neck was okay sometimes. Hand holding was very normal and platonic and something you two did constantly. Cuddling and spending the night together was normal, but you two wouldn't sleep in the same bed.

He knew that, so far, this system had worked If that didn't happen soon, things might get nuddy, feelings getting involved. Spencer knew his feelings on you, he had since about two years into your friendship.

For six years now, he's known just how much he cares about you with every fiber of his being. He knows he really would do anything for you, anything to be with you. He respected every boundary you set.

Spencer had a thing for constantly taking advantage of the things he could have. You were always greeted with some sort of kiss, never once on the lips. Your fingers laced well with his, especially when you were on his left side. He constantly sat close beside you, tossing an arm around your shoulders, resting a hand on your knee, giving your thigh a gentle joy in excitement.

Spencer yearned for you for so long that he'd learned to accept it. He didn't want to cut you out of his life to get over his feelings, he cared too much about you, so his only option was to accept his feelings and keep close to you. You two were best friends, where one was, the other wasn't far behind. You loved him, so fucking much you loved him. He knew this, but he also knew that you didn't love him in the way he wanted you to.

Your group is quick to disband, giving the two of you some space before your meeting. Spencer let the two of you sit in silence before he decided to pack his bag for the day, despite it barely even starting. He could feel your eyes on him, his back to you.

"Packing because figure they're gonna send us home today, no matter what they decide. Give them time to think it all over." You smiled, enjoying just how well he knew you. His words settled in, prompting you to follow suit.

As you zipped your bag shut, it hit you that in just a few minutes before you were supposed to face the consequences of your best friends well intended actions. It was a toss up over which of you was more nervous, the both of you with pounding hearts.

"I love you, dude." You mumbled as you wrapped your arms around Spencer's waist, sighing softly.

"I love you, too, dude." He chuckled, rubbing your back as he kissed your forehead.

"C'mon, champ, let's go knock 'em dead." Spencer winked as he held the door open for you. You took a deep breath before leaving you little editing room bubble.

The room was much, much more packed than either of you had expected it to be. The people you expected to be there were indeed, but alongside them sat Kiana, Selina, and Lizzy.

Spencer thanked his lucky stars when neither Rhett nor Link joined the lot of you. He found himself sitting back a bit, allowing you to take the reigns of explaining your bullshit reasoning for the situation you'd found yourselves in.

Three hours, three scarily long hours later and you finally stood from your chair, your feet tingling and your head pounding. Spencer and you said your polite goodbyes to everyone before heading back toward your office.

"I think that was fine." You stated, arms crossed as you stare down the hall ahead.

He chuckled, nudging his shoulder into yours.

"That went really well, you heard Daniel. It's gotta go through if he liked it that much. It's gonna work out."

You nodded your head, a smile tugging on your lips as you both grabbed your bags.

"Wanna hangout or, uh, give me a ride home? Shayne drove me this morning." Spencer smiled heepishly as he followed you into the parking lot.

"If I'm your fiancee now, I think you should tell me if there's something going on between the two of you." You poked as you both got into your car.

You scooted your chair away from your desktop as you rubbed your eyes, now realizing just how long you'd been sat starting at your screen playing Minecraft with Spencer.

You smiled softly, feeling a tug at your heart at the sight before you. He sat slumped into your couch, eyes focused and brow furrowed as you cat napped on top of the cushion behind him.

Craig and Spencer had a love hate relationship, both of them usually eager for your attention at the same time, causing them to butt heads. Your cat and your best friend were both horribly stubborn.

But then there'd be moments like this, or when Craig curls up with Spencer on your couch, or when he follows Spence through your own house, even if you're still right where your kitty left you.

You stretch, taking off your headphones as you rise and stretch, catching Spence glancing over at you, smiling softly.

"Oh shit, you're still here?" You questioned as you walked past the couch, heading into your kitchen, yawning softly. You check your watch, catching it at just past five in the afternoon.

Spencer chuckled, watching as his eyes followed your every move as you danced around your small kitchen, seemingly opening every cabinet to find what you needed.

"Check your email, Charmander." You mindlessly called out to him, the nickname leaving him to roll his eyes as he dug into his pocket.

"You are the absolute worst with nicknames, need you to know that. Just call me Charles at this point." He laughed as you flipped him off as you turn, spoon in your mouth.

You join him on your couch with two peanut butter and banana sandwiches on one plate, sitting it on the space between you. Spencer nods a thanks to you as he grabbed his, taping your sandwiches together as a toast.

He loads into his email, refreshing it as you take your first bite. His wide eyes cause you a bit of stress, making you sit up straight.

"Good or bad?"

"Uh, good, I think. My schedule got changed." Spencer quickly switched over to his calendar, it had to be good; they don't just switch the schedule halfway through the month.

His eyes scanned over the new or changed parts, reading the first one he saw.

'Engagement Shoot' scheduled for tomorrow at 10AM.

"We did it, Joe." Spencer turns to you with a grin, quickly pulling you into a tight hug. You groaned and rolled your eyes, before quickly squealing as you wrapped your arms around him, bouncing in your seat.

They got what they wanted, right?

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

~*~

1. 1. Hii, if it isn't too much hassle and if you're still taking asks, i have a question about a fic i think has been deleted? I'm not sure.

A) It goes like this : Nie Huisang goes back in time, and he gets his brother to bring a young, severely malnourished Wei Ying and is trying to keep him from being sent to Yunmeng ( he kept intercepting his brother's letters to Yunmeng to let them know about Wei Ying). And he has this idea that if he gets Wei ying to believe he is an ugly child (malnourished ++) and that everybody will love him for him and not his skills.

I had it in my bookmarks but i think it was recently deleted? If you have any idea please lmk 🙏 i've lost too many fics this way.

B) There is another fic that's been deleted? a while ago. Wei ying had to wear a mask and was told to never reveal his face. He was married to Lan zhan in an arranged marriage but then Lan Zhan was supposedly forced to marry Wen Qing? Wei ying ended up adopting A-yuan and his twin brother.

Idk if i remember correctly (if it's the same fic) but the last chapter i read Wei Ying had to be forced through a sort of cleansing from demonic cultivation and he basically almost died bleeding ( he told lan zhan he was the one he trusted to do it). I think in the chapter count only one or two chapters were left till the end of the fic.

Pheeew that was A. LOT. I am soooo sorry for the bother, but if you could give me a clue however small i'll finally stop thinking about them. THANK YOUUUUUU 🙏 @yeesh97

1A)

FOUND?! You'll See Me Again by Anonymous (M, 12k, WIP, WangXian, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Protective NHS, NHS time travels, NHS Is A Little Shit, NMJ Lives, Protective NMJ, Time Travel Fix-It, WWX is a Little Shit, Oblivious WWX)

NOT FOUND! Mulberry seeds by OurLadyoftheRain (G, wangxian, NHS & WWX, NMJ & WWX, 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)

1B)

FOUND! I think 1B is “A Price To Pay” by wangxianist. It had been at chapter 11/14 last time I checked in. The link was https://archiveofourown.org/works/34649677 and should be available on the Wayback Machine.

NOT FOUND! 🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort) I think 1b might be describing 2 fics and the second part might be

~*~

2. Hi! I have been searching for a fic I read a while ago, but I only remember small details about it. Wondering if this sounds familiar to anyone: its wangxian time travel fic, Madam Yu is heavily implied to have had a past romantic relationship (or unrequited crush) on CSSR and JFM is implied to have been in a past relationship with WCZ. At one point, WWX & LWJ make a trip to Meishan Yu to meet an elder that helps forge a new spiritual weapon for WWX that will listen only to WWX & LWJ (during this process I think LWJ has to give up/break part of his guqin for some reason?) They fight the war, and then have to deal with WWX's reputation tanking post-war again - which is solved by a suggestion from JGY (something along the lines of "let the public see you as a dad (of a-yuan) and a husband instead of a demonic cultivating war hero"). @kilegriel

FOUND? And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

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3. Firstly I have to say that I love this blog! It's keeping my To Be Read pile very well stocked! 😁

Secondly, there is a fic I found on AO3 around a year ago and no matter what tags I try I just can't find it!

What I remember is that it is modern with cultivation, married WangXian, and that it's the beginning of an apocalypse where loads of people have been turned into puppets. It was supposed to be blamed on WWX but, coincidentally, he falls ill just before the start and couldn't possibly have done it.

Iirc the apocalypse lasts for about a week and turns out to have been caused by something contaminating the water supply with JGS and/or JGY behind it.

It might start with something like "On the first day of the end of the world…"

Does this ring any bells? Thank you in advance! @greywake

NOT FOUND! when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

FOUND! When the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation takes a week off by galaxy_in_your_eyes (T, 20k, WangXian, Modern With Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, only those that deserve it, kind of fix-it, Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, POV Alternating, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Brief Mentions of Cannibalism, I mean, Zombies, spoiler, We don't see the Zombie Apocalypse, It happens behind closed doors, WWX in quarantine, Wangxian being Wangxian, Mentions of Smut, Established Relationship)

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4. hi! do you guys know the fic where cultivators can exchange hearts? iirc lwj had taken out his heart after the events at nightless city and switched it with wwx's without wwx's knowledge @betafibiiiiiivviiixiiixxixxxiv

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5. Hi, could you guys help me find a fic :)? If I remember correctly, there was one part where Lwj gave a part of his golden core to Wwx and as a result there was a limit to how far they could be separated from one another.

FOUND? when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool (T, 26k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Sharing a Bed, Sharing Clothes, Fix-It, the inherent eroticism of under robes, Golden Core Transfer )

FOUND? Of all the hands by typefortydeductions (E, 51k, Wangxian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Emperor Lan Xichen, PTSD, Nightmares, Dual Cultivation, Mental Health Issues, Fluff and Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Consensual Non-Con, Bonding, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Politics, Improper Use of the Lan Forehead Ribbon, the get wei ying some sleep agenda, yunmeng trio reconciliation) Has wangxian golden core sharing and the line "there is no separating their deaths now"

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6. Hello! As always, thank y’all so much for everything you do. I was hoping for some help finding a fic. It was a modern AU and Wei Wuxian was having some Gender Feelings, I think is the best way to describe them, and was sort of…jealous? of their very nice cishet neighbor. I think they live in a suburb and WWX gets kind of restless when he notices their neighbor is pregnant and he kinda maybe wants to play around with something like that, and anyway he tells LWJ this and they end up acting out a scene by having ‘normie straight people’ sex (i.e. LWJ basically does what he wants without worrying what WWX might want). There’s also a sex scene in the kitchen involving an apron against the counter by the sink, I believe, but that’s pretty much everything I can remember. Does it sound familiar to anyone? Thanks again!

