#angst interwoven with fluff

[azrielslittleslut]

Ok but I absolutely LOVED "bad hair day", and wanted to request another(same anon) small fluffy fic where reader is a librarian from Day and got sent to work with Rhysand, since he needs help with research? Azriel sees her for the first time and is like "Oh, wait, pretty" and stands there staring and Cassian observes since he was chatting nearby and is like "oh this is my next gossip topic." Fluff, ily and your work. remember to take breakss<33 feel free to change this up a bit, wasn't very specific sorry :,)

"A Day Court Crush"

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight language, fluff, the teeniest bit of angst if you squint hard enough

Word Count: 1k

a/n: I'm so happy you enjoyed the fic, and I hope you like this one as well!<3

Azriel groaned as he walked down the steps to the library in the River House. "Why are these books so heavy?" he grumbled to Cassian, who was also struggling to carry his stack of tomes.

Cassian grunted as he nearly stumbled on one of the stairs. "It's like they're filled with rocks."

Az readjusted the books in his arms as they continued to walk down the spiraling staircase. "Do you know why Rhys insisted on us bringing these? They've been collecting dust in the House of Wind's library for ages."

Cassian shook his head, his dark locks falling across his brow. He blew out a breath as a strand got stuck in his eyelashes. "Rhys hired a new librarian from Day Court to help with some research," he said, his deep voice echoing along the stone. "Nesta met her already. Apparently, she's the best librarian Day has to offer, and she shares Nesta's love for smutty books."

Azriel chuckled to himself. "A librarian who loves smutty books. I wonder how that conversation got started," he mumbled to himself.

At the bottom of the staircase, there was a set of grand double doors that reached high into the shadows above. With his hip, Az pushed the doors open, and he was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of aged parchment and polished wood.

There were high, arched windows lining the walls, allowing beams of sunlight to cascade into the room. Wrought-iron chandeliers filled with candles hung along the ceiling, making everything seem warm and cozy. There were also some tables and chairs scattered throughout the room, all neatly organized to make the most of the space.

Rich mahogany shelves lined every wall, filled with ancient books of various sizes. Some of them were bound in leather, while others were scrolls tucked carefully into illuminated nooks.

How the hell had Rhys built up such a collection?

"Azriel. Cassian," Rhys drawled, pulling Azriel's attention to the center of the room. He stood next to one of the large tables at the center. It will filled with stacks of large books, similar to the ones Cassian and Azriel had in their arms. "We've been waiting for ages."

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You couldn't have just used your magic to bring these down here?"

Rhys chuckled as he stepped aside to reveal the female who had been standing behind him. "I could have, but I wanted you to meet my new researcher." He gestured to the female with a hand. "This is Y/N. She will be working for me for the foreseeable future."

Azriel was unable to keep his mouth from falling open at the sight of you. You were wearing a fitted, flowing gown made of airy fabric that glistened like the first rays of dawn. It was made of the finest silk in shades of gold, pale yellow, and cream. Along the bodice and sleeves, there were intricate designs of sunbursts and delicate floral patterns, interwoven with shimmering threads of gold.

Your beautiful hair fell around your face, and it was adorned with tiny gemstones that sparkled in the sunlight. Around your neck, you wore a small sun-shaped pendant, and Azriel found his eyes glued to the way it rose and fell with your soft breaths.

"Hello," you said in a soft, sing-song voice. "It's so nice to finally meet you. Rhys has told me so much about you."

"All good things I hope," Cassian said with a grin.

You chuckled, and Az felt his heart skip a beat at the lovely sound. "Of course, of course."

You looked at Azriel, and your eyes widened as you saw the books in his arms. "Oh!" you exclaimed, rushing over to him. You placed a hand on the first book in the stack. "This is the one I've been needing. Thank you for bringing it!"

Azriel was still silent, unable to form words as he stared at the small freckles that dotted the skin of your face. His mind had utterly scrambled at your scent- citrus, lemon, orange... He was beside himself.

Rhys cleared his throat. "Az, I know you are not a male for words, but I think the lady deserves a simple 'you're welcome'."

Az blinked his eyes as he forced himself to say, "You're welcome." His voice was rough, and it sounded oddly like a broken-down piece of machinery.

You laughed as you slid the book from his arms. "You're Azriel," you said, your face forming into a beautiful smile that reminded him of the sun. "You're Rhys's shadowsinger and spymaster."

He hated that you knew who he was and what he did. He couldn't bear the thought of you being tainted by being in his presence. He desperately wanted to change the topic of conversation, so he said, "You're the librarian who likes smutty books."

Cassian roared, laughing so hard that the books fell from his hands and onto the floor. "Shit, Az," he said through his laughter, "maybe you should try resorting to poetry or something next time."

Rhys bit his lip, trying to contain his own giggles. "Azriel. Please do not make my new librarian uncomfortable. She just started working here."

Azriel flushed, looking down at the ground to hide his embarrassment. What the hell had he been thinking? He really had to bring up your fascination with smutty books?

You chuckled as you placed a gentle hand on his arm. "It's alright," you said. You winked at him as you turned away to walk back to the table. It took all of Azriel's restraint to keep his eyes on the back of your head as you walked away. "I can show you my smutty books if you're that interested, shadowsinger."

Az stepped back, his shadows wrapping around him, preparing to winnow him out of this place. As he faded into the world of shadows, he heard Cassian call out, "I hope you know that I'm never going to stop talking about this. I'm also never going to let you live this down."

As his shadows whisked him away, his chest tightened at the sound of your laughter, a melody that echoed in his heart. Despite his embarrassment, a smile tugged at his lips, and he hoped that Cassian wouldn't let him forget about this.

He didn't want to forget about you. In fact, maybe he would seek you out one day.

He had always been curious about the contents of those smutty books.

[inkchwe]

enchanted ↦ jww

⋆ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⋆ word count: 6.1k ⋆ genre: fluff. semi-angst ⋆ tags: cinderella-ish retelling, royalty!wonwoo ⋆ synopsis: Life as the housemaid and an inconvenience to your family is not what you wished for, but Wonwoo brings a new, royal perspective that turns your world around.

Scrub, wipe, shine. The chant plays over in your head, a symphony to block out the call of your horrendous stepsister trotting down the staircase. She says your name with a shriek but you pay her no mind. More than likely she has another errand for you to do. One she will take pleasure in you finding uncomfortable, no doubt. The color of the suds and sloshing sounds of the water bring you comfort. You dip your rag in the bucket next to you and plop it on the tile floor. Taking pleasure in the most menial tasks makes life a lot more bearable.

Heejin calls your name again when she makes it to the last step, knowing well enough you can hear her when she’s standing over you. “Are you deaf? We need new clothes from the market!”

You look up to her, a confused but indifferent expression on your face. You don’t bother asking what the clothes are for, but you know she’ll tell you regardless.

“For the ball, you imbecile,” Heejin says.

Minha, the younger of the stepsisters, pipes up behind Heejin, her voice a squeak compared to her older counterpart. “It’s the prince’s coronation.”

You nod and continue scrubbing the tile. If the task at hand isn’t done before your stepmother gets home, she will have your head on one of the pikes lining the kingdom’s outer walls.

“Finish this and then head to the seamstress. The fabric must be on my bed by sundown, or Mother will not be pleased,” Heejin says, a warning interwoven with the smirk on her lips.

Heejin purposefully kicks your bucket of soapy water across the floor on her way to the sitting room. The liquid drenches your apron and face thoroughly. You wish you could sling an insult at her for her entitlement along with her lack of care for anyone’s wellbeing but her own. Minha’s face transforms into a small frown, her eyes expressing sympathy as she follows her sister’s trail.

Since your father took gravely ill five summers ago, you have yet to receive an ounce of kindness from your newfound family. “Family” is barely a word you’d use to describe the relationship between yourself and them, the wolves who invaded your home on the eve of your fourteenth birthday, just a year after your mother’s passing.

Minha is the kindest of them all for her inaction during your stepmother and Heejin’s abuse, but you wish you had a confidant somewhere in the world. 

You rifle with the letters you saved from your father and mother, the inscriptions inside of them the last memory you have of them both. Some written to each other, others simply their musings and thoughts you wish you would have discussed with them before they left this earth.

If only someone knew you truly, who cared to hear your words and valued their meaning. Who saw life as a gift rather than a tool used to induce a person’s misery. If dreams could become reality, you would not be alone another day.

Wonwoo mentally checked off the items in his head that the king and company expected to be done for the coronation ball. The town baker was provided with the list of desserts and bread necessary for the feast. The lute and harp players were given an excellent amount of coin for taking part with their instruments. Even the meat and dairy from the kingdom’s best butcher was safely stored in the horse-drawn carriage behind Wonwoo’s own stallion. The final task in need of completion was a trip to the seamstress. In the words of the king, “it’s not every day my boy finds a bride.”

On arrival, Wonwoo was enraptured with color. He absorbed the rolls of fabric and material encased on the shelves, the finest satin and puffiest tulle displayed for ladies and gentlemen to spare no expense on for the upcoming celebrations. He gave the specifications to the shopboy almost an hour ago, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind spending a bit longer outside of the castle walls.

The bell above the door pierces the air with its chime, and Wonwoo looks up to see the most encapsulating view in existence. Would someone disbelieve him if he said that view included a girl with cheeks caked in soot, her hair pulled back underneath a common scarf, and her clothes as drab as a servant girl’s? Probably. But the sunshine on your face and twinkling eyes suggests to him that he should continue looking for as long as he can.

The seamstress and owner of the shop comes from behind the store, a sketching pencil tucked atop her ear and a vibrant smile on her lips as she says your name, the letters together a lovely orchestra. “Here for the usual order?”

“No. Heejin needs something spectacular for the ball. Her words, not mine.” You raise your hands in mock surrender, and the seamstress laughs.

“I’ll see what I can do. Just wait a moment.” In a flash, the seamstress walks back to her private area of the shop, and Wonwoo is left alone again with you, the mysterious but mesmerizing girl. A maid perhaps, given the nature of your visit?

All he knows is that he must talk to you, whether you recognize him or not.

You lightly tap your hands against the wooden counter, waiting for Miss Jae to come back with a fabric to take home. Hopefully one that Heejin loves enough to keep. That way you don’t have to come back on foot a second time today.

“Blue is best.”

You turn with a gasp. The man attached to the voice is adorned in royal clothing, golden cufflinks and buttons matching the royal purple material of his clothes.

 “Sorry,” you stutter, hands suddenly clammy.

“Your color.” He slides over to a roll of sky blue satin, placing a patch of it over his arm. “It looks terrible on me, but on you, I believe you would outshine any commoner.” He lets out a breathless chuckle and intakes a deep gulp of air.

It has been so long since another person wanted to engage with you, especially someone as handsome as the person before you. He may be as nervous as you, given his awkward introduction, but you know your conversational skills are worse for what. You aren’t sure how to converse anymore about topics outside of dinner orders and cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, but I won’t be attending the upcoming festivities.” You try to hide the sadness that threatens to break free on your face, but you’re too late. The stranger sees it and responds in kind.

“Everyone is welcome to the coronation,” he assures you.

“I’m afraid ‘everyone’ does not involve me…Your—” You stop short, unsure of his title as you don’t know his name or his face from recent memory.

“Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo.” Wonwoo breaks into a smile. You’re unsure whether you like his laugh or his smile more, but both seem to make your cheeks heat up all the same. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, and you give yours back, curtsying in response.

You tell him your name as well, a blush on full display. “As I said, Wonwoo, I usually stay in. Not in my nature to court or be courted.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure your company is surely missed.” His hand is still caressing yours, thumb rubbing up and down your palm softly.

A shopboy suddenly comes into view. You both separate quickly, the intimate bubble bursting at the intrusion. The boy stuffs the garments in Wonwoo’s hands and bows swiftly before going back to his duties.

“You must be hard to miss as well, Wonwoo.”

“Well, you could say that.” You both hear a horse neigh outside the shop doors, and Wonwoo barely fights the urge to stay with you. “Until the next time.” He says his goodbye and your name with determination. If only you could assure him there will be a future where you cross paths again, but that hope may be squashed as quickly as it was born. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to hold onto it, though.

“Not terrible,” Heejin says when you come home, running her hand over the material Miss Jae gave to you. “If Mother needs more yards of it, you’ll have to go back immediately before they run out.”

“Of course, sister,” you say. You hate to use that word for someone as vile as Heejin, but Stepmother Jung enforced the rule as strictly as the list of chores you were to complete before the sun set every day. “We must always be a family in the eyes of society,” Stepmother Jung told you once after your father passed. “Even if you will never be a part of this one, you have to play your role.” If only that role extended to social gatherings.

Minha looks over Heejin’s shoulder and smiles. “It’s a beautiful pattern.”

“That’s why it’s for me. Mother will give you one of my old gowns to wear,” Heejin tuts and pats Minha under the chin with her free palm. You know Heejin spares her worst behavior for you, but in your eyes, Heejin doesn’t deserve the title of sister in any form. Just as your stepmother has no business being a mother to anyone.

“You’re dismissed,” Heejin says to you, the hand that was under Minha’s face used to wave you off.

“Sister, if I may.” She grimaces at you, but a curious spark remains in her eyes. You think back to Wonwoo, plucking up every ounce of your confidence. “I was wondering if you may consider letting me attend as well. Stepmother may not let me go of her own volition, but if you told her you approved then maybe-”

“And why would I do that,” Heejin says. She knows exactly what you want, and the only way for her to entertain the idea is if you grovel.

“Because I have never asked anything of you before.”

“As you should.” Your stepmother’s figure and shadow encompass the entirety of Heejin’s bedroom doorway. You immediately lower your head; it’s one of the humiliating rules you have to obey in the wake of becoming the family servant. You hear Heejin snicker, but it’s cut off immediately by Stepmother Jung clearing her throat. “Your purpose in this household is to do what is asked of you without complaint or question, not the other way around. Asking for anything else is an insult to me and my daughters.”

You feel tears prick the back of your throat, but you hold onto your resolve with a steadfast grip. “Stepmother, I am begging you—”

“I do not know what is worse, girls,” Stepmother Jung says, addressing Heejin and Minha, “hearing someone beg for something that will never come true or seeing someone forget their place in this world.”

Your bottom lip quivers without your approval. You can only hope none of the other people in the room are paying attention to your despair. Heartbreakingly, it appears they don’t.

“Now, Heejin, we need to measure you again for your dress. I swear you grow an inch every time you require a fitting, dear girl. Minha, I know exactly which of Heejin’s dresses will look perfect on you.” She motions for you to look her in the eye, and you force the tears to evaporate. “As for you, you have chickens to feed.”

“Seungcheol, I told you already, the conversation is over.”

“That’s Prince Seungcheol to you, kid.” Seungcheol juts Wonwoo in the arm. The practice swords whip through the air as the birds sing throughout the courtyard. “And who’s to say a royal summons would embarrass her? Everyone is to attend the ball. Maid, mare, or otherwise.”

“She seemed certain she was not supposed to be there. I don’t want her to feel forced to do anything.” Wonwoo huffs as he lands a blow on Seungcheol’s hip.

“What good is it to be royalty if I cannot help a dear friend and the future Hand of the King find love?”

Wonwoo and Seungcheol grew up together due to their fathers’ stations, one bearing the crown and the other gaining the responsibility of advising him. Although Wonwoo had no place without Seungcheol’s family, they had become close in their own right. Once Seungcheol ascended his throne, Wonwoo knew he was to be standing beside him with the title his father had worn for most of his life. 

With that in mind, it seemed both Wonwoo and Seungcheol were on respective quests to find a bride to continue the long-held, individual legacies they were born into.

“All you have to do is smile and dance with every eligible woman in the next three kingdoms while I hope my mystery girl decides to step out of the shadows, unprompted and entirely by her choice.” 

Seungcheol scoffs, sweat on his brow from trying to find an open spot on Wonwoo to exploit. “You place high priority on a stranger’s independence and choice-making.”

Wonwoo blushes. His thoughts go back to the fabrics, the jasmine smell in the air, you walking into his life and halting his day in the best way possible. He wishes he had said more, learnt more about you, held your hand longer before he was whisked away back to his priorities. Now he could only hope you would find your way back to him, whether by fate or of your own free will.

With his thoughts occupied, Seungcheol takes the opportunity to knock Wonwoo in the shoulder. Seungcheol smiles triumphantly, biting his lip. “Finally, for fuck’s sake.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You won’t beat me again, Choi.”

“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol jokes.

Wonwoo immediately thwacks Seungcheol’s sword out of his hand in response. The tip of Wonwoo’s meets the column of the prince’s throat, and he grins. “You should train more if you want to be half as good as me.”

Dust, sweep, clean. You repeat the list in your head with traces of melancholy in your heart. You weren’t expecting to be allowed to go to the ball without a fight, but Stepmother Jung was right. What was the point in fighting if you had no standing at all to barter with?

Minha calls your name, her appearance in the kitchen is like magic. You must’ve been too lost in your morose thoughts to notice her walk in. Or she seems to know how to sneak around the manor better than you do.

Her arms rest behind her back, concealing something. “I’m sorry,” she says immediately, surprising you.

“I cannot blame you for Heejin or your mother.” A part of you wishes you could be more cruel, but you’re certain you have little to no capacity to be, even to your worst enemy. “You have done nothing to require an apology.” 

“I have. You deserve to go to the ball as much as any of us do.” She looks over her shoulder for someone, or a lack thereof. Satisfied, she throws a lump of fabric on the kitchen island. You notice the bandages on Minha’s fingers with a quick glance before focusing on the dress. The turquoise material sparkles in the light of the stained glass windows. “So you will.”