FOUND! in picture frames; in dirty dreams by el_em_en_oh_pee (E, 17k, WangXian, Semi-Public Sex, Light BDSM, Vanilla Kink, Domestic Kink, Curtain Fic, Kink Negotiation, intersects SLIGHTLY with pregnancy kink and (consensual) feminization, Kitchen Sex, Missionary Position, Slice of Life, Fluff and Smut, a soupçon of gender, Aprons)

~*~

7. Hye there i was wondering if you could help me find a fic where wei ying and the juniors were out on a night hunt and they stayed at an inn. Jin ling said something that hurt wei ying’s feelings, so he went to his room first. When he left, sizhui trapped him against the wall and revealed that the reason they have all the thousands of rules was because it was to make sure that their true strength wouldn’t be seen? He said something about how their eyes turn golden if they use their strength or power? And thats why lan zhans eyes are golden. thanks so much @nanasoo

FOUND! A Righteous Facade by RenaFair (T, 4k, WangXian, JL learns a lesson, protective Lans, mildly dark)

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8. Hi😊. Please I'm looking for a Wangxian fanfic where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are in an arranged marriage and WY was being maltreated in the CR. LXC was the only one who was nice to him at first and LZ insinuated WY was cheating on him with LXC. I remember WY telling him he'll never let LZ touch him or something. I think it was ABO settings

FOUND? To Bring You Back Within My Reach by ablaiseofglory (M, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, No dubious consent, Adopted Children, Kid Fic, A/B/O Dynamics, omega wwx, Alpha LWJ, Misunderstandings)

~*~

9. hello! i am looking for fics and i am hoping that you or your followers have idea on what their titles are

A) fic where WWX got into an accident and it was really bad there was a scene where LWJ is talking about learning to love WWX and he doesn't want to unlearn

B) fic where WWX continued to be MXY and he became a disciple at the lan sect

thank you! ☺️

9A)

re:9a, can the requestor say if it's a modern au, secret relationship? I'll look for what I think it is in the meantime

FOUND? Almost Lover by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 37k, WangXian, Angst, But with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, a bad thing happens to wwx, lwj gets very sad, Hospital Scenes, Dubious Medical Science, please look away if that's important, pining for the person you're fucking, Friends With Benefits, Traumatic Injury, Modern AU, mention of past WWX/WQ)

9B)

FOUND? Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

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10. Hi there! I’ve got this fic in my head that I can’t seem to find. I think it was part of a series where Wei Ying is adopted by different clans. One of them was a fic where an eccentric cousin of the Lan qiren had been friends with cangse sanren and ‘won her first born in a bet’ and when she died he went out and found him using a compass? I think it had stuff about Wei Ying growing up loving inventing and explosions happening a lot @preciouscommoditybears

FOUND? A Quiet Life of Leisure by nirejseki (G, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX raised in another sect, WWX among the Lan, Alchemy, Explosions, this feels extremely self-indulgent since it's mostly about an OC, but it was what someone asked for, different Jiang sect dynamics)

~*~

11. Can someone help me find these wangxian fics ?

A) Wei ying and the juniors were out on a night hunt and they stayed at an inn. Jin ling said something that hurt wei ying’s feelings, so he went to his room first. When he left, sizhui trapped him against the wall and revealed that the reason they have all the thousands of rules was because it was to make sure that their true strength wouldn’t be seen? He said something about how their eyes turn golden if they use their strength or power? And thats why lan zhans eyes are golden.

B) Its omegaverse and sizhui is jealous when wangxian have their biological baby bc they dont have time for him. He feeds his baby sister and makes her a meal but suddenly she dies. It turns out he replaced the berries with poisonous ones bc he wanted wangxian’s attention for himself as their only child.

C) Wei ying is trapped in CR, specifically in the jingshi. He and sizhui manage to escape from lan zhan, but it turns out sizhui told lan zhan before hand and he drugged him. Lan zhan had been drugging wei ying to make sure that he remains in the jingshi with him and sizhui wanted their family together forever.

D) Jiang cheng, huasang and wuxian go kn a camping/hiking trip? Anyways they take turns driving and the whole time jiang cheng is judging everyones ability to drive, including his. Huasang ran away from dage bc he didnt want to work out or something and jiang cheng has a crush on him (can’t remember) @minivminie

11A)

FOUND? A Righteous Facade by RenaFair (T, 4k, WangXian, JL learns a lesson, protective Lans, mildly dark)

11B)

FOUND? Sizhui's Smiles by RenaFair (T, 11k, WangXian, Possessive Behavior, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Alpha LSZ, Mpreg, Minor Child Character Death, Read the summary between the lines)

11C)

FOUND? Good Days by darkbrokenreaper (T, 9k, WangXian, Domestic Fluff, dark!LWJ, Manipulative Relationship, Dubious Consent, Drug Use)

11D)

riding shotgun by beesinspades (T, 6k, NHS/JC, wangxian, modern, Road Trip, Comedy, Fluff and Humor, First Kiss, Swearing, one braincell trio chaos, LWJ is there because isn't he wherever the chaos is?, JC is #tired, Asexual Character, this is a collab so: with links to art!, Russian Translation Available)

~*~

12. hi!! i’m looking for a fic where wwx has to marry a dead lwj. set in the victorian period (i think) the jiang family lost all of their money and the only way for them to survive was for him to marry lwj’s ghost. soon after he starts investigating lwj’s supposed death and tries to find his ( and lan qiren’s) killer. lwj’s ghost comes to talk to wwx and protects him! i can give more details if necessary i just really want to read it again and can’t find it !! <3 thank you!!

FOUND? lovers be lost (but love shall not) by la_muerta (T, 13k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, 1910s, Case Fic, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Ghost Marriage)

FOUND? 囍 | a ghost wedding by sweetlolixo (E, 11k, Wangxian, Arranged Marriage, Ghost wedding, Pining LWJ, Ghost Groom LWJ, Corpsefucking in the most romantic way possible, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Explicit Sex, Love at First Sight)

~*~

13. Hey! I have been looking for a fanfic, but after almost three hours of looking through ao3, I thought I might have better luck here.

It was about wwx going through increasingly bad bdsm encounters and not receiving the proper aftercare, so he just started acting more withdrawn. lwj notices and offers to care for wwx.

I don't remember if it was complete, but to the point I read, it was just lwj taking care of wwx. Sorry if it is not much to go off 😅 anyways, thanks in advance!

FOUND? like it's the only thing i'll ever do by quothhh (M, 5k, WangXian, WWX/Other (offscreen), Modern AU, Pre-Relationship, Aftercare, Sub Drop, Pining)

FOUND? try a little tenderness by ilip13 (E, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, BDSM, Dom/sub, Aftercare, Subdrop, Reference to bad BDSM etiquette in wwx's past, Reference to wwx's self-worth issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Little bit of miscommunication in the beginning but they get better at it, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Reference to BDSM scenes)

~*~

14. Hello! Looking for a fic that I think was some sort of sunshot fix it. The scene I recall the most is that wangxian were together and found a-yuan on the warfront and decided to take him in. They were totally going to tote him around with them while fighting in the war, but were more sensibly told to bring a-yuan back to lotus pier. I think yzy or cssr or lwj's mother may have been alive and at lotus pier, so they dropped a-yuan off to be with his grandmother and then went back to fight in the war. Thanks everyone!

FOUND? And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

~*~

15. Hey, just wanted to ask about a specific fic that I remember, but for the life of me, I can't find at all. It is basically an arranger marriage au of Wangxian, but here Lan Wangji is an immortal who had travelled worlds looking for Wei Ying's soul after his death. There are some shenanigans and canon Wangxian shameless flirting in the mix. At one point Wei Wuxian ends up dressing as a woman when he is first going to meet Lan Wangji to get out of the marriage, but Lan Zhan finds it cute

FOUND? 4018 by sweetlolixo (E, 28k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, ABO, Older LWJ, Immortal LWJ, Pregnant WWX, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Age Difference, Boypussy, Vaginal Fingering, Dry Humping, Knotting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talking LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Size Difference, Feminization)

~*~

16. I'm looking for a fic that about time travelling. It's were JC wished that WWX did not exist, thinking that it would solve all the issues but in the end everything went to hell. The Wen won the war and JC still lost his core and all cultivators are in hiding or prisoner. Thank you in advanced!🙏

FOUND? The Way It Wasn’t by KouriArashi (T, 72k, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, (eventually haha), Slow Build, Family Feels, Moral Ambiguity, Eventual Happy Ending)

~*~

17. For the next fic finder, there was one where in the backstory, WWX once called JYL to come pick him up, but she got into a car accident on the way. I can't remember if she survived or was killed, but it led to WWX splitting with the Jiangs. The actual plot is equally as fuzzy I'm afraid, so I don't have a clue what to filter for.

FOUND? Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences)

FOUND? Against Entropy by Duochanfan (M, 40k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, of an underaged character, Amnesia, Drama, Romance, Family Feels, Hurt WWX, Older JC, Homelessness, Angst with a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective LXC, Supportive LXC, Protective NMJ, Supportive LQR)

~*~

18. Hi I'm looking for a fan fiction where near the end while at Cloud Recess Jiang Cheng is hostile to Weiying and lan shizhui / lan yuan also suddenly remembers Jiang cheng being at burial mound during the 1st seige, he is kicked out but comes across jingshe & seeslan zahn and weiying having sex, possessive lan zahn sees him and looks directly at him almost to show weiying is his and will never be Jiang chengs. @amj33

FOUND? «The Fault In Jiāng Chéng» by Anonymous (M, 3k, wangxian, JC & WWX, not JC friendly, Zǐdiàn Spiritual Tool, Blood and Injury, Sick WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark LXC, Smut, Stabbing)

~*~

19. hello thank all the mods you for your hard work, you’re all amazing and i am so so grateful this blog exists!!

i’m looking for a fic where married wangxian somehow time travel and meet their past selves, who are both shocked that they end up getting married. i remember older wwx being annoyed at his younger self because he can see how he’s hurting younger lwj and older lwj mostly sitting in companionable silence with his younger self, because they mutually understand their love for wwx.

much appreciated 🫶

NOT FOUND! The Young, the Horny, the Jaded and the Jade: Partners in Time by Admiranda (T, 55k, wangxian, established couple, Crossover, road trip with your older selves, teasing your younger selves about their obvious crushes, yin iron does yin iron things, mdzs/cql crossover, adult wangxian, Teenage Wangxian, genius WWX, LWJ adores his husband, we're all in this disaster together, xue yang causes problems, WIP)

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20. Hello again! I've been trying to find two fics for weeks and just can't seem to find them. A) One was an arranged marriage between lan zhan and wei ying that was set up by the jins; wei ying was never part of the jiang and he had some funky death stuff going on in the burial mounds, and took in the wens. The jin made both the wens and the Lans think the other was going to attack and that's why they did the marriage. B) The other fic has wei ying and lan zhan getting together but keeping it secret; I don't remember much, just that in trying to save the wens, jiang change tries to marry wen Qing and madam yu gets pissed off and says that since it was wei yings idea, he should marry her. Wei ying is later crying to lan zhan because both of them know it's the only option they have to save them, so he'll do it. Lan xichen comes across them and realizes they're in a relationship, and decides to marry wen qing himself to fix it - later lan zhan and wei ying reveal their relationship. Thank you so much! @forgottenwhispersinthedark

20A)

FOUND! Fated series by LtLJ (G, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, post-apocalypse, magical apocalypse, hurt/comfort, YLLZ WWX, badass LWJ, canon-typical violence, angst w happy ending, case fic)

20B)

FOUND! ❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, AU after cold spring, Political Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, LQR bashing (not really), POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Eventual Happy Ending, BAMF WWX, JC is actually a lot better than canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, YZY bashing (again not completely))

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[sassyfrassboss]

Apparently Meghan goes ballistic when Archie and Lili get even the slightest mark or dirt on them that their nannies are constantly bathing them both and changing their clothes repeatedly throughout the day so that Meghan won’t go off at them AND the kids. My cousin actually used to work for them in an area without a NDA but now works for a much better family in the area with much better connections…

The kids are only allowed in a certain area of the house alone, they are not allowed to eat or drink in certain areas of the house, the dogs are not allowed in the house and any instances that either child or dog has been it is just for show and kids aren’t allowed to play with any of the dogs.