“Minha, I can’t-” You feel the same tears coating the back of your throat again, grateful to her but incapable of accepting the gesture.

“You can. You were right when you said you’ve never asked for anything before. So don’t ask. Take the chance, and the dress, and go to the ball.”

With that, Minha disappears quietly from the room, leaving the decision in the air for you to either seize or surrender.

The main ballroom is filled with swathes of dancing couples alongside gossiping nobility and local townspeople. To a stranger walking in, it was a display of royal decadence, the party lit from within with the sounds of joyous laughter, heavenly harps, and gorgeous decor. To Wonwoo, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

 Seungcheol and his parents sit in their royal chairs, the gleaming gold of the upholstery almost too polished for Wonwoo’s eyes. The young men share knowing glances when someone particularly obnoxious makes an entrance or wishes to greet the royal family. Wonwoo wishes he could joke with his best friend openly about the noble women’s copious frills and curly mops, but now is not the time or place.

Wonwoo’s father leaves the king’s side to pat his son on the back. “You did well with your part in this, Woo. Maybe you’ll be rewarded with finding someone to wed as well. Wouldn’t that be luck smiling on us all,” he says with a loving grin.

“I doubt that someone will show up.” Wonwoo frowns.

“Have faith, my boy.”

Like luck was indeed shining on him, Wonwoo looks up and sees you at the top of the stairs, horns blazing to signify your arrival. Even in a mask, he can tell it’s you from the skipping of his heart. With your hair in a loose bun, tendrils framing your face with precision, you look nothing like the girl he met in the dress shop yet the exact same. He wonders how the color blue had the capacity to take his breath away. It doesn’t help how the dress’s bodice hugs you perfectly, the bottom of the gown a cloud that Wonwoo wishes he could rest his head upon forever.

You fidget with the tops of your gloves that brush the neckline of your dress, the sleeves dropping loosely on your shoulders. Wonwoo wants to rush up the stairs to assure you there is no need to be nervous.You’re the most beautiful woman in this kingdom, tonight and always.

When you reach the bottom, everyone is looking at you, the mysterious stranger that nobody can recall or pinpoint. You hear murmurs as you pass, some predicting you’re a long lost relative of the prince or whispering of you being a foreign beauty. You laugh to yourself at their capacity to chat and how far they are from the truth.

You catch Minha’s eye from her corner of the room, Heejin and your stepmother sneering at you. Minha smiles, a silent cheer in her expression, and you respond with a mirrored grin.

You make it to the center of the room, the pathway cleared for you thanks to the shock and awe of the crowd. To your content, Wonwoo meets you halfway. A hush falls over the spectators when he meets you on the dance-floor, but you don’t care about their perceptions.

Wonwoo says your name and bows. You curtsy in response. Despite feeling out of place for half of your life, it seems instinctual now to be in this room. Not with the strangers surrounding you, but definitely with him. “My prince.” 

A look of shock over Wonwoo’s face, and he immediately laughs. “No, I-I— I should have told you before. I’m not—“

You place a hand to your mouth, the realization a flood. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I didn’t tell you before, so I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“I did say I don’t attend many social gatherings.”

You both share a laugh, the confusion dissipating your embarrassment at your slipup. You notice a well-dressed young man that steals all the glances in the room away from you, the man you now know is the prince himself. He strides over to Minha, her expression a pale sheet. He takes her hand for the next song, which she gleefully accepts.

Wonwoo pulls your attention back to him with the taking of your hand in his. “May I ask you to dance?”

“I would be delighted.”

You sit on one of the many balconies in the royal castle, breathless. Your feet should hurt more than they do with the multitude of waltzes you danced with Wonwoo, but they don’t. You wouldn’t mind if every limb ached, though. With Wonwoo beside you, breathless as well from the night’s excursions, you feel light as air. Free from the obligations you never asked for.

If only you knew Wonwoo felt the same way. He could not remember the last time he smiled this much in one day. Seungcheol was his best friend, his father the biggest influence in his life, and yet both of them reminded him daily of what the future entailed. With you, he didn’t feel anything but ease. 

“What if they send a kingsguard looking for us?” Your mouth is upturned in a smile, but you know Wonwoo shouldn’t be gone too long from the events. He was of some royal standing, and he needed to be there, shaking hands and bowing to subjects.

Wonwoo furrows his brows, his smile mirroring yours. “Seungcheol is the one who needs the most protection tonight. And besides, it would take ten of the best men to pull me from this balcony.” He chuckles. “Right now, there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

You nod and sigh happily. Looking over the edge of the marble landing, you agree with him. The town square is visible from your vantage point, the torches and homes, big and small, specks of light celebrating the coronation. “It is a beautiful view.”

“Is it indeed,” Wonwoo says, his eyes pinned to you and the bare skin of your upper chest. Your skin looks lit from within, your entire being a star amongst a sea of darkness. It’s at this moment Wonwoo knows his father was right. Luck has given him the greatest gift and more, and he won’t let you get away again.

You turn your head. His words make your breath hitch, but you try to reserve yourself. You smile in response and take his hands in yours. Your bodies are closer than you initially realized, and the look in his eyes begs you to move further towards him. 

All your life, you have lived at the whims of others. As you see it, there’s nothing wrong with taking your power back. Choosing at this moment to throw other parts of your life out of focus. Wonwoo is all you want, so you take your chance.

His mouth softly collides with yours, his lips careful to press too hard onto yours. He presses one hand to your neck, deepening his kiss and igniting a fire inside your heart. Every insult or slight you’ve endured over the years seems to fade away in that instant. You’re grateful, even, if it meant it all led to the moment in front of you, a man who seems to share your feelings confirming so with a kiss you’ve never experienced before.

You break away from him, each others’ lips still centimeters away. Wonwoo inhales a shaky breath, eyes hazy with longing. The desire to kiss him again and hold him closer is strong, but timing proves the night can’t last forever.

Your stepmother’s carriage suddenly comes to the front of the palace, and you feel your stomach fall.

You quickly step back from Wonwoo and take a breath, nerves spiking and your heart telling you to defy your head at this moment. It would be so easy to stay here and not look back, but the fallout would be too incredible to bear. And you wouldn’t wish that on this beautiful man in front of you.

“I must go,” you say, a sob caught in your throat.

“Please don’t leave. It’s only midnight,” Wonwoo insists, squeezing your hand. In the same fashion as the day you first met, he’s rubbing circles into your palm, almost like an incantation. With his words and his touch, maybe he can convince you.

Unfortunately, your choices can’t be that easily swayed when so much is on the line.

“I told you before Wonwoo. My life isn’t filled with parties like this,” you reply, tone wavering, “or people like you.” You take his hand in both of yours and press a kiss to the knuckles. “But I’ll cherish this forever.”

Before the pleading look on his face breaks your resolve, you gather your skirts in your hand and run.

You run down the staircase Wonwoo brought you up only moments before.  He calls out your name,  but you refuse to look back now, knowing it will break you to look into his eyes and walk away again if need be. You feel yourself fading the further you run away from him and out of his life.

It’s true, you’ll never forget him or the way he’s made you feel. But it’s also true that it is terrible to forget one’s role in the world. How does one witness all the colors of the world and accept going back to living in black and white?

Little did you know the paper you carried in your skirt's pocket had fallen out on the way out of the palace. Wonwoo looks through the forest lining the castle and curses, you disappearing successfully in the darkness. 

Before he can walk back into the ballroom, he notices the aged paper on the brick steps of the stairs. He unfurls it and reads the handwritten text. He exhales with relief, feeling in his gut he has found the key to finding you again.

No matter where he has to look, whether it’s beside a babbling brook or the highest castle on the far side of the ocean, he promises himself the next time he sees you he will make sure you stay by his side forever.

You feel the sticks and twigs scrape your arms and legs as you run into the forest, the fabric of your dress in ribbons by the time you make it home. Thankfully, you don’t see the coach or footmen anywhere in the distance.

Once you’re inside, you discard the clothes and makeup into the cellar’s hearth. Each item burns slowly, reminding you with every new cinder of your harsh welcome back to the reality you’re familiar with.  The smock you quickly tied around your waist and the soot you smeared across your face to avoid suspicion. The calluses on your palms from the endless, menial work. Your pliable acceptance of cruelty.

It’s all you’ve known, but it feels foreign at the same time. You don’t want to go back to your routine now that you’ve had a taste of what life could be.

Your stepmother and stepsisters waltz into the foyer. Minha looks starry-eyed and love-swept, all of which relate back to her dallying with the prince.

“I can’t believe he danced with me but was looking at you the entire time,” Heejin sneers at Minha, removing her gloves with tense fingers.

You smile to yourself, happy Heejin was knocked down from her high horse and the tides turned in Minha’s favor.

“The good thing is that the prince showed one of you attention, my love.” Your stepmother splays her fur coat out on the loveseat, your cue to immediately scoop it up to carry to the coat closet.

“Tomorrow you need to clean inside the cupboards. I noticed they were a tad dusty,” Heejin says before you can walk out of the room. Your heart was heavy before, but now it’s numbed and frozen to the habitual torture.

"Of course, sister."

Wonwoo rubs his fingers over the page’s text as his father interrogates the young girl in front of them. Seungcheol sits back in his throne beside the king’s chair, curious if this is the girl his best friend whisked away four nights prior.

Wonwoo’s father plucks the writing from Wonwoo’s hand and gives it to the knight. The knight hands it to the girl, her face doe-eyed and timid. “Is this writing familiar to you in any way?”

She looks down to the floor and shakes her head. “No, Lord Hand.”

She didn’t look familiar at all to Wonwoo, just like the last dozen women who came before his father and the prince.

Seungcheol’s idea to find Wonwoo’s mystery girl by interrogating every noble and common girl in the kingdom sounded stupid the second Wonwoo heard it. But with the king’s approval and the hand’s enthusiasm to find his child a bride, the plan was enacted.

Now, in paper and practice, Wonwoo feels more defeated the longer they continue. The only thing that gives him solace is the paper he found, his only connection to you keeping him grounded.

The girl bows for Wonwoo and the royal figures in front of her before being escorted away from the great hall. Wonwoo’s father hands the paper back to his son and sighs.

“I feel we are much closer,” his father says to lighten the mood.

Wonwoo laughs sadly. “It seems you’re the only one who feels that way.”

Seungcheol stands from his chair and pats his friend on the back, his version of a hug. “Closer or further, we’ll do whatever we must,” Seungcheol says to Wonwoo’s father.

Wonwoo’s father exits, a handful of knights marching behind him.

Seungcheol puts a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He looks at his best friend with sincerity, a vulnerability he rarely shared with anyone. “You cannot lose hope now.”

Wonwoo nods. “That’s not what I’m afraid of losing. The longer this search continues, the more I feel our chance slipping away.”

Wonwoo traces the familiar pattern of the words with his thumb, the lost paper the one thing holding him steady.

You rifle through the documents you’ve held onto over the years, fear triggering the tremble in your hands. You had brought the dress home from the ball and immediately threw it in the fire. If you had accidentally discarded one of your father’s most precious letters along with the items you burned that night, you’d never forgive yourself.

You hear a horse-drawn carriage outside of the manor and the shrill wail of Heejin calling your name. It stamps down your anxiety enough for you to focus on following the sound.

Walking into the room, you see your stepmother lacing up Heejin’s corset while Heejin is putting a dab of rouge on both cheeks. “The royal carriages are outside!”

You gulp and nod at your sister, unsure what she wants from you.

She exhales with an angry breath and motions for you to go upstairs. “Get my shoes, you idiot!”

Minha stands at the top of the stairs and looks at you sadly. “I could’ve gotten them for you if you just asked, Hee.”

“Like you could do any better,” Heejin remarks. Her voice becomes airy when your stepmother reaches the final inch of tightening on Heejin’s corset. You run up the stairs to quickly follow your orders.

You squeeze Minha’s hand as you pass her to walk towards Heejin’s room. When you find the slippers and place them on your stepsister’s feet, someone knocks on the door forcefully.

Minha and Heejin stand in the center of the room as your stepmother walks up to the front door. You run back down to the cellar. 

Typically you would answer the door for company, but you knew your stepmother wouldn’t want the royalty welcomed by the unbecoming help.

Regardless, your heart thumps furiously at the sound of the stranger at the door delivering his greeting. And you can only wonder what will occur because of his presence.

Wonwoo waits in the carriage as the knight addresses the lady of the house. Wonwoo vaguely remembers his name and feels guilty for not keeping it to memory. Mingyu, was it not?

The lady of the house, her mouth a permanent grimace, nods and opens the door wide for the company to come inside. Wonwoo’s father steps out and Wonwoo follows behind him. Seungcheol exits his own carriage as well.

They all enter the manor, and Heejin can’t help her squeal at the prince’s presence in their home. Wonwoo stifles an eye-roll, keeping his mind focused on business.

As soon as Seungcheol locks eyes with Minha, he smiles. “My lady,” Seungcheol says, striding over to her to bend down and kiss her hand. Minha’s cheeks turn a deep scarlet, but she bows accordingly and smiles.

“‘My p-prince,” Minha stutters.

Heejin sneers at her younger sister, but the prince is too enamored with the young woman in front of him to pay any attention to her.

Wonwoo’s father coughs, redirecting everyone’s attention to him. “Madam Jung, our records indicate there are four residents in this manor. So, to be correct, outside of the three of you here now—”

Madam Jung giggles uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Lord Hand, I have not been to the registrar in some time. Those records must be outdated.”

“So, the third child referenced in these documents-”

 “Took ill some time ago. Again, an oversight caused by immense grief, I assure you.” The words leave her mouth instinctually. Wonwoo feels the confidence in her words and how false it is. From the conduct of her oldest daughter, he’s not surprised lies and negativity are commonplace in the household.

A rumble from the below startles both the women and Wonwoo’s father. The knights instinctively grab the hilts of their swords, but to no danger, a girl covered in ashes from the hearth saunters into the center of the foyer, tears streaming down her face and fists clenched.

In that second, Wonwoo feels he could cry as well.

He wants to run over to you and kiss the tears from your face, squeeze you tight, and get down on his knee in front of everyone in the room. The weight of the ring box in his pocket reminds him of what he has wanted to do since you left him alone that night. He inhales a deep breath, both elated and terrified at once, wondering what is going through your mind at the sight of him here.

I’ll never let you go again, he thinks with steadfast certainty.

Wonwoo comes back to reality when he realizes you’re stomping towards your stepmother. You have barely noticed anyone else’s presence in the room besides hers, and he’s sure you heard every word of her lies from the cellar. The pain on your face is a mixture of incredulity and anger. The emotions are knotted together in the expression on your dampened face.

“How dare you,” you whisper, lips quivering but voice solid as a stone.

“How dare I-” Your stepmother starts, but you raise a hand to her. She blanches. Surely she’s shocked to see this side of you rear its head.

“My whole life, the only act of kindness you’ve shown me is pretending I didn’t exist, in spite of my father’s love for both of us. And now, after everything, to wish me dead…” 

You muster what is left of your strength to continue. “I’m unsure what I did to deserve such hatred in this family, but all I’ve ever wanted was to belong. Was that worth me being punished for this long, mother?” The word tastes like venom on your tongue. It prickles the flesh on your arms to call her such a title, but spitting it back at her with vitriol makes a part of your anger subside.

“You w-will not speak to me like that in my own home, you l-little pest,” she stutters. To your satisfaction, her insults have no weight now.

“This house could be eaten by the hearth, for all it’s worth. It’s no home of mine anymore,” you say.

Done with her and your speech, you begin to walk away. You stop short at the audience in front of you, failing to recognize their presence before. You bow to the Hand and Prince Seungcheol, but you freeze instantly when you see Wonwoo barely ten feet away.

A burden lifts from your heart when your eyes meet. Suddenly, the two of you are in each others’ arms, the pain you felt prior a vague memory.

“I knew I would find you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He cups your cheeks with his hands, some of the soot scraping off onto his fingers.

You smile wide. What could you say to encompass the feeling of seeing him again? No words would do the sensations justice.

Wonwoo continues before you can respond. “Like the stars you look to above.”

Hearing your father’s words on his lips makes your heart swell. Of course he had the letter. It had to be fate. It was meant to be lost and then found by the man you fell in love with so easily.

“Follow your faith home, and you shall find my love,” you finish, biting your lip to hold yourself back from weeping more.

Unable to stop himself, he presses his lips to yours. He steals the smile on your mouth for himself, his mouth turns into a grin through the kiss. Even when you separate, your foreheads remain touching. 

You had been led to believe, through years of darkness and cruelty, dreams couldn’t come true. And now, with a full heart, you realize love can make every dream come true if you believe.

[isawritesshit]

The Color Blue - Chapter 2

image taken from @ lovevivianne on pinterest

Synopsis: As the only daughter to the leader of the Kamo Clan, you were trained and protected to one day bring your father honor through your marriage to the heir of the Gojo Clan. However, your husband ended up being something that your family never prepared you for. As you come to navigate a new world of politics between the clans, your husband convinces you that there is nothing wrong with honoring yourself too. MDNI WITH THIS CHAPTER.