The kids follow a strict diet of everything being free - vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, nut-free fat-free and organic foods are only to be given to them. Lollipops are sugar free and organic, Archie is said to hate them but eats them because they’re candy and fun looking. None of them get anything sticky or that can spill or melt like ice cream, that whole story about Archie in the car getting picked up was utter baloney.

At school as well Archie freaks out about getting dirty or doing anything messy. He likes getting out in the garden at home but the whole Archie and his chicken story is also baloney, it’s just Meghan wanting to compete with how outdoorsy the Wales kids are and how they have animals. Archie and Lili are only allowed to be around the chickens if it’s photo-op time. But back to Archie at school, he doesn’t like sharing and steals other kids lunch items from them because it’s something he wants and looks better than the gruel he gets from home.

Meghan is desperately wanting Archie to be known as Prince while at school but the board and heads disagreed but all of his items have HRH Prince Archie labelled on them and it’s also known that Meghan doesn’t allow him to have any friends that she hasn’t approved and won’t allow him to play with them. Archie doesn’t talk about home often though and doesn’t speak about Lili, and neither Harry or Meghan pick him up from school, it is a burly big man who chauffeurs the children and their nannies around.

Harry does spend a lot of time away from home and Meghan has a lot of parties, when this happens Archie and Lili are sent to the cottage to sleep and be. When Meghan is drunk she is combative and she is angry so staff usually lock the gates and don’t let her out the estate.

Doria is such a bitch and is literally so degrading towards everyone even Harry and the kids. She is no happy go lucky grandmother and like Meghan feels Archie and Lili should be seen and not heard and basically be perfect statues nonstop that do not misbehave or not do what they are told. The whole salt and pepper together is the tip of the iceberg as if Archie and now Lili don’t do anything exactly how Meghan wants, and Doria wants then they are punished. But it’s also staff too, a maid was fired because she didn’t clean exactly how Meghan wanted. Nannies are belittled and basically abused by Meghan and work basically 24/7 every day.

My cousin says that Meghan has got no friends in Montecito and she has become Public Enemy Number One because she won’t stop flirting with husbands, this is one of the reasons why David Foster doesn’t want anything to do with her. Meghan apparently had something going on with a Russian man who is linking them up with South Africa, interviewing Putin etc. Nacho’s wife hates her too btw, pwife as Delfina says now means puta wife.

HOT TEA ALERT

None of this really surprises me, except for the kids having to be tidy and clean because there for a while Meghan looked like a hot mess every appearance she made...

[asimplearchivist]

𝑪𝑯. 𝑽𝑰 — 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹.

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🕷️ ⤏ you reflect on your history with miguel—both your husband and your new…colleague. pairing 🕷️ miguel o’hara/spider!reader word count 🕷️ 5.8k a/n 🕷️ [gif credit] ⤏ the chapter I had planned previously just didn’t fit right yet, plus my poll ruled that so I decided to go a different direction since my muse was being a capricious bitch like usual. we’ll hit the levity another day boys.⤏ I sprinkled in the little bit of comic lore that I’ve absorbed through fanfics and the wiki while tweaking it all to fit the timeline of my fanon for this fic, but I tried not to go into too much detail bc ATSV!Miguel’s history is still so vague. please correct me if there are any glaring mistakes.⤏ please mind the tags in the masterpost linked below. here be stupid (albeit lore accurate) decisions. 🕷️ MASTERPOST 🕷️ 🕷️ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ 🕷️ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🕷️

Considering how odd your life had proven to be until present, you shouldn’t really have been surprised by how quickly you were able to adapt to your new circumstances.

Receiving high enough marks in your earliest years that you were hand-selected to be sent to Alchemax’s glorified drone factory of a school, steadily ascending through the ranks of your peers as your intellect was honed and sharpened with heavy instruction and endless study, and working your ass off through the highest levels of education in hopes of becoming successful enough to live comfortably all culminating in you meeting the love of your life in the process was only the start.

Your Miguel had been an undesirable individual, one to whom you hadn’t initially been attracted due to the history that preceded him (mostly because you had roomed with Xina for a time). He’d been a cocksure player with mommy and daddy issues, as well as an arrogant attitude and smart mouth in equal measure—playing himself off as the typical bad boy to hide all the scarred wounds he nursed underneath his standoffish exterior.

You hadn’t been able to stand him at first. The first time you’d met him, when he’d stopped by the dorm to pick Xina up for a date very early on in their relationship, you’d waited up apprehensively until she got home that night. You’d told her that he was bad news, that you only saw trouble branded across that massive forehead of his, and that she should drop him like a hot potato.

“But I like hot potatoes,” she’d said, eyes twinkling as she’d undressed for bed. “I’ve known him for a long time—since we were kids. He’s really a sweetheart once you get to know him. He’s standoffish to everyone he meets at first, but once he warms up to you, he’s really nice. Just wait, you’ll see. Let him get used to you.”

The first time he’d hung out at the dorm, you’d waited until Xina had slipped into the restroom before leveling him with a glare full of hellfire.

“You break her heart and I’ll break that stupidly fucking perfect nose of yours,” you’d growled, jabbing a finger in his slackened face. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, O’Hara. I know your type, I’ve read your mail—you think you can get away with everything you set your mind to just because you feel like you’re entitled. But I’m warning you right now—don’t test me. She deserves someone who will treat her right. I will not hesitate to wreck your shit, tú hijo de puta*.”

He’d only stared at you, jaw slack as he’d continued to lounge on the couch—taking up nearly half its width with his wide wingspan and those ridiculously long legs he’d sprattled out as though he owned the place. He hadn’t had the chance to respond before Xina had trotted back into the main room. You’d set down the drink on the coffee table that you’d used a guise to get closer and had moved back over to the kitchenette to resume cooking supper as though not a word had been uttered. He hadn’t said another thing to you the rest of the night save a mumbled, “Good night,” when he’d left, averting his eyes from yours the entire time.

Xina had given you a suspicious look once she’d shut and locked the door behind him, but hadn’t brought anything about it up until days later.

“Mig said he really liked your tacos,” she’d remarked casually while the pair of you’d worked on your assignments, sprawled on the floor in the warm afternoon sunshine spilling through the window. “He hasn’t had his mother’s cooking in a while, but he said it reminded him of home. He wanted me to thank you.”

You’d hummed noncommittally, scribbling away at your notes. “Is that all?”

“And he said you threatened him within an inch of his life.”

You’d tipped your head, casting her a glance through your lashes. You’d expected her to get irritated about it, but instead she’d looked…amused. “And…?”

“He also said,” she’d continued, lowering her tablet and folding her arms to prop herself up, “that he’s glad I’ve got someone loyal like you to look after me.”

“Someone has to,” you’d responded evenly, returning your attention to your handwriting. “You’d be up a creek with no paddle without me.”

“He wanted to know if you’d be okay with him coming over again.”

You’d looked back up to her, raising an incredulous brow. “I’m not your keeper, Xi. You can do whatever the hell you want with him.”

She’d mirrored your expression. “I think he’d just like some assurance that you won’t gnaw on his ankles the next time he hits the door.”

Rolling your eyes, you’d shaken your head. “I’m fine. I got my bluff in. I’ll even make him churros if it’ll get him to crack just one smile.”

“Careful, he’ll probably hold you to that. That man has a sweet tooth worse than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He’d orbited you like a small child would a large dog (despite the size comparison being the exact opposite) for a long time after that, only daring to venture closer when you had brandished food at him like peace offerings. How you had managed to actually intimidate him was beyond you (and a part of you had always wondered if he had only acted like it for your benefit), but you had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth—so to have had all six foot five of Miguel O’Hara give you as wide of a berth as one would a bear when you so much as stepped into the room was a power trip you’d tried not to let get to your head.

He wasn’t as bad as you’d first anticipated. He did warm up to you over time, and you’d discovered that his curt demeanor stemmed primarily from his awkwardness. He didn’t talk much because he didn’t know how to talk. He had a difficult time parsing his true meanings and feelings, often stumbling over words or being unintentionally blunt or misleading in the process—if he got frustrated enough, he’d even stutter a bit. He was still an asshole sometimes, certainly—especially around other people he didn’t know or just plainly didn't like, as well as when he’d been in a foul mood after a bad day—but he was, admittedly, pleasant enough company to keep around.

He’d inhale any food you’d set down in front of him, anyway, and cooking had always been your biggest love language, so that had made you feel a bit better about him, at least. A complete dickbag would have complained about your heavy-handedness for powdered thyme and salt, but Miguel had only ever asked for seconds (and sometimes thirds) and had expressed his gratitude by bullying his way in front of the sink to help clean up the dishes.

“He’s like that,” Xina had laughed when you’d griped at her about it. “Can’t thank anyone to save his life, but he’ll be damned if he lets you do anything yourself. Very much an ‘acts of service’ type of guy.”

He had a really dumb sense of humor, unexpectedly simple for one as intelligent as he was—and you knew he’d had to have been keen of mind in order to catch Xina’s eye in the first place, as she didn’t tolerate ignorance in the slightest—but the plainness of his puns and quips and jokes always caught you by surprise. You hadn’t ever been able to bestow a name upon the glitter of mirth in his eyes when he’d managed to make you laugh until Xina had pointed it out.

“He likes you, you know,” she’d said casually over coffee somewhere near the university. “He asks about you all the time, wants to know more about you. I think it would help if you’d give him a little more than the time of day.”

You’d given her a wry smirk. “You want me to be chatty with your boyfriend?”

“Just enough to convince him that you’re not some weird cryptid that lives in my pantry,” she’d sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how many times he’s asked me how we never met you growing up in school.”

“I’m younger than both of you by a couple of years,” you’d reminded her longsufferingly. “I got bumped up to graduate early. I’m lucky I qualified.”

“No luck about it. You’re a smart cookie, cupcake.” She’d sipped her coffee, eyes cutting out to the street on the other side of the glass, then had pursed her lips. “You know, he…didn’t have a great childhood. He’s been through a lot.” She hadn’t met your puzzled expression. “Just…cut him some slack, will you? He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t have anything against him,” you’d assured her. “He’s just not really the type of person I usually gravitate towards.”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re all about those mousy little nerds who can’t pick up a sack of flour,” she’d laughed, rolling her eyes. “I mean it. He likes you. I can’t say that for a whole lot of people, you know. It takes a lot for him to open up as it is, and he’s really making an effort to try. I don’t know what it is about you, but I’ve never seen him so invested in getting to know someone new—he’s got his little posse and that’s about the extent of his centrism.”

You’d frowned. “You’re not worried about that?”

“Nah.” She’d shaken her head. “Mig’s a lot of things, but duplicitous isn’t one of them. I think you just made a really strong impression on him. Maybe all that bad bitch energy you’ve got oozing off of you is actually toning him down some.”

Eventually, he’d offered to help you cook, too. He’d helped Xina pick up around the dorm when you were out. He’d even helped you study for the biochemistry exam you’d convinced yourself that you’d fail, and you’d ended up making an A. He’d interwoven himself inextricably into your lives and daily routine, resulting in those orbiting your immediate social circle referring to you as the ‘dumbass trio’. Wherever Miguel and Xina went, you often weren’t far behind—not of your own volition, of course, as they often roped you into whatever they were doing unless it was strictly a couple’s thing. Xina had sworn up and down that they had mutually agreed to include you on most things so you wouldn’t feel left out, which you’d appreciated a bit more than you’d ever have readily admitted.

You did make him churros for Christmas, and he had, indeed, smiled—so sincere and sweet in the tight, enveloping hug that he’d given you in lieu of thanks with Xina’s laughter tittering over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You’d patted him awkwardly on the back as he’d released you, turning to the tray to pluck up one of the sweets while you’d been too busy resisting the urge to watch his thick fingers disappear past those impossibly plush lips for his tongue to collect the sugar crystals lingering there—you’d managed it (barely), but you’d spent a little too long that night huffing the collar of your sweater while stripping in the bathroom to shower because his cologne had seeped into the chunky knit and you had never before smelled anything so divine.

Eventually, you met Gabriel, too, who had flirted so shamelessly with you that first time Miguel’d had his face buried in his hands throughout the entire ordeal, muttering curses to himself in Spanish that you hadn’t been able to quite catch (but hadn’t necessarily had to—the mortification in his eyes had been clear).

You and Miguel had spent time together, too. Sometimes he’d come to the dorm when Xina was busy elsewhere just to catch a break. He’d told you that he enjoyed the quiet, and that you were relaxing to be around. Having gradually gathered bits and pieces of his past through the various off-handed remarks that Xina had made about his parents, you’d taken that as an utmost compliment. He was, truly, a sweetheart beneath all those bristles he brandished to most. He trusted next to no one, but was loyal to a fault to those select few that he did.

Your best friend’s boyfriend had weaseled his way into your heart, you’d had to admit, and had wormed into your good graces. Over time, you’d learned his eccentricities and mannerisms and colloquialisms. You’d gotten used to him. You’d grown comfortable around him. You’d go so far as to say that you’d liked him, too.

Then he’d cheated with his brother’s girl, a stunt just like you’d initially feared.

You kept your promise. When he’d stopped by the dorm (while Xina was out—the point of which had been clearly made to assure lack of contact on both of their parts) to exchange the meager few belongings of hers that had ended up at his place with his own, you’d broken his nose with a solid jab that he hadn’t even had a chance to block due to his surprise. Luckily, he had set the box down first, and your rage had delayed just long enough to make sure nothing of Xina’s was broken in the process.

He’d bled all over the front of his shirt. You’d shoved a wad of toilet tissue into his sticky, crimson-stained hands, and with stinging eyes and a tight throat you’d slammed the door shut in his teary, crestfallen face.

You didn’t see him for a long time after that. Xina had buckled down and nearly worked herself to death to finish her classes and graduated early. You’d followed the year after her, transitioning into Alchemax’s robotics department, specializing in nanotech, but flexible enough that you ended up working all over the department when the various teams needed an extra set of hands. You’d secured a lease on a nice apartment thanks to your wages, had caught your future by the tail, and had settled in to enjoy your newfound independence and freedom.

Miguel had shown up on your doorstep a couple of years later holding a box brimming with tamales and a bottle of your favorite wine a couple of years later, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, overall looking like the definition—the epitome—of shattered.

You’d almost turned him away—had almost laughed about how karma was a bitch—but the half-circle bruises under his eyes, the welling split in his lip, and the tears gathering on his lash line as he’d croaked out a hoarse and utterly pitiful, “I really fucked up, pastelita**,” had stayed your instinctual cruelty.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you’d stepped away from the doorpost to gesture him inside. Within minutes, he’d set himself down on the very edge of the end of the couch, shoulders hunched in and downwards, knees clamped together to take up as little space as possible while you’d brought a couple of chipped coffee mugs from your cabinet into which to pour the borderline cloyingly sweet strawberry wine. He hadn’t touched any of the tamales until you’d demolished three, but you’d been able to tell that he was only eating to have something on his stomach. He’d looked ill, and if it weren’t for his confession you’d have been pressing the back of your palm to that massive forehead of his.

Dana had flipped the script on him—had grown bored of the lack of thrill for the affair once Gabriel had caught wind and cut all ties to leave her with his older brother in favor of pursuing an older, richer man further up the hierarchy at Alchemax—and Miguel had no one else to whom he could turn to wallow in his sorrows.

You hadn’t given him an inch. You’d told him just what he’d done to Xina, how you hadn’t had a full conversation with her beyond a handful of texts in the last six months because she’d buried herself so deeply in her work so she wouldn’t have to think about how she felt. You’d told him how big of a dick he’d been to ruin the trust not only for his childhood best friend and girlfriend, but also his brother. You’d told him that you were still pissed enough now, a couple of years later, that he was lucky he wasn’t getting a full sixteen ounces of fermented fruit juice in the eyes. You’d told him that he’d hurt you, too, because you’d ended up losing both of the only friends you’d ever managed to make that had tolerated you enough to keep you around in the process.

He’d taken it all with a lowered gaze but in good faith. He’d admitted that he’d done wrong, and that he’d never be able to truly forgive himself for it. He’d said that he deserved every bit of misfortunate that had riddled his life ever since he’d made that irreparable mistake. He’d also told you that he’d reached out to Xina in attempts to make amends, and had at least convinced her to talk for a few minutes to let her know how sorry he was, that he didn’t expect her to forgive him, and that he would like to make it up to her by remaining friends on somewhat good terms if she wanted.

That had surprised you. Miguel didn’t admit he was wrong. Ever. That he’d go so far as to give someone room to think that indefinitely had proven to you then and there and he had actually realized how badly he’d made a mess of things and had genuinely wanted to change his trajectory.

So you’d shared your homemade salsa with him, had watched at least seven more tamales disappear down his ravenous gullet, and had told him that you could make them better with an arm tied behind your back and blindfolded. You’d managed to leverage a wet, quiet chuckle out of him when you’d told him how ugly he was when he cried—which was really a complete, bald-faced lie. You’d never seen a man look more gorgeous than Miguel O’Hara sobbing into a mug comically small clutched in his mitt of a hand stating proudly in gold calligraphy on a turquoise glaze that, ‘I’m too cute to compute,’ about how uncertain he was that he’d ever be able to fix everything good in his life that he’d broken with his stupidity and recklessness.

You’d bundled him up in your favorite, heaviest blanket after three mugs of wine and had tipped him over to stretch across the woefully ill-fitting length of your couch well past midnight. You’d shoved a pillow under his head, had pulled off his shoes (with his feet dangling off the opposite arm, it only made him look twice as tall), and had slept in the armchair next to him so he wouldn’t wake up alone.

Perhaps you’d been too easy on him. Perhaps you shouldn’t have entertained him after everything he’d done, much less forgive him after one sob story. But you’d missed him, too—like crazy, like hell. You’d missed his sullen pouts at being teased about his forehead and his stupid jokes about mitochondria and the way his smile was just a bit too wide and lopsided, like he didn’t know how to measure it once someone did manage to crack his solemn facade.

You’d called Xina the next morning to explain your end of the story (whatever details Miguel had elected to share with you, even while intoxicated, you held in strict confidence—just like hers were secrets you’d carry to your grave). She’d sighed and said she knew everything, and that she didn’t want to have drama. It would take a long time for them to salvage their relationship and reconcile, but she’d admitted that she’d missed him, too, and just wanted him back as one of her best friends.

Miguel had spent significantly more time with you after that. He came over with food after work once he’d made sure you were home, fussing you right out of the kitchen and letting you pick whatever the pair of you would watch—even if he sighed when you would, inevitably, pick another romcom from a century prior.

It had been a slow process, patching those wounds. Miguel had changed a lot in the time you’d lost, had matured more than you’d ever imagined he would. He cleared the air with Gabriel, and that Christmas all four of you spent the holidays comfortably together eating too many sweets and exchanging gifts. You baked him pan dulce and he brought you cinnamon rolls that he’d made all by himself—although they had been a bit gooey, not quite baked long enough, you’d eaten half the pan yourself.

A year passed. Things got easier. You had no longer felt anxious, hurt, or resentful upon seeing him walk through the door—excitement, affection, and fondness took their places instead. He had made amends as best as he was able, working endlessly to patch up the wounds he’d so carelessly inflicted while also fixing his own issues to prevent it from happening again.

…He’d confessed his feelings for you entirely by accident. It had just slipped one night, after a few too many drinks and continuous bumping into each other while washing and drying and storing the dishes, that he’d liked you for a long time—since he’d met you, really—and he wouldn’t have added the fact that him seeking your company had long since slipped from avoiding loneliness into wanting to stay close to you if you hadn’t nearly pried the words from his clenched jaw with increasingly creative and outlandish threats of nonviolence.

He had intended to never say a word, you’d learned. After everything he’d done and gone through, he’d convinced himself that he was undeserving of love and utterly incapable of nurturing it into anything remotely palpable, healthy, and long-term. He was terrified of losing for good what little bit of love that he’d managed to salvage from the only people he’d had in his life that genuinely cared for him unconditionally, having already ruined his first serious relationship with a night of foolhardy negligence. Despite his ardent adoration of you and how you had changed his flaws into virtues, he had resigned himself to remaining your friend for the rest of his list so he would never risk fucking up his chances at happiness again—he would have taken that to the grave, had his restraint not wavered with your nonchalant, half-teasing confession of him being the most important—and favorite—person in your life.

(Except it hadn’t been a joke. You’d realized, in the span of a breath after you’d uttered those baring words, that it was entirely true—even your close friendship with Xina paled in comparison for the bond that you and Miguel had painstakingly built throughout the trials and crises you’d faced together. Despite his grievous errors, he’d remained steadfast in the face of resolving them—a trait so rarely seen that you’d stood by his side in support without question.)

In a blind panic at your prolonged, shocked silence, he’d thus fallen into a continuous spiel that contained more words than he’d ever spoken throughout your entire acquaintance combined. He vomited his childhood traumas and adolescent hardships and formative follies up as if he were lancing an infected wound, and the underlying explanations behind his personality, behavior, and insecurities became all too apparent in that moment. It didn’t excuse any of his actions, by any means—he’d acknowledged that much vehemently without you even having to open your mouth—and he’d known that he would never truly be able to reconcile all the shit he’d brought upon himself, which had resulted, in turn, in him inflicting misery and heartache upon others entirely undeserving of it. He’d apologized profusely for every slight he’d made at you, had begged that you disregard him ever having said those three damning words in order for everything to stay as it was, to go back to normal, so he wouldn’t lose you, too, for a second time.

…He had never been anyone’s favorite in his entire life. That idea had broken your heart.

But it had been a lot to swallow all at once, too. You’d shoved an ice cube into his mouth to calm his hammering heart and to stifle his anxious rambling, as well as to give yourself a couple of minutes to regather your bearings. You hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought, much to your chagrin—too caught up in the all-to-recent memory of him gazing down at you with such softness and reverence that one would have thought that you had strung up the constellations before murmuring with as much conviction as one would a benediction, “I love you,” emblazoned onto the backs of your eyelids and ringing in your ears.

Once the ice cube had melted, he’d tried to start talking again. You’d hushed him by placing your fingertips over his chapped, chewed lips and saying softly, “I love you, too, tonto.* I have for a while, I just…didn’t know how I felt about it, and wasn’t sure about bringing it up.” You’d cupped his jaw, then, and had stroked the pad of your thumb along the crease of his gaping mouth.