Warnings and Content: fem! reader, slightly ooc! (?) gojo (i feel like i'm not writing him as well as i thought i was lol) , mostly fluff with a hint of angst, smut/male masturbation (gojo fantasizes about fucking the reader, body worshipping, marking, fingrering, fem receiving! oral, taking reader’s virginity in mating press, etc.), mentions/anxieties of marriage consummation, themes of arranged/forced marriage/familial expectations, cursing, themes of mentally abused/anxious reader

Author's Note: Chapter 2 woo woo! Had a lot of fun writing this one. Please keep in mind that there is smut in the chapter so minors dni! I will add that reader's father in this series, along with other family members, are not canon and are created for the purpose of the story, as well as the beliefs/dramatization of the Kamo clan. If you have yet to read the prologue or chapter one, please do so!

Word Count: 7.3k

___________________________________________________________

Satoru folded his arms as he stood before your father, waiting for him to say something. Instead, the man held Satoru's gaze while sitting on the foyer's couch, not breaking it even when one of the household staff set a cup of steaming tea on the table before him and left.

Arao Kamo was a gruff man, and stupidly proud. His clan was the largest of the three major jujustu clans. Where Satoru and now you were the only Gojo members, the Kamos had dozens interwoven into their bloodline, and Arao oversaw them all with an iron fist. Just as Yaga had said, this was a family rooted in deep tradition, and Arao upheld it just as the other Kamos had done for centuries. Though he was past his prime as a sorcerer, wrinkles dotting his once handsome face just like the gray in his hair, he was widely respected across the jujustu community.

Satoru couldn't give two shits.

"Where is my daughter?" your father asked lowly, clearly tired of waiting. Waiting for you, Satoru realized.

"She's sleeping. She had a pretty bad fever this week, so I'm making her prioritize her rest. I was just about to make her breakfast when you arrived, actually," Satoru replied with equal calm, cocking his head and giving him a smirk. "Though, I'm assuming you're not here for breakfast."

"I came to see (Y/N)," your father grumbled, now taking the tea into his hands. "I messaged her this morning notifying her I would be here, but it seems she didn't see it. That girl can be so insolent sometimes..."

That set Satoru off a bit. No wonder you were always so focused on pleasing him if you had to cater to this prick. "Well, forgive me, sir, but like I said, she's asleep, so she wouldn't have been able to read your texts. Maybe next time give her a further notice. And, contrary to your definitely valued opinion, I find your daughter quite charming and very polite. But hey, what do I know, she's only been living with me for a month and a half," Satoru shrugged, firing at him with his usual attitude. He was peeved to even refer to this man as his father-in-law, so he avoided the thought as much as he could.

Satoru almost snickered when he saw a vein fire off in the Kamo leader's head as he gripped the ceramic cup so hard it almost cracked. What was even more fun was knowing that the man couldn't even tell Satoru to watch his tone. They were equal in position, but Satoru greatly outweighed him in power, even if your father was a retired special-grade.

Your father only released a breath, trying to calm himself before saying, "Right. Well then, since she's preoccupied, I'm sure you wouldn't mind telling me that you both have consummated your marriage?"

Satoru tried and failed to hide the disgust on his face. Why would he need to know that? You being his daughter or no, he had no right to know what went on in your marital bed. Satoru decided in that moment that he wanted your father out of this house before he made him leave. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Don't know why that's any of your business, but of course we have," Satoru lied, though the smug grin on his face made it look like he was telling the truth.

"Well then, I congratulate you both," your father said, now standing. "I expect good news in the coming weeks. I suppose I'll be taking my leave now."

"Oh, please do," Satoru replied wittily, moving a little too quickly to open the front door for him. "I need to get back to breakfast before my poor dear wife starves."

Arao gave Satoru a sneer before walking out the door. "Oh, and the lawn care guy should be outside if you need help getting down the stairs!" Satoru shouted as he watch the man leave, closing the door and laughing to himself.

He stood at the door for a moment, sighing and running a hand through his hair, all while trying to ponder the reason why your father felt the need to show up in the first place. Suddenly, Satoru felt a little guilty for not trying to move up the marriage date himself, now getting a more vivid image of what you probably had to deal with.

Speaking of you, he needed to get back to cooking. He turned to walk back up the stairs, but you were already standing at the top, looking down at him. He smiled at the sight of you, your usual silk robe covering your nightgown as you folded your hands in front of you. It seemed like you had just washed up, too. Satoru jogged up the steps to greet you.

"Satoru-" you started, a small pout on your face.

"Don't worry, (Y/N), I took care of it," Satoru interrupted, putting his hands on your shoulders to usher you back to the kitchen. "By the way, your father is a lovely individual."

"I know it was him you were talking to. I just saw his texts and rushed down to greet him, but you got there before me," you explained. "I was listening to your conversation, but I should have showed my face. Forgive me?"

"That's perfectly okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to," Satoru reconciled. "To be honest, I was already ticked that he just invited himself over."

"Well, he is my father. He should be able to see me when he wants to," you replied. Satoru looked at you and furrowed his brow as the two of you walked through the doors and towards the kitchen.

"(Y/N), that shouldn't mean anything. You're his daughter, sure, but you're also an adult and someone that's capable of making their own decisions, so you have a right to refuse him, especially in the state that you're in. Not to mention, you should be in bed," Satoru argued. Did you really stop resting to go downstairs and see him? How much of a hold did this man still have on you?

"But as your wife and the matron of the house, I should be the first to greet guests-"

Satoru only snickered and shook his head. "(Y/N), just because that was something your father taught you doesn't mean you have to do that. You realize how ridiculous that statement sounds?"

He suddenly regretted his words when you gave him a worried look. "But, that's my responsibility-"

“But it doesn’t have to be!” Satoru interjected before you could say anymore. He sighed before continuing. “Look, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. What I mean is that… you’re recovering from an illness, and we both know you need rest. So, since something like this came up and because I’m the one taking care of you, I went to go answer the door because you’re still in bed. I was happy to do it, (Y/N)…”

After a few seconds, he added, “I understand what you think, and please don’t take this like I’m trying mansplain something to you or what not… but the whole husband-wife relationship dynamic that I think you have in mind… it’s not… healthy, so to speak. At least, I don’t think it is. You don't always have to break yourself down trying to handle so many things. The same goes for me too. So we help each other, right? You don’t even have to think of it in a married way either. Just see it like I’m doing you a favor, yeah?”

"Still... he won't be happy with me," you murmured as the two of you walked the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence. The ingredients still sat on the counter, the batter ready but unused. Satoru decided to get started on that right away while you watched from the entryway.

Your silence was indication of your contemplation, as if pondering his words against memories, pitting them against one another in your head.

"Satoru?"

"Mhm?"

"Why did you lie...?" The stove reached a crescendo of sizzles as Satoru poured the batter onto the pan, his back turned to you.

"Because he has no right knowing about private stuff like that," he replied, his shoulders moving slightly under his t-shirt as he fiddled the batter with the spatula. "And because I knew he would be furious with you. I knew he would find a way to blame it on you... as if it was your fault that I decided not to force myself on you because you were obviously nervous and scared and we had practically just met. I would never do something like that unless you wanted me to."

"But I do."

"Do you? Or do you want to because you know it's what your family expects of you?"

A beat. "I don't know."

Satoru moved the done pancakes onto a paper plate and poured more batter on the pan. "(Y/N), what do you want us to be?"

"You're my husband-"

"No, just... putting all that aside for a minute. Disregard what I want, what your family wants, what jujustu society wants... what do you want us to be, as two human beings?"

You didn't answer his question. In fact, you didn't say anything until he had used up all of the batter and made a semi-okay stack of blueberry pancakes for the both of you. Maybe you have never been asked something like this before. After all, your whole life you were told to be dedicated to your father and your family name, and then eventually to him. Your opinions thus didn't ever matter in any situation, so no one probably bothered asking. Did you even know then what it was like to want something? To want to have a goal or a sense of identity that was truly your own?

It wasn't until he opened the silverware drawer to grab forks that you spoke up.

"A friend. I want us to be friends."

Satoru smiled, shutting the drawer before handing you your plate. "You got it, pretty girl."

___________________________________________________________

"So what do you like to do for fun?" Satoru asked, observing you as he sat backwards on one of the many chairs of the library.

"Read," you replied, eyes still stationed on the book in front of you.

"Yeah. I gathered," Satoru grumbled. Whatever you were reading, you seemed really immersed, pages in your face and curled up all nice and comfy on the couch. He reached forward, barely able to put the tip of his finger on the top of the cover to pull it down a little and look at you. "What else?"

"Have we not had this discussion before?" You moved the book back up, a placid expression on your face.

"Yeah, but there's a difference between hobbies and things you do for fun..."

"Okay then. I do my hobbies for fun."

Satoru sighed. "So you're telling me you've never like... gone to the movies? An amusement park? Maybe a club or something?"

He barely saw you shake your head as you said, "Aside from going to see a movie once or twice, I've never done any of those. There are more ways to spend my time that do not involve spending money or wearing indecent clothing around indecent people."

Satoru chuckled at your response. You did seem like the type of person to frown upon things like parties and alcohol. "Hmph. Now that has me thinking... what is the most rebellious thing you've ever done as a teenager?"