The wake of his relief had crashed over him so hard that he’d cried. You’d armed him up as best as you were able, given your size difference, and had held him until he’d soaked your shoulder, rubbing his back in soothing circles all the while. You’d never felt more at ease in someone’s embrace as you had with him, despite the emotional turmoil involved and the uncertainties the pair of you now faced.

But, as before, you’d worked through the complications together. Xina and Gabe had both supported you, after a bit of surprise (and exchanging money not-so-subtly under the table the next time you all had gotten together for dinner—Gabriel complaining about being out fifty dollars falling short of Xina’s smug, knowing look had not gone unnoticed). Dating felt no different from the comfortable, borderline domestic rhythm you’d already—unwittingly—fallen into that past year since his plea for mercy, except that he now had no holds barred around you.

While you’d suspected that he’d never be big on PDA or sweet nothings, Miguel had shown his ardency for you in other ways. All the issues with your apartment magically resolved themselves whenever you’d complain about them. Your closets, cabinets, and pantry had stayed stocked even when you ran out of time to make grocery runs after grueling nights at the lab. He’d insisted on paying for everything, had hardly ever let you lift a finger, and had spoiled you absolutely rotten. He’d done his damnedest to redeem the second chance that you’d granted him, and you’d been a little amazed at how seriously he had taken the whole affair.

Xina hadn’t been miffed about it in the slightest. “He’s a different man, now—a better man,” she’d told you, “and you’re to thank for that. I never could get through to him like you can, and that’s okay. It’s wonderful, actually. I’m so proud of him and I’m so, so very happy for you. You deserve the world and I think he’s doing his best to give it to you…if you’ll let him try.”

Your strict intolerance for his vices had polished off his roughened edges with friction. Your high expectations had driven up the standards he’d long since set for himself. Your hopes had helped him to accept what he had thought were his weaker qualities, but were, in fact, what you had considered his greatest strengths. You’d mended his aching soul and he had given you everything that you could ever have asked for in return.

The wedding had been a cozy, intimate affair. The honeymoon, despite the lavish PTO and cushiony funds you’d both accrued over the course of your shared workaholic employment, hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, in your opinion. Finding a penthouse to lease together with your joint salaries afforded you a breathtaking view of Nueva York in the mornings and evenings, and after a short time it had become a home.

You were thankful to have experienced all the good times, as well as the bad. You would’ve endured those tragedies all over again to experience that devoted love once more.

You still missed your husband like hell some days, though. Much of your life now had grown around the grief that used to suffocate you, gently laying over tender roots for new experiences, but there were still times that you had to spritz his old pillow with his slowly diminishing bottle of cologne and recluse yourself inside your bedroom until the ache loosened enough for you to rise and greet the life you now had to live without him. You no longer felt the urge to visit his grave anymore, except for his birthday and your anniversary, however, knowing that he wasn’t truly there, but in your heart—and you considered that the ultimate step forward.

You wondered at the odd twist of fate, though, to be tossed by sheer chance into a league of multidimensional Spider-People like yourself, led by a copy of the man whom you’d have sacrificed your own life in exchange for his (and still would without question nor consideration). You saw much of that initially wounded, derisive man in this new Miguel—but instead of ever finding healing and bettering himself, he had seemingly gotten worse. (Or something had made him worse. You were uncertain of which was the case.)

You couldn’t entirely blame him for it. While he hadn’t revealed the details (and was under no obligations to do so whatsoever), you’d gotten enough of the gist that he’d struggled through some horrific circumstances…and had just barely made it out the other side, if your perception of his underlying misery was to be believed.

He softened up somewhat after that raw, quiet conversation in his lab, at least with you. He no longer acted as though he walked on eggshells around you—no longer rigid and on edge when you were remotely close to his proximity. He wasn’t as guarded, either, relaxing just enough to reveal his calmer, quieter nature. Being the leader of the Society was tedious, stressful, endless work, and having to wrangle so many odds and ends ranging from mischievous to volatile would render anyone’s nerves to short fuses. You figured out that he’d whittled himself down to the bone, yet refused to accept any help from the likes of his most valued associates, despite Jess and Peter B.’s prodding and insistence otherwise.

So, since you hadn’t been around long enough to even know where to start making headway in the mountain of anomalous analytics or projection reports with which he had to deal with every day, you opted to try to help him in the few areas where you confidently could.

You coaxed him out to grab meals in the cafeteria when LYLA told you he’d been cooped up in his lab alone for too long, you organized his tools and things when he did happen to be out so he’d have a clean and tidy workspace to come back to, and you continued your accidentally established tradition of bringing him a sweet upon your daily deliveries of leftover baked goods from your shop every evening. He’d started to grumble at you about the lattermost habit, remarking that he had a strict diet that he’d maximized for his metabolism and physical activity, but you’d told him that the treats wouldn’t stay on his physique as busy as he stayed.

“In fact,” you’d argued playfully, “I think it’s been doing wonders for improving your mood. The newbies aren’t running for the hills whenever you walk through the foyer anymore.”

He’d stopped bringing it up after that, didn’t quibble with you about it anymore, and you’d noticed that the corner of his mouth had started to pinch when you’d press the crinkling sack into his not-so-reluctantly awaiting palm. You hoped that it was a restricted smile and not a grimace, like you had feared initially.

(…Had he ever smiled around you? You couldn’t recall a single instance of it happening. You’d have to work on rectifying that.)

You enjoyed learning about the other Spiders, too. Nothing fascinated you more than to delve into deep discussions about the state of their respective universes—the time periods, technology, and history all relative to yours—as well as their personal differences. To all be the same type of hero, you were amazed by how vastly different each and every single one was. All were bound, however, by a common story, punctuated by tragedies that defined every purpose.

You still hadn’t been able to figure out this Miguel, though. You would never intentionally pry into his story, even though he had consented to his bio to be uploaded to the Society’s network for transparency’s sake—you felt that it was something he would tell you personally if it was that important, or if he trusted you enough to be inclined to do so. You were vastly curious about his physiological characteristics, however, so you’d spent an entire afternoon mentally compiling a comparison and contrast between your late husband and what you had gathered about his multidimensional counterpart.

Taller, bulkier, with all the added traits of spider-abilities overwhelmingly evident, but the same features otherwise. Red eyes with perfect vision that seemed extremely sensitive to light (the only explanation for why he kept his lab so damned dark all the time, and also how he could read with perfect clarity from so far away). Fangs and talons that could tear through just about anything. Same frown when concentrating on something, same sullen pout when teased. More soft-spoken, significantly shorter in patience and temper, extremely antisocial…that lattermost fact, at least, remained exactly the same. In so many ways, he was still the person you had known best, even if he wasn’t yours.

You decided soon enough that, despite the rocky start of your acquaintance, that if no one else would get through to him, you’d do your damnedest to try breaking down the walls he’d so meticulously built up around himself. It was the least you could do, by helping to mend another version of him back together again, to repay your husband—the man you’d loved most—for giving you the best years of your comparatively drab and lonely life, even if this Miguel were to fight you tooth and nail every step of the way. He deserved to be safe and sound just like everyone else ever did.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

A Need of the Soul

Summary: Éomer is teaching Faramir how to speak Rohirric as a surprise for Éowyn. Come for Faramir being a sweet husband, stay for the emotional links to Boromir and Théodred. Oh, and for Éomer being a big horse dork.

Context: I pulled a JRR and wrote a whole story around a special word I like! More on that at the very bottom. You can read this without knowing any of my personal Rohan head canon, but just in case it’s helpful: In my world, Éomer is married to his childhood best friend, Mereliss. My Théodred (who you can read more about here or here if you’re interested) was a nurturing soul with a curious mind, and I may be obsessed with him. And damn it, my Éomer can absolutely read and write! (See here for why that’s the case in my HC.)

As soon as Éowyn left for the morning, Faramir pulled out his secret stack of papers, the ones he had started requesting from Éomer six months ago when he first decided to try learning Rohirric. He wanted to master the language as a surprise for Éowyn, ever conscious of how much she had sacrificed on his behalf when they married. Although he knew she loved Ithilien, he also knew that sometimes she still longed for the familiarity and comfort of home, for the people, places, and culture that were now many miles away. If he could bring some of Rohan to her in the form of her language, he hoped he could brighten her heart on those days when she looked most in need of a reminder of all that she missed.

With this goal in mind, he had thrown himself wholly into the pursuit, but the process was more difficult than he had hoped. The Rohirrim didn’t keep written records in their own language, nor did they have textbooks or primers made to learn from. All Faramir had were the pages that Éomer would write out and send to him every few weeks, using Westron to describe basic grammar rules and listing common Rohirric words and phrases by their definitions and rough pronunciations. Working from written materials to learn a language that was only taught orally was maddeningly difficult, and Faramir spent long hours alone at his desk laboring at the exercises Éomer sent, unsure if he was even getting close to the sounds he was attempting to produce.

At least he would be aided today by the presence of Éomer in person. The king of Rohan was coming to Gondor to take counsel with his allies on military matters, and he had agreed to make time for some lessons while his own wife, Mereliss, kept Éowyn occupied in furtherance of the surprise. With Éowyn gone now to meet her sister-in-law, Faramir looked down his lists of Rohirric words and tried to commit a few more to memory, repeating them slowly out loud to himself while he waited for Éomer.

“If someone back home heard you slur your way through those words like that, they might assume you were a drunkard.”

Faramir looked up to see Éomer smirking at him from the doorway, still dressed in his riding clothes and holding a small pack. “Well, if the performance of the student falls short, I think we have no option but to blame the instructor,” Faramir returned with a smirk of his own.

“A fair point, I will grant you.” Éomer strode in and tossed his things on an empty chair before pulling Faramir up into a strong embrace, thumping a fist on his brother-in-law’s back with enough enthusiasm to knock the breath out of him.

When they separated, Faramir smiled and held up his stack of papers. “I do appreciate all of this. It’s a lot of work for me, but for you, too, I’m sure.”

Éomer gave a dismissive wave. “I have the easy part. Besides, there’s some benefit to me in all of this, as well. I’ll certainly enjoy the show the next time you visit Edoras and all the ladies at court discover that you can actually understand their scandalous comments about how handsome they find you. Your admirer’s club is in for a big shock.”

They both laughed, though Éomer noted the flush of pink in Faramir’s ears and cheeks and that only made him laugh all the harder. “Don’t let them see you blush, you’ll only make it worse!” He plopped down into a chair and put his feet up, smiling.

As Faramir took a seat across from him, he felt a warm, familiar echo in his heart. The easy camaraderie, the good natured teasing balanced with true affection…it couldn’t help but bring Boromir to his mind. Faramir still missed his brother every single day and looked for reminders of him everywhere that he could. But he didn’t think it was a stretch to see clear elements of Boromir reflected in Éomer–in his strength and brashness, his earnest intensity, his fierce loyalty. They were both proud men of action with an unshakeable sense of duty and love for family. Éomer could never replace Boromir, and he was surely his own man, different in many ways from the brother Faramir lost. But it lifted Faramir’s spirits to once again have such a figure in his life.

Now his brother-in-law reached into his pack and pulled out more pages, covered from top to bottom in his own scrawly handwriting. “I’ve brought you some more to learn–words you’d hear often around Rohan and that any self-respecting Rohirrim would know.”

Faramir accepted the papers from him and skimmed his eyes down the first page, but a look of confusion slowly built on his face as he read. “Am I understanding this correctly? Why do you have twenty different words for ‘horse’?”

“I have not given you twenty words for ‘horse’! Each one of those means something very different.” Éomer grabbed the page back and pointed. “This one here, éotynde, this is an old, calm mare that would be suitable for a young child just learning to ride.” He pointed again. “And this one, éoweder, is a high spirited horse that has quickness and agility but is unpredictable and difficult to control. The others are equally unique. Do you not see?”

Faramir gently extracted the page back from Éomer’s grip, hoping to avoid a further explanation of each specific variant on the list. “I understand those distinctions, but are they really significant enough that I require a whole separate word for each one? We make do in Gondor with but one term. A horse is a horse.”

“A horse is a horse?” Éomer gaped at him, incredulous. “You think the language of the Rohirrim would put a courier horse, whose purpose is swiftness and endurance, in the same category with a farm horse, who sacrifices speed in favor of strength and power? They aren’t remotely the same thing, and a proper language wouldn’t treat them as such. If we went by your rules, we’d all be calling the blacksmith a baker because they both make things with heat!”

It was obvious from the truly scandalized look on his face that Éomer would never concede the point, so Faramir held up his hands in smiling capitulation. And if all these varieties of horse were important to Éomer, likely they would be to Éowyn as well, so Faramir would learn them as best he could. But he desired to speak to Éowyn of many things, and horses were nowhere near the top of the list. He shuffled through the papers one more time. “Have you finally given me anything that would be suitable to say to a beloved wife?”

Éomer shot him a look. “I am not the right person to consult for words of romance. And certainly not when the woman to be romanced is my own sister.”

Faramir laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s get back to your many words for ‘horse’ and I will ask Mereliss to help me with some more emotional thoughts later.”

Éomer sat back, satisfied. “I will have you sounding like a Rohirrim in no time. Now, do you know the word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses?”

**********

The next morning, Faramir spent two hours with Mereliss while Éomer and Éowyn went for a ride. When the siblings returned, Éomer sent Éowyn to Mereliss’s quarters and went himself to check on Faramir’s progress. He found his brother-in-law once again at his desk, bent over his work, and dropped casually into a nearby chair.

“Did you get all of the flowery and eloquent phrases you need?”

Faramir put down his pen and smiled. “Mereliss helped me to write a special toast to Éowyn for our upcoming anniversary. I knew what I wanted to say, and Mereliss made sure it will sound not just like a bunch of Westron bluntly converted into Rohirric words but rather something that was written by a native speaker. Something truly of Rohan. She has quite a talent for beautiful language and imagery.” He gave a sly smile. “Though she told me that you also have something of a poet’s heart when the two of you are alone in your own chambers.”

Éomer’s head snapped up, a tinge of dark red sweeping across his cheeks. “She told you what?”

Now it was Faramir’s turn to laugh at his brother-in-law’s furious blushing, so out of character for one who was otherwise always self assured and confident. Faramir had faithfully reported Mereliss’s remark, and it was clearly true that Éomer really did speak his softest thoughts to her or he would not be so flustered by the possibility that she had shared those thoughts. But Faramir had no need or desire to prolong Éomer’s self-consciousness.

“There is nothing to worry about. I know only that you are capable of words to enchant and delight your wife, which is no bad thing. But she didn’t reveal what those words are. She wouldn’t betray your privacy, and I would never ask her to.”

Éomer’s shoulders noticeably relaxed, and he laughed a little at his own embarrassment. “Well, your discussion of my clumsy attempts to please my wife aside, I am glad that she helped you. Westron is very useful, but there are some things that just cannot be said as effectively without our own words and expressions.”

“Indeed. She gave me a number of things that I quite like, ways to convey entire concepts with a single word that has no direct equivalent in any language that I know. Like sáwolthearf. Every language should have such a term.”

Sáwolthearf. The word sent a wave of fond remembrance through Éomer’s heart. It translated literally as ‘a need of the soul’ and was used in Rohan to mean someone who is necessary in order for another person to feel truly happy and complete. His late cousin Théodred, who had always been so free and generous in expressing his feelings, used to call his bride-to-be sáwolthearf, and Éomer could easily picture Eadlin practically glowing with love and pride whenever Théodred referred to her that way.

To hear Théodred’s words coming now from Faramir’s lips was no great shock to Éomer. On the contrary, it only intensified a feeling he had long had in the presence of his brother-in-law: a sense that he was not with Théodred himself, but with a kindred spirit of his cousin. Someone whose modesty, eagerness for knowledge, gentle heart and dreamer’s mind so thoroughly echoed Théodred’s own nature that Éomer felt immediately at ease in his company. Théodred had been many things to Éomer–a deeply loved cousin, but also much like an older brother and at times even a father figure–and he had carried Éomer through some of the most difficult moments he would ever experience. Éomer could never truly reconcile himself to Théodred’s loss, but having Faramir in his life helped to salve that wound.

Watching Faramir now—shuffling again through his notes and drafts, applying himself so diligently to such a difficult task and all for the purpose of simply making Éowyn smile—Éomer was struck by a profound feeling of gratitude, one that he felt should be voiced even if it was not normally in his nature to speak of his innermost feelings. He cleared his throat, and Faramir looked up.

“What you’re doing for my sister is very admirable. I know it will mean a lot to her, and for that reason it means a lot to me. Thank you, eyre-brothor.”

Faramir frowned slightly and looked back at his papers. “Eyre-brothor? I don’t think I’ve learned that yet.”

Éomer smiled. “It means ‘brother by choice.’ Write that one down.”

**********

[Language nerd notes:

“Sáwolthearf” is a real Old English word (though I modernized the thorn in the middle for readability–it’s actually “sáwolþearf”) and it really does mean “a need of the soul,” which I just think is incredibly beautiful.

I made up “eyre-brothor” by combining two other real Old English words, “eyre” (“a choice made of free will”) and “brothor” (“brother”, though once again I turned the thorn in broþor into a “th” to make it smoother to modern English-reading eyes).

“Éotynde” comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “tyende” (“teaching”) for a horse that’s calm enough to be good for beginners.

Éoweder comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “weder” (“weather”) because to be impressive but quick-changing, unpredictable and uncontrollable is to be like the weather.

And it’s not in the story, but Éomer’s word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses is an “éodrefa” from “eoh” (horse, again!) and “drefan,” which is “to stir things up or cause mischief”.]

[goodmorgan]

Perfect Strangers

Chapter 2: A Debt To Repay

(Chapter 1)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Series Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead. What follows is a reckless relationship with potentially dangerous outcomes.

Chapter Summary: When Arthur keeps his promise and returns, he's determined to repay his debt to you in more than one way.

Word Count: 5.4K

Tags: NSFW. MDNI. 18+. Smut, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex (f! receiving), Fingering, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Infidelity, Arthur gives reader a pet name

AO3 Link

A/N: The chapter has spoilers for the first one obvs. For the sake of the story, I have given reader a last name. However, Arthur decides to give her a pet name all of his own...

"To my dearest wife, Mrs. Brooks,

I hope my letter finds you in agreeable health and blithe spirit. I am fortunate to write this in the same state of body and mind.

I am writing to inform you that my return home from Annesburg has been regrettably delayed again. Mr. Jameson has instructed me to remain as bookkeeper for the upcoming months, expressing modest satisfaction with my employment. I do not know yet when I’ll be able to visit you.

I hear whispers that the head bookkeeper, Mr. Muller, my superior, might be retiring by the end of this year, which would make me a potential candidate for his position. I plan on proving my worth in the meantime so that I might be given preferential treatment when the time comes for his replacement. I would like to discuss this in greater detail with you on our next meeting.

Business is flourishing despite minor mishaps at the mine hindering our profit. The papers have callously depicted the pristine working conditions of our miners, whom I assure you are treated and provided for in the most respectable manner. Please refrain from reading such worthless gossip and know I am secure from bodily or spiritual harm.

Mr. Jameson has generously provided compensation for postponing my visit. I trust that you will able to retrieve it at the Valentine Savings Bank, like on previous occasions. Please be mindful to spend it wisely and sparingly.

I bid you farewell with the optimism that we will see each other very soon. In the meantime, I'll see you in my most tender dreams.

Be well and let bygones be just that.

Your doting husband,

Stanley Oliver Brooks"

It has always struck you as appropriate that your husband's initials are S.O.B.

You can't think of a more fitting term for him, even after the last letter he sent, his words leaving you again sick to your stomach as you reread them. While you sigh of relief for his foreseeable absence in the next few months, you're disgusted by his artificial affection and concern for you. If only the man of his letters were real.

You close shut the drawer containing his correspondence with a thud, hearing your wedding ring clang inside. You haven't worn it in months, preferring to not wear a constant reminder of him on you.

You go into the kitchen to find something useful you can do, keeping your mind and hands busy with toil usually helps forget him. You decide to bake a pie with the rest of the apples you have left.

You reach for the flour in your cupboard when you hear the distant sound of horses approaching, making you turn around sharply, grabbing the shotgun by the door. It's now a mechanical instinct for you, having done it hundreds of times since you've lived out here alone. Nothing has passed during that time to upset the peaceful life you lead, so you mostly do it out of precaution. The only major cause of concern happened a few days back when you saw a strange man wander into your front yard, picking one of your apples. Luckily, he was the best thing that happened to you in a long time.

You don't dare risk your luck again so you step out onto the porch quickly, getting ready to ward off any intruder. It's only when you have him in your line of sight that you see the approaching target.

It's Arthur Morgan. At last.

It has been five whole days since he left with your mare Amber. His promise to return hanged in the air since like the sun rays that get you up in the morning, sweet and inviting. You would have never imagined you'd miss someone this much, let alone someone you only knew for a few spellbinding hours.

The man you met intimately last week is now riding a powerful brown stallion, an adequate choice for him, both of them equally imposing to the eye. Amber gallops by their side appearing smaller but just as graceful and well-kept, her golden coat shining in the morning sun. Arthur slows down both horses to a trot as he enters your front yard, letting out an "Easy now" as he pulls on the reins. The closer he gets to you, the better you can see the quiet tender smile on his lips, one too unseemly for such a big man riding such a big horse.

Arthur looks much improved since the last and only time you saw him, now wearing clean clothes that highlight his threatening physique. A polished, perhaps new, slightly too tight, blue shirt brings out his eyes as they shimmer under the shadow of his familiar hat. The bruises on his face have almost healed and you can see the scar on his chin more clearly now that he has trimmed his beard. The satchel you gave him is still draping the same shoulder he hung it on and an impressive gun belt sits on his hips, two heavy weapons anchoring him. Your eyes can barely register all of this as you keep ogling his scene-stealing smile.

"You greet everyone with that shotgun of yours or just me?" he quips from atop his horse as he prepares to dismount. Hearing the soothing lilt of his voice again fills you with unabashed joy.

"Just men I have over for dinner. Or men who take my horse. Or both."

Arthur lets out a few chuckles as he stomps on the ground, heading towards the rails of your porch to hitch his horse. You head toward Amber, petting her forehead to say hello and she neighs back, saying she missed you too. You give her some more attention before you feel Arthur standing behind you, waiting his turn to get your sweet attention too.

"Was she a good girl?" you ask him when you finally turn around and meet his enigmatic gaze, his face barely a few inches from yours. His smile seems to be stuck in place.

"Yeah, she's a swell ride. Didn't work her too hard, I promise."

"And who's that?" You nod towards the brown stallion now grazing your lawn.