You set your book down at his question, gently marking the page as you hummed. "I was able to procure a romance novel when I was 16..." you murmured.

Satoru only raised an eyebrow, shifting in his seat. "And? What did you do with it?"

"I read it of course," you replied matter-of-factly.

"That's... it? What, was it like hardcore porn or something?"

"Goodness no! It was... just a romance novel..." You picked up your book again, clearly flustered.

Satoru huffed a laugh, moving his chair around to sit on it normally to look at you as you read. "Well then, what was so bad about it?"

"Well, the fact that it was a romance novel," you shrugged.

That made Satoru pause for a moment, considering what your words were implying. "So... you weren't allowed to read romance novels? That seems kinda harsh... Is that why you read so much non-fiction type stuff?"

"To begin, I do read fiction, just not a lot of fiction prose. And secondly, yes, I was not allowed to," you explained. "My father believed reading stories of that nature would give me fanciful ideas to go out and try to experience romance and tamper my chastity before my marriage."

That stunned Satoru to silence for a moment. "Wow. Not gonna lie, your dad's a dick."

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him from over your book. "Satoru, that's rude."

"What? He's not in the room with us. And besides, it's not like you were shooting heroin up your arm and getting pregnant at 16 because you read a romance book," he argued, crossing his arms over his jacket. "What was it even about anyway?"

You sighed, setting down your book again. "I don't really remember. Something like... a girl running away from her kingdom to escape marriage, and she somehow ends up falling for the man she was supposed to marry anyway." You leaned back against the couch, setting your book on the table nearby. "I never read it again. I was too afraid someone would find it and tell my father."

"What was the book called?"

"I don't... I don't remember," you muttered, looking down in your lap.

"Did you like it?"

You only shook my head with a smile. "You ask a lot of questions, Satoru."

He only smirked and raised his arms up in a 'guilty as charged' motion. "Well, forgive me for just trying to know more about something that you obviously enjoyed. But seriously? Your dad wouldn't let you read something like that?"

"N-no..." Your eyes wandered before landing on the clock on the other side of the room, standing when you realized what time it was. "I should start on lunch-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Satoru ticked, standing up to stop you. "We're going out for lunch."

"We are?" you asked, looking up at him confused. "Did I forget?"

"Nope, I just decided," Satoru chirped, now putting a hand on the small of your back as he led you out of the library. "We're gonna go shopping, and then we're going out to lunch."

"But we have food here... and what do we need to shop for?" you inquired, a puzzled look on your face. "I had just run to the market this past weekend..."

"Well, dontcha think it's kinda odd that we're married yet we haven't really gone out to do something fun together? I think it'll be nice. And you can't shop for books and return with an empty stomach," he replied, patting his own stomach for emphasis. "You can get any romance book you desire, all on me. It doesn't even have to be a romance book, either! I can tell you've been reading those same poetry collections over and over so you must want some new ones..."

You not saying anything in response was a clear indicator of your hesitation, making Satoru look at you for a moment. You were biting the inside of your cheek, eyes trained down, second guessing. "Hey, if you don't want to, we won't go," he said, voice softening. "We can make lunch here and find something else to do later, if that's what you'd rather do..."

"I... I'm just..." you started.

"What's on your mind, pretty girl?"

You looked sheepishly off to the side, now stopping in the center of the private living room in both you and Satoru's shared part of the estate. "It's just... my father visited here less than a week ago trying to see me, and I didn't even greet him. And now... now what you're proposing is... something he most definitely wouldn't...uhm..."

Admittedly, the first thing Satoru felt was frustration. How much of your life did your father dictate before he married you? Too much, Satoru knew now. Too much to the point where you're thinking of his approval long after you were grown and married. Too much to the point where your father could have demanded an answer to the same question he asked Satoru a few days ago, and you would've answered him truthfully despite the fact that you knew you would suffer. What more could this man want from you besides your total devotion?

However, that frustration melted to empathy and heartache when looking at your face. Now, because of your consideration of rejecting his offer, you looked guilty. He felt the urge to reach out and hug you; to hold your head to his chest and tell you it was okay, and that he understood; to let you know that he didn't take any offense to what your concerns were or what you were feeling. After all...

He can't blame you for knowing any different.

"(Y/N), I understand that you may feel that way but... I'll tell you the same thing that I told you before: I'm not your father. I don't plan on being like him, either. You can do whatever you want when you're here. So, if you want to stay here and not go get anything, that's fine. But, I want you to know that I would be very happy to take you to go get a few books and some food, and I think you'll be too. It's your decision."

You swallowed, picking at the skin of your fingers, likely a nervous habit. Your eyes darted to a few different spots: the carpet, his socks, the wooden wall, the window. You tried to calm your breaths, your chest rising and falling, rising and falling...

"Maybe... maybe one new thing on my bookshelf... wouldn't hurt?"

___________________________________________________________

One new book turned into two, two into three, and three into ten. Of course, Satoru got a few for himself too. He wasn't a big reader, but he figured he'd try a few to keep him occupied when traveling.

Traveling was part of the reason he took you out today. You both already knew that he had been assigned an upcoming mission for a while now, one that was going to keep him away for about a week. He wanted to do something for you before he left, and he couldn't have thought of anything more perfect.

After your shopping, the two of you went to a little café tucked between the stores of a nearby shopping center. You both talked for roughly two hours, enjoying baked sandwiches and coffee and muffins. It was the first time he had ever seen you talk so openly with him, like he was having a conversation with any of his other friends or colleagues. But it was so... different at the same time? You had this grace to the way you spoke, which he had already noticed, but what was new was your cute mannerisms: the way your eyes looked upward when you tried to think of something, or the way you smiled nervously when you suddenly forgot what the two of you had been talking about...

And if that wasn't icing on the cake, there was what he was now referring to in his head as The Miracle. A little blonde girl, no more than five, had been running around the café with her other sister, friend, whoever, for most of the time the two of you had been there. However, amidst trying to run away from the other girl she was playing with, the little blonde had run into the chair you were sitting in, causing her to fall over. Satoru choked on a laugh while you just bent over in your seat to help the girl up.

However, when you helped the girl to her feet, a hand on her little wrist, the kid just stared at you, starstruck. When you asked if she was alright, the girl only answered with a dazed, You look like a princess.

And what he witnessed was the best part of his day. You laughed. Loudly. Eyes crinkled as your cheeks expanded from a wide smile. You thanked the little girl, told her she looked like one too, before the kid ran back over to her parents.

He had laughed too, of course. Usually kids give him weird stares, but seeing it happen to someone else was funny for a change. Satoru couldn't have agreed more with the kid, though. You did look like a princess, even if you were wearing just a typical floral dress, and he had the fight the urge to rub it in the kid's face. She's my princess that I get to see everyday because she's my wife, so eat it.

That laugh was a broken record in his head the entire drive home, replaying over and over. It was so... unlike you, in a sense. You were so timid, yet your laugh had come out loud and roaring up from the pit of your stomach like a long awaited eruption. What he wouldn't give to hear that again...

And that's what led him to your bedroom. The two of you just got back 30 minutes ago and he was craving your presence again already. He stood in your already open doorway, leaning against it with his sunglasses slung low on his nose as he watched you put your new books on your bookshelf. You even rearranged some of the ones already on there to make a different section for your three new romance novels.

You seemed content, fulfilled. Satoru considered that a mission accomplished.

He spoke up when you were done. "Tired of me yet, or do you want to find something else to do?"

You turned to face him from where you were sitting on the floor before standing and straightening out the skirt of your dress. There was something... extremely attractive about your modesty, your adorable and considerate manners. He knew they must have been drilled into you since childhood, but the way you did it- the little bounce when you stood, the slight shift of your weight from one foot to another, your wide eyes looking at him- that was all you. He loved it.

"Uhm... if you don't mind me asking, Satoru..." you began, one of your hands picking at your fingers- a nervous habit, he now knew. "Why did we go out today... or why did you take me out? I don't think I did anything to... necessarily deserve this-"

"Let me stop you right there," he interrupted, a small chuckle as he took his glasses off and placed them on the collar of his button-up shirt. "You don't need to do anything to deserve something like this. I just wanted to hang out, have fun, take your mind off of things that might be worrying you. After all, you're the one that said you wanted to be friends, am I right?"

"Yes, but... I didn't know that that would entail shopping sprees..." you replied, a mix of bashfulness and thankfulness crossing your features.

"Well, it does when you're friends with me. And don't forget, my money's all yours anyway, so really then you don't even need me to take you out to splurge. If you end up hating me enough, you could buy your own house on the other side of the world and never see my face again," he shrugged, smirking a little.

That smirk grew when your face changed from bashful to worried. "Why would I do that? And... and how do I have access to any of that?" you exclaimed.

Satoru stepped off the doorway, making his way over to you. "Well, you're legally my wife, so my money is also yours. And as for hating me, while I will do everything in my power from getting you to do so, I know I can be a lot for people to try and handle. So if you end up disliking me, that's totally understandable."

You only looked up at him anxiously. "I think it would be rather crude of me to dislike you after everything you've done for me..."

"I guess you're right, but you're still allowed to from time to time. I'd rather you express yourself than cover it up," Satoru replied with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "So then, based off of that logic, how do you feel about your father?"

You opened your mouth, but then shut it, looking away. "I can understand why you feel loyalty to him and your family, but from what I can gather, he treated you terribly. And while I don't clearly know everything, I can tell. Really, I can. Were you happy to let him... indoctrinate you like that?" he asked, eyes soothing into something more comforting.

"I..." you started, as if trying to find the words. Then your breaths rose and fell slightly faster, your bottom lip began quivering. Satoru's eyebrows raised as he took note of what was going to happen-

His arms shot forward to steady you as your body seemed to cave in a little, a small no cracking from your throat before the tears started. His heart broke to pieces.

"Hey, hey, hey... shh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that without warning you..." he whispered, ushering you to sit on the bed while he stood in front of you. "Hey, talk to me. You can talk to me..." Satoru raised his hands, one placing itself on your shoulder, the other wiping the tears that trickled down your face.

Through your sobs and shaky breaths you were able to get out, "Scared... I was always... so scared and frightened by... by the thought of what... w-what he would do... if... if I... but I had no choice-"

"Yeah... and you shouldn't have to feel that way around your own father. What he was teaching you, and how he treated you, was wrong," he consoled, brushing more tears and stray strands of hair away from your face. Snot began to drip from your nose. "Shit, uh... here."

You grimaced as he held up his forearm for you to blow into his sleeve. You just pouted and shook your head.

Satoru chuckled lowly. "C'mon, it's fine. I can take it off and wash it later. Unless, you want me to take it off now?" he added with a wink and wiggled eyebrows shot in your direction.

That only caused your face to redden a little, giving him a sniffle as you moved you head forward and used his shirt as a tissue. "Don't be afraid to blow. I got another sleeve too," he quipped, smiling weakly when you eventually did as he adjusted more of your hair behind your ear.

"(Y/N)..." Satoru moved to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to make you tell me everything about yourself. What you want to share is up to you. But, I'll promise that you'll never have to be afraid of me... okay?"

You nodded once, your breaths staggering as you forced yourself to get calm.

"And... can you look at me please?" he whispered, gently cupping one side of your face to turn your attention to him. "You can come to me for anything. Even when I'm not here, you have my number."

You only sighed. "I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? For what?" Satoru retracted his hand from your face.

"For... for that. For feeling like you... for having to... coddle me like this," you muttered. "It's... deeply unfair to you..."

"It's really not..." he tittered. For a moment, he considered telling you just how much he had been wanting, waiting for a moment like this so he could show how much he cared for you. He wanted to tell you that he would rip his whole shirt to scraps for you to blow your nose in to prove it. "Emotions... aren't meant to be something transactional between people. Trust me, I know. If you want me to go to you for something, I gladly will, but right now it's not about me..."

"Are you sure?" you voice cracked, brows furrowing.

"Sure that's it not about me? Well, perhaps not everything can be. But I guess it's okay to give away my spotlight once in a while," he sighed with his usual sarcasm, causing you to giggle a little.

"I meant... are you sure that... that you'd be okay if I... talked to you about... anything?" you questioned again, trying to find your words.

"Absolutely, 's what I'm here for," Satoru assured. "And each time I'll remind you that you're a wonderful, talented, kind, and good-looking individual," he added, giving a little boop on the tip of your nose before continuing with a flare in his voice. "And that-" that I love you "-that, well, I think everything is going to turn out just fine. After all, I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I can handle anything you throw at me."

You smiled softly, looking down in your lap, your eyes caught between melancholy and meditative. "I suppose you're right about that..."

"Oh, I know, pretty girl. A little therapy session is nothing compared to a special grade curse," he sniggered. "But that doesn't mean I take it more lightly."

You only hummed in response. Satoru just continued to look at you as you stared forward into the carpet, probably thinking about something to say. Even after you had just finished crying, you looked so lovely. Hell, he could never catch you at a time when you weren't that. Or maybe he just saw you that way no matter what.

When you looked back to him, he prepared himself to listen. Instead, all you said was, "Have you packed a bag for your mission?"

He just laughed. "Yeah, I should probably get on that..."

"I'll... probably just get ready for bed early, then," you stammered. "And... uhm..." You turned to him, breathing in as you brought an arm close to his side, making a motion as if you were going to wrap it around him, before ultimately deciding to rest it on his elbow. "Thank you..."

Satoru gave you a knowing smile. He could tell what you were about to do, but chose to not say anything about it. What was important was that he at least noticed. "Anytime..." With that, he opted to leave you alone while he returned to his room.

He could see you were trying. He knew you were, and he knew it was hard. Your whole life, you had been terrified of messing anything up. Hearing you say that set off something deep in him.

As he packed, he realized he had been stupid, so idiotically fucking stupid. He had the power this whole time, for years, to take you to be with him earlier, yet he never acted on it. And those years that he had figured it was best to keep his distance from out of fear of what you would think of him were years you had spent in literal fear of your father and family. Even if he technically would have had to strike an agreement with your father for an earlier marriage date and there was no guarantee that he would agree to it, he could have at least tried.

Someday, Satoru knew he would have to apologize for it.

___________________________________________________________

Satoru got up to leave at 4:00am for his morning flight to Osaka. Once his bags were securely in the trunk, he got in the backseat as his driver took off.

He immediately noticed the container already in the middle seat, a sticky-note on it with your perfect cursive written in blue pen:

Couldn't fall asleep last night, so I made these for you.

- (Y/N)

Satoru grinned, lifting off the cover to be greeted by the smell of fresh, mouthwatering butter cookies. As expected, they tasted just as good too.

He took out his phone, taking a quick selfie with one of the cookies in his mouth, and sending it you with his thanks.

For good measure, he also sent you Suguru's number, saying that if your father came back or if you needed anything that he couldn't get there right away for, you could call Suguru and he would be able to stop over. You texted him back in the middle of his flight, glad that he liked the cookies and letting him know you would call Suguru if the need arises.

A few hours later, you sent him a picture of yourself smiling in the garden, hand marking a page in one of your new romance novels as you sat on your usual bench between the cherry trees.

Satoru made it his lockscreen in a heartbeat.

___________________________________________________________

This mission was by far the hardest he had ever had, and not because of the curses themselves.

Normally, Satoru would repeat the same thing throughout a mission week: wake up, go investigate the site of a supposed curse, find it easily, beat it with no sweat, spend the rest of his day sightseeing and buying food to splurge on back at his hotel suite, and then pass out.

However, this was the first mission he had ever spent away from you, which made the seven days ahead feel like a year. As much as he wanted to to finish all the curses off and go home, he knew that he had to take it easy and let his cursed energy replenish each day for a possible worst case scenario. Not to mention, the longer he was out, the more he was likely to get paid extra if it made it seem like he was actually trying.

Needless to say, Satoru did text you a few times throughout the day to check on you, seeing what you were up to and how you were entertaining yourself. You both would occasionally send photos back and forth. Satoru would send you a selfie of himself with a thumbs up and a defeated curse, and you would reply with whatever you were doing at the moment.

Because of your photo exchanges, he now had a small album in his phone titled Wifey (^ω^). His favorite so far was actually a video you sent of yourself playing the grand piano in one of the few estate galleries. He would play it over and over before bed, not to listen to the Debussy piece (thought you did a marvelous job playing it), but to watch you as your fingers floated across the keys with a pleasant, satisfied smile on your face.

He was imagining that face now as he was laying in bed, waiting for exhaustion to overtake him. He wished he could reach into his phone screen, brush the curve of your lips with his fingertips, trace along your eyelashes with his thumbs, and place kiss after kiss on your forehead until he got that smile of yours to come out.

Better yet, Satoru wished you were right here next to him.

He wished he could pull you close to him. He already knew your body would fit perfectly against his. Your head would rest against the crook of his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He wouldn't leave any inch of your face untouched by kisses, especially those delicate lips, the same lips he had to try his best not to stare at when you spoke, but would catch sneaky glimpses of...

They always looked so soft, and he knew they would feel that way against his own. He thought about what it would be like to kiss you for the first time, how shy and nervous you would be, but that is what would make it so much more enjoyable. He would guide you through it, one hand tangled gently in your hair while the other squeezed your waist closer to him.

And the two of you would lay there, the only sounds being the ones you exchanged between one another and the slight rustling of the sheets. Maybe if he got far enough, he would test the waters a little, barely teasing your lips with his tongue as his hands would start roaming against the silky fabric of that lavender nightgown he thought and a little too often, and then-

Satoru groaned, now staring up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face once, twice. He tried to think of anyone or anything else...

Nope. His cock was still hard in his boxers.

"Fuck," he seethed, pulling down his waistband. He was painfully hard. And all because he thought about kissing you-

He immediately drew his hands away, letting the waistband go with a snap. No, he shouldn't. He shouldn't. Even if you were married to him, he told you he would be your friend. Nothing more, nothing less... unless you wanted to.

And frankly, Satoru couldn't even tell if you wanted him, not that he would demand or expect you to, of course. He never wanted to come off as the guy that felt they deserved your affections just because he was nice to you. He just... wanted to express his love and attraction as platonically as possible.

Even if that meant going through the rest of your lives remaining this way: living in the same house, sharing the same income, spoiling one another, going to each other for anything and everything and providing a shoulder to cry on...

God, the lines felt blurry, even if they were straightforward: married by status, friends by relationship. He'll keep it that way, and he'd never beat his dick to any of his friends.

Granted... he's never been attracted to any of his friends the way he's been attracted to you. He's never been attracted to anyone the way he's attracted to you.

To him, you were so much more than a body, a hookup for whenever he wanted to get laid and that he could discard when he was finished. He didn't want a friends-with-benefits situation either. He wanted all of you.

Satoru turned over with a sigh, burying his face in the pillow as he cursed himself and his stupidly horny brain, which was something he usually didn't mind. But when it's now starting to think about you in this context...

The reason it probably felt so wrong was because you were so innocent. Hell, you blushed and shied away from the prospect of him with just his shirt off. And he understood what the jujustu community expected, what you expected: for the two of you to produce an heir. But he couldn't care less. To hell with the Gojo bloodline if it meant he was going to have to defile you to appease someone else.

But then again, there's no saying that you didn't want him either...

Fuck. And it's not like he couldn't see the effect he had on you. The way you would smile and flush nervously whenever he teased you, whenever he called you pretty girl. He loved calling you that, almost as much as he liked calling you by your name. (Y/N).

"Fuck... (Y/N)." Satoru turned over and reached his hand into his boxers. He was caving, but just for tonight. Just for tonight, to get the edge off.

He raised his hand briefly to spit in it before bringing his hand back down and hissing at the amount of pre that was already leaking. With a shaky groan, he wrapped his palm around the tip and dragged down slowly.

What if this was your hand instead of his. You would be so shy, at least, maybe at first, before you got comfortable. He would coax you through it, telling you how good you were doing and praising you from how good your perfect hands felt. He'd show you everything. Where he was sensitive, what movements and actions felt the best...

Oh, but what about you.

If you were any other girl, he would have taken your outfits as you trying to entice him with your gorgeous curves. He would've fell for it, dragged you to his room, and ripped those cute dresses and tights to shreds in order to admire those curves properly before he fucked your brains out.

But he could never do that to you, not unless that's what you wanted. He was prepared to do anything for you, of course, but with what he felt for you, what he yearned to do was to make love to you.

He wanted to make love to you gently, slowly, show you exactly what he was feeling in the most physical way possible. He needed to protect you, make sure nothing would ever hurt you or cause you any discomfort.

He would get all that tempting skin of yours on display for him and put his lips all over it, worshipping you, listening to all those cute noises you would make. He'd run his tongue over your breasts, sucking on them and marking them as his own, before moving down and down-

His hands would push your succulent thighs up to your chest to give him a full view of your sweet cunt, just before he ate you like the tasty little dessert you were. He'd prep you with his mouth and fingers, make you cream a few times to get you all pliant for him-

And that's when he would descend on you, working you through the pain with sensual words and even more sensual touches. He'd get you to take as much as you could, as much as you wanted, because he would be all yours. You would finally belong to each other.

He would be assured of that with each moan and whimper he drew from your throat as he worked you to orgasm, crying out his name over and over- Satoru, Satoru, Satoru- until...

Satoru spilled his cum into his hand with a low mewl of your name. His breaths slowed, one after the other, as the haze of his orgasm, the hardest orgasm he'd had in a while, faded to a quiet thrum in his veins.

He shouldn't have done that. If you had found out about this, he knew you'd probably be disgusted with him.

Or just maybe... maybe you'd feel the same. Somehow.

Satoru was hard again.

___________________________________________________________

tags: @leonora13x @cole-silas @feeiry @mysuperrainbow @tw0fvced @emptybrain01 @xixiwang @drilled-brain @lvieee @xxkoyukixx @we-loveebony @sereniteav @ilovecoyotepeterson10 @baby--vera @jebemticeluporodicu @louannfox

[gyuwoncheol]

Vantage Point | Meet the Characters & Series Masterlist

Status: Begins tomorrow (January 20)!

Pair: Mingyu × f.reader

Summary: Pulling off the "No Strings Attached" arrangement with his best-friend-turned-best-friend-with-benefits was easy, but when a new condition is added onto the mix, Mingyu didn't realise just how much he held onto you when you finally let go.

Genre: College au. BFFs to FWB trope. Fluff, Humor, Angst, Smut [chapters with smut will be indicated and will contain the necessary warnings]

Author’s Note: Please take time to read this before starting the series ☺️

Hello, my darlings! Finally getting round to posting this after missing the commited date last time due to covid. But welcome!!! 🥳 This is the first story to my Snap Shoot universe! Before you get into it, let me just point a few things. This is the first time I'm ever creating a universe with interwoven stories, and while I've done SMAUs before, this is the first one I've done for SVT and the first time I'm also this adventurous about it. It's definitely very different from what I post on here but I'm having lots of fun putting it together. I know it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, this is very much a work of fiction. This is an AU. While Korea may be the assumed setting for this series, it is not explicitly defined. I'm also trying to avoid using lots of Korean cultural references (maybe except for food) such as use of honorifics like "hyung". While many of my other works refrain from over-describing oc's physical features, you may find that in this series (and universe), oc's features will inevitably be defined. You'll find that the visuals of the characters and the aesthetic of the photos/social media posts will be Korean/ Asian. It's a SMAU, so i'll have to place photos and these photos must maintain consistent. I absolutely do not mean any ill intention of being non-inclusive (I don't even fit the same aesthetic as oc).

Again, it's a work of fiction, while I want you to relate to oc, kindly also allow me breathing space to build the character. If you feel uncomfortable at any point in the series, you are very much welcome to stop/unfollow. As mentioned, this is a SMAU, but it contains several chapters which are purely written narrations. All edits (texts, social media posts, etc.) were done by me, however some photos (esp those of Y/N) are from the web, if they are yours, please let me know so that I may credit you or remove the photo. The texts are all done on light mode. Deal with it. This follows a FWB trope, expect lots of smut and suggestive content— specific smut warnings will be available in chapters where they are present, along with other necessary warnings. This series will have lots of fluff and lots of crackhead nonsense humor. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Biggest shoutout to my dearest friend @wongyuseokie who has been nothing but supportive through all of this and through all my dramatic Mingy-induced meltdowns. I love you more than you’ll ever know ♥️

Meet the Characters

Mingyu: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography, yn/Camie's best friend since childhood

Yn: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography with Mingyu, Mingyu's best friend since childhood. Nicknamed "Camie" by her group of friends for her highly concerning camera collection/obsession.

Seokmin: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography, same friend group as mingyu and yn, Mingyu & Wonwoo's housemate

Soonyoung: technically a year older than the 3, but currently a Sophomore with Gyu, Cam and Seokmin after shifting into their major

Wonwoo: Junior, studying Film & Photography as well, Mingyu's guy best friend and housemate in The Man Cave, a brotherly figure to OC, Soonyoung's former classmate in highschool

The Man Cave: shared house near their university where Mingyu, Wonwoo and Seokmin live, and Soonyoung often crashes.

✨Other characters/members will come as the series progresses.

Series Masterlist

To be populated as each chapter is posted. There is no posting schedule. Chapters will just get uploaded as they come.

Teaser

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five 🔞

Chapter Six 🔞

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Tag List!

@strawberryya @idyllic-ghost @septemberskies @ladyblablabla

If you want to be tagged as each chapter comes out, do send me an ask or reply to this post so I could include you in the tag list 😊

[paradiseprincesss]

Masterlist — *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Fluff ☼ Smut ☆ Angst ☽

Jonathan Crane

☼ espresso

☼ imperfect for you

☆ experience

☆ mind games [DARK/NON-CON]

☼ intro (end of the world)

☆☼ tattooed heart

☆☼ moonlight

☆ the boy is mine

☆ all your fears are interwoven [DARK/NON-CON]

☆☼ please please please

☆☼ forever boy

☆greedy

☆☼ grave

☆☽ one last time

☆☼ i want you

☆ dangerous woman

☆☼ forever, not maybe

☆ to be eaten alive

Jackson Rippner

☆ diet mountain dew

☆ human [DARK]

☆☼ i would die for you

☆ i should've fucked your brother (jackson & jonathan x reader)

☆☼ sin city

Cillian Murphy

☆☼