"That's Titus. He's new. Still a little jumpy."

"Well, I'm sure you'll tame him in no time."

"Yeah, I'll get him there."

When your spoken conversation halts, your unspoken one continues as you keep eyeing each other. There's a magnetic push forcing you together, an invisible pull holding you apart. Small wrinkles appear and dissolve on your faces as fleeting hints of your nervousness. Your heartbeats are a little faster than their resting rates. Your eyelashes suddenly work overtime. The breeze cools your sweaty temples as you both sway in place, waiting to see who will make the first move, who will be the one to break off the impasse. Make or break. Push and pull. A seductive stalemate.

"How’ve you been?" Like a hesitant player with a winning hand, you fold.

"Just fine. Better. Alive, thanks to you."

"I'm glad." You feel your cheeks move to form an unstoppable smile.

"I've come to repay my debt, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, really?" You pretend to have forgotten all about it, like it hasn't occupied your mind every single waking hour for the past few days. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I have something in mind. But first I'm gonna need your help with something.”

You watch as he moves back to his horse and you follow him, hitching Amber next to Titus. Arthur removes a brown bag from one of his saddlebags. "Here, hold this." It's heavier than you expected. He moves to the other side of the horse to retrieve a smaller bag. "Grab this one too.” You steady yourself as he hands it to you and you start to struggle with the weight of both bags. "Get those inside, would ya?"

“Mr. Morgan, what is this?"

"Just get them inside. I'll show ya."

You're already climbing the stairs to head inside when Arthur finally unropes the big package that was stowed on the back of his horse. By the way he holds it, it seems even heavier.

When you finally place the two bags down on your kitchen counter, Arthur's already right behind you, setting down the package next to the bags. He opens one of them and reaches inside, handing you a potato the size of his fist.

"Thought I'd bring back some things you might need. To replace all the food I ate the other day."

You watch as he starts to empty the bag on the counter, first reaching for potatoes, carrots and onions and then for handfuls of green beans and peas. He retrieves a few shucked corncobs, some turnips. You peek inside the other bag to see that it has a few loaves of bread.

"Now, the only thing I didn't get you was apples, but I figured you might still have a few of those."

"This is too much." You finally express your surprise.

"Well, I did eat too much."

"Not this much, no!"

"It's nothing, really. Why don't you open up the rest for me and I'll get the game I hunted?"

You watch him leave before you finally open the big boxed package. Laying on top you find a few red tins of biscuits and half a dozen chocolate bars. You lift them to find cans of coffee, beans, peaches and salmon. You spot the neck of a bottle of whiskey, an expensive kind by the look of it. A small wheel of cheese is stuck in a corner.

You're still deep in astonishment when you see him walk back in, a couple of rabbits hanging from one hand and a duck from the other. You can't help but laugh at the image. "You steal a grocer on the way over here or something? How much do you think I eat?"

"Just trying to make sure I do right by you, miss. Don't want you thinking I'm so kind of grifter."

"But I didn't give you any chocolate. Or biscuits!" You raise one of the tins in incredulity.

"Oh, that's something I thought you deserved."

Your heart flutters at his words. "Well, you better be staying for dinner because there's no way I can eat this all by myself!" It's only when the words are out of your mouth that you realize how eager you are to replicate the other night.

"I'd be happy to." He accepts your invitation without a fuss. There’s a certain easefulness in your conversation now that you're better acquainted and you both know your attraction is mutual. It doesn’t surprise you that he says yes.

You look back to the goods now cluttering your counter and wonder if you have space in your cupboards to keep it all.

"I was actually hoping you'd let me borrow some of your tools, so I can settle my debt like I promised."

You turn around surprised once again. "Isn't this the repayment you had in mind?" You gesture toward the supplies on the counter.

"No, ma'am. I was thinking I could help you fix your stable. I went to get Amber the other day and I saw that some of the walls need mending and the roof needs fixing. I'd be happy to do it if you let me."

You've been meaning to hire someone to do that for months. It's touching that Arthur noticed and wants to help you out. You don't see a reason not to let him.

"That would be fine, Mr. Morgan. I have some tools here." You reach for your toolbox under the kitchen sink. "There's more of them somewhere in the stable. I'm sure you can find them. Are you sure you don't mind? I don't want to impose."

He takes the toolbox as you hand it to him. "I'm more than happy to help, miss." He gives you a reassuring smile. "I'll get started right away if you don't mind."

“Sure. I'll fix us some lunch later. I'll come to get you when it's ready."

"Thank you." He nods politely before he excuses himself and you watch through the kitchen window as he stops to pat Titus before heading to the stable out back.

You are now stuck with the ordeal of putting away all of the food Arthur brought, rearranging the cupboards to fit it all. You smile as you store the biscuits and the bars on a shelf, wondering what kind of man brings so much chocolate to repay a lady. Something I thought you deserved, he said. But it's not just chocolate, it's a whole array of goods, including meats he took time to hunt and skin to purposely bring to you. You realize he's been thinking of you as much as you've been thinking about him, even though a week ago you were just complete strangers. Your thoughts are interrupted once you hear sudden loud rhythmic hammering outside, the continuing of Arthur's restitution.

Everything is in its place once you remember you were going to bake an apple pie before you were so delightfully interrupted. You think it's an even better idea now that Arthur is staying over for dinner. And lunch. Somehow you've captivated him enough to spend the whole day here with you. You hope he'll be spending the night too.

It gets harder to focus on the pie as you recall the night of intimacy the two of you spent the other day. Your chest rises and your breath hisses at the thought that you might be repeating it tonight. As you mix and mold the dough on your steady hands, you think of his large ones caressing you once again, first through your clothes and then on your skin, leaving his mark again on your faltering hips as he gives into you for the second time. You'll be sure to ask him to let you finish around him first this time, the idea having plagued you since then.

The oven is already hot once you absentmindedly finish assembling the pie, the apples now carefully stuffed inside the crust. As it bakes, you get working on lunch, made with some of the ingredients Arthur brought, a simple soup with plenty of potatoes and some sandwiches. You remove the pie from the oven and leave it to cool on the window sill before you go call Arthur for your meal.

When you reach the stable you find him crouched on top of the roof, nailing down some pieces of wood to cover a hole. He’s working shirtless and the late morning sun is making him sweat profusely, deepening his permanent tan. He’s so focused on his task he doesn’t see you approach. “Mr. Morgan, lunch is ready!”

Your voice is loud enough to make him turn to see you. “I’ll be right in, miss.”

When you’re nearly back at the house, you watch from afar as he climbs down the ladder, reaching for a bucket of water to refresh himself, scrubbing off the sweat with a damp rag. You leave when you see him buttoning his shirt, tucking it into his pants, priming himself for another meal with you.

By the time he gets inside, you’re already serving two bowls of steaming hot soup. “This looks mighty fine, miss.” He gives you a satisfied grin before he stops in his tracks and turns around to peek inside the kitchen, having caught the smell of your freshly baked treat. “Is that pie?”

“Yes, it’s cooling so you’re going to have to wait for dinner, I’m afraid.”

“I look forward to it.” He sits down on the same chair he did last time, just as anxious to dig in as five days ago. But this time he’s not as hungry, so he engages in lively conversation with you.

He mostly tells you what’s new in Valentine, curious happenings that have gone down in the past few weeks, things he’s heard around town and seen in the papers. He even gossips with you about a well-known cattle rancher caught having an affair with the butcher’s wife. The story seems to delight him immensely since apparently they ended up slimed in the rancher’s own pigpen in the middle of the town.

You would find the story amusing if it didn’t remind you that you too are a wife with your own infidelity now. The idea of ending up in a pigpen after being exposed for your transgression seems incredibly bleak. You busy yourself with the dishes to dispel the thought from your mind.

But when Arthur raises from his chair, letting out a long sustained breath, stretching out his enormous body inside your small cottage, you are reacquainted with the lust you have for the man. As you recall the intimate actions that make up your infidelity, your first thought is to wonder how soon you will be able repeat them. The hope that it will be tonight makes you weak with excitement. Maybe ending up in a pigpen isn’t so bad.

“Well, I best get back to it if I’m gonna finish today.” He stops before he crosses the threshold, returning his hat to his place. “The food was very tasty, miss. Thank you.” You both smile briefly at each other.

While he resumes fixing the stable, you return to your chores until you are suddenly left drowsy by the afternoon heat, deciding to rest your eyes for a moment in the comfort of your sofa, the sound of Arthur’s hammer lulling you to sleep.

It's late afternoon when you wake from your nap and you notice how quiet it is, the hammering having stopped. You figure it’s best to go see if Arthur needs any help, bringing with you a pitcher of lemonade to refresh him from a sunny day’s hard labor.

You find him still working inside the stable, his shirt, hat and gun belt hanging on the hooks where you keep some ropes. This time he hears you approach with the pitcher and two glasses in hand.

“Thought you might be thirsty, Mr. Morgan. Got you something to drink.”

“That’s very kind of you, miss. Just give me a second.”

You watch as he picks up a few bales of hay on the other side of the stable and he places them on top of the others, finishing setting them up in a neat pyramid by where you’re standing.

"I think that about does it,” he says.

You survey the small stable as you notice the impressive result of his craftsmanship, every hole now covered and every wooden board now in its place. He even went to the trouble of tidying up the space, neatly arranging everything to make it more functional. It looks like a brand new stable.

You serve him a glass of lemonade as he joins you. “The stable looks wonderful, Mr. Morgan. I’ve never seen it so tidy!”

“I’m glad you like it.” He sits down on a bale as he finally rests for the day, sipping half a glass in just a few gulps.

You serve yourself and put down the pitcher, sitting on a nearby stool, continuing to admire his handiwork. Amber will surely enjoy living here again, you think. It takes only a few seconds before your eyes circle back to where Arthur is and you notice he’s staring at you. You stare right back.

There’s a slight breeze coming in from the windows but neither of you is swaying in place now, sitting perfectly still as you observe the other. You are once again victims of a push and pull, a make or break. That goddamn seductive stalemate.

Except this time, it’s him that breaks. “Come here.” Arthur’s voice suddenly sounds deeper as he sets his glass on the floor, his other hand reaching out for you. You leave your own glass on the stool as you hold out to touch his palm.

When he finally holds you in his hand, you feel yourself being pulled closer to him, forcefully landing on his lap. Your faces remain somber as you’re now close enough to inspect each other’s irises, continuing that wordless exchange you’ve been having all day. The standoff ends when Arthur chases your lips with his, finally free to crash into each other like you’ve been so hungry to do. Nothing about it is tender as the kisses you share turn ravenous, no longer restricted by the pretense of propriety. You have slept together, after all.

It takes a while until both of you are satisfied, decreasing the intensity of each kiss as you pause to look at each other’s eyes, basking in the glow of being wanted so deeply by the other. Soon his warm lips rub against yours more softly, delicately even, and his tongue stops chasing yours. He settles down by placing short pecks on your chin and jaw, as you gently caress his back and neck. You remain in his embrace as you lean your forehead onto his and he gently removes loose strands of hair from your cheeks.

"I'm sorry I was selfish the other night,” he murmurs. You respond to his apology by lifting your head in confusion. “I was in such a hurry I didn't let you finish first." The fact that he cares about it makes you ache with renewed desire.

"That's ok. It looked like you needed it more than I did.” You pause as he reaches quickly for your lips again. “And, boy, did I need it!” He lets out a few soft chuckles in that drawl of his.

His gaze is suddenly serious. "Let me make it up to you."

“Now?”

He nods. “Now.”

He reaches for the warmth of your thighs underneath your skirt, the ones he’s been fondling this whole time. He squeezes them tightly a few times before he suddenly pulls at your drawers and slides a hand inside, reaching your core with a couple of fingers. You feel them slide between your folds and rub the spot where your slick is. “Good, you’re already wet.” You feel a jolt of ecstasy through your entire body at the brief maneuver so when he removes his hands from you it feels physically devastating and you let out a small whimper.

“I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry. Just take off your clothes for me, would ya?” Arthur suddenly reaches for his glass of lemonade.

“Here?”

He nods. “Here.”

It’s a rather odd moment when you realize that somehow you trust this semi-stranger, barely-acquaintance drifter completely. He’s asking you to get naked for him in the middle of your stable, in broad daylight, and yet you don’t even bat an eye. You’re quick to grant his wish as you start unbuttoning your simple blouse, soon exposing your chemise to him as he takes a few sips of his drink. You drop your top on the floor as you get up from Arthur’s lap to remove your skirt and throw your drawers to the side, with only one piece of clothing left to remove.

Arthur rises from his seat and soon hovers over you to plant another kiss, this one more forceful as he parts your lips with his, slippery from the lemonade. He lingers a while before retreating, forcing himself apart from you to swoop up your chemise as it passes between your bodies. He takes a moment to look down at you and you’re very aware that you are now standing there naked and barefoot. “You’re so beautiful.” He sees you wince at his compliment. “Really, you are.” He softly caresses the side of your arms before leaning in for another demanding kiss and you feel your bare breasts touching his bare chest, his warmth enveloping you as you shiver from his touch and the light breeze entering the stable.

He lets go of your mouth to plant sensual kisses on your jaw, slithering steadily down your neck, quickly reaching your collarbone. He then trails further down as he reaches one of your breasts, lingering his tongue on your nipple, making you steady yourself on his shoulders. He slides further down to your belly, then to your navel, stopping just as he hits your mound, planting soft kisses there. His last one is right above your parting of the folds, making your whole body shudder. He gets up again to look you in the eyes. “So beautiful.” A final kiss lands on your upper lips.

He pauses before he asks his next question. “You have any neighbors, miss?”

You are completely surrounded by the woods. There isn’t another soul for miles. “No, why?"

"In case you get loud."

You watch in place as he goes to retrieve his shirt and for a moment you think he’s going to get dressed. Then he heads to the bales of hay he had been sitting on, unfurling his shirt on top. He grabs your hand and beckons you: “Sit.” You’re confused by his intentions and it shows. “Sit here, come on.” He pats the fabric of his shirt, tugging your hand with his other one. You slowly do so, still not understanding what he wants.

Once you sit down, your bare ass lying on top of Arthur’s shirt, you follow his lead and he grabs both your knees gently, making you turn to the side. You watch as he suddenly kneels himself down in front of you, moving his hands down to your calfs, lifting your legs up. Without any warning he starts pecking one of your knees, placing the other on his shoulder. “You gonna be loud for me, beautiful?” His beard lightly scratches you as he switches legs. “You gonna be loud while you come around my mouth?”

His words make you inhale sharply as you realize what he’s going to do to you.

“Is that a yes, miss?”

You nod, shaking with anticipation. “Yes.”

He pulls your body closer to him, positioning your hips at the edge of the bale, making you lean on your elbows, fully lying on the comfort of his shirt.

His light kissing on your legs starts out feeling like gentle tickling but soon becomes sensual smears as he starts working on your inner thighs. The kisses then get longer and bolder as he closes in on the meeting of your thighs, forcing you to breathe more heavily. He starts using more tongue too, which increases the feeling wildly. By the time he reaches the apex of your thigh, you’re completely dizzy with his teasing, involuntarily closing your eyes as your breath hitches.

“Christ, darling, I haven’t even sucked you yet.”

You watch as Arthur lowers his face once more, a smirk disappearing behind the shape of your mound. He kisses the bridge between your thigh and your slit, which distracts you from his other hand as it sneakily reaches the meeting of your folds. He parts them slowly with a single finger, starting at the top of the clit and only stopping at the bottom of your entrance. You let out a prolonged loud moan, which makes him raise his head, watching your face as he then slides the same finger all the way back up, smearing your slick along its path. You get louder as he pauses directly on your clit, swirling it a few times. After so much teasing, having direct contact is so intense that your head finally hits the hay.

The reaction suddenly feels premature once you finally feel him start what he’s set out to do. Arthur lowers his head again, only this time his lips land right on yours, circling your clit in the gentlest kiss of the afternoon. Your whole body shakes at his subdued but blinding touch.

The coil inside your lower abdomen starts to wind as you feel the tip of his tongue make direct contact with your bud, its surface now angled perfectly to drive you wild. He continues the motion even as you writhe under him, now clutching his hair to ground yourself, your legs pressing his body down onto you as your back begins to curve. Rather than pull away from your tight embrace, he sinks deeper into you, holding your hips steady from their bucking as he continues to lap you lewdly, the sound only muffled by your own salacious moaning. His tongue is relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure and you think you won’t last very long.

The obscenity of the moment is not lost on you, as you lift your head momentarily to see what is happening. There is a tall handsome cowboy down on his knees for you, using his whole mouth to draw from you the most perverted noises, on the verge of making you crumble to the most erotic thing anyone has ever done for you. In the middle of your stable, of all places. You thank the heavens you don’t have any neighbors. You thank the devil for keeping your husband away.

And then you feel two of his fingers enter you.

You settle your head down again as you become a complete mess under him, too far gone to care about keeping it together, especially now that he rubs the sweet spot inside you. You’re barely able to discern that his free hand has now reached his pants but you hear the sound of his buckle opening. Finally free from his constraints, he strokes himself a few times and you feel him vibrate on top of you as he finds some needed relief. Despite this, his tongue and his fingers never let up, working you mercilessly. You soon feel moans of pleasure leave his mouth, reverberating directly on your core, a feeling too lascivious for you. That’s when you finally come undone.

Your whole body convulses as you experience the greatest climax you’ve ever had, feeling the waves of pleasure reach every inch of your body, maybe your soul. As you come, your core pushes upward against Arthur’s face, telling him to stop, but he does not relent, continuing his lapping, wringing every ounce of ecstasy out of you. You’re beyond overwhelmed as you moan uncontrollably, your hips sinking and rising erratically, your hands still pulling his hair. After a few moments, he begins to slow his licking, removing his fingers from you, placing his hands on your forearms, giving you smooth caresses as he helps you come down from your high. When you’re a little more tamed, he removes his mouth completely.

“That sure was loud, miss.”

You’re so wrung out by the orgasm you barely hear him, nor do you feel when one of his hands leaves your arm. When you’re more grounded, still reeling from the aftershocks, you’re delighted to hear he has resumed touching himself. By the increasingly loud panting, he sounds to be close already. You don’t lift your spinning head until your curiosity finally defeats your exhaustion. You watch as he pumps his cock with his mouth open, eyes closed, on the verge of toppling over. His beard still glistens with some of your wetness.

When you’re strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows he hears you stir, prompting his eyes open. The gaze he gives is one riddled with lust, accompanied by a brief licking of his lips as he sets a faster pace. You continue to gawk at him, which is all it takes for him to unravel, making him grunt deeply as his spend begins to land on the ground by his knees.

You wait for him to finish his release before you tease him. “You know, you’re not so quiet yourself, mister.”

He laughs lightheartedly as he rises from his knees, tucking his cock inside his underpants, pulling his pants up before he sits down next to you by your hips, still catching his breath. He softly caresses the side of your belly with one of his thumbs. “How was that, miss?”

"I think you’ve repaid your debt in full, Mr. Morgan.”

He bends down to kiss your lips lightly as you both giggle, shining in your shared postcoital bliss. “The name’s Arthur, miss.”

"Well, the name’s Y/N, Arthur.”

“I like ‘miss’ better. It suits you.” He lowers his lips again, this time reaching for your neck.

“You ever heard a ‘miss’ scream like that for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might’ve heard louder than you.” He moves his thumb to teasingly play with one of your nipples.

“I very much doubt that.”

“Well, you can always prove me wrong.” Arthur hovers over your lips threateningly. “Besides, the day ain’t over yet, missy.”

You smile at his new pet name for you. It's certainly better than being called Mrs.

-

A/N: I already have most of the remaining chapters planned out, so hopefully the rest will be published a little faster. Chapter 3 coming soon with the rest of the day!

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

okay so i just stumbled upon your blog and the first thing i saw was the pianjeong tag.

i have to ask.

do you ship piandao and jeong jeong??? do other people ship piandao and jeong jeong ???? is pianjeong a thing, and if so, WHY ?????

i'm truly baffled but i want to be enlightened

(i know you sent this a while ago sorry, took me some time to figure out how to respond and gather all the links to fic)

yes, yes, and yes, though of course it's a pretty niche thing since it's about minor characters.

as to why - imo it stems from the fact that if you want to ship either of them with someone, the other is the most obvious choice. around the same age, fellow white lotus member, fellow ex-fire nation military, easy to interpret as gay. like no, they don't have any canon interaction, but it's easy to imagine that they've interacted offscreen.

for my part, i got into it in 2020 when my friend abby @afaramir came up with it while writing earth system history, a zukka fic with piandao as zuko's gay professor. when trying to find a character to be his husband, she landed on jeong jeong, and then decided to go explore that dynamic with spark from a flame and we said forever (but forever wouldn't wait for us). i'd always liked both characters - i'm a sokka fan so of COURSE i like piandao, and i thought jeong jeong was fascinatingly tormented - so i was drawn in.

i think i'm still into it so many years later bc the storyline and characterizations established back then are legitimately really good. there's kind of a pianjeong "canon" to me:

they meet as young men in the fire nation military. young piandao is desperate to prove himself worthy (backstory from an old nickelodeon lore site says his parents abandoned him as a kid for being a nonbender) meanwhile young jeong jeong is a firebending prodigy (from that same lore site) vaguely uncomfortable with the status & privilege that grants him. they both crave what the other has

piandao brings a sword to a fire fight and wins. they both find the experience exhilarating - piandao is thrilled to be defeating a powerful firebender, and jeong jeong is thrilled to have someone stand up to him (spark from a flame, an old phenomenon)

they start a relationship of sorts, kept secret bc of the homophobia in the military (army dreamers)

jeong jeong deserts, leaving piandao behind (we said forever)

piandao eventually leaves the military too, traveling the world and learning the truth of the war (beyond your darkness)

they both independently end up in the white lotus

piandao offers jeong jeong a place to stay at his mansion after the war and they reconnect. it's been so long and so much has changed and jeong jeong definitely isn't in the right mental place to be in a relationship but slowly, he gets better and they get close again (i'm your light, ghosts, diary of the deserter)

like, is this kinda just two OCs in atlaverse? probably. but i think another reason i've been into it so long is that it allows me to engage with atla without always having to deal with the broader fandom discourses that frustrate me. i think atla is a pretty good show so the way fandom tends to want to change or ignore canon doesn't really appeal to me. i'd rather just play around in the universe! also i started writing a lot of pianjeong fic in 2020-2021 and tend to be a slow writer so i'm still working on it, and that keeps my interest alive.

so yeah. feel free to join us in old man yaoi if you like :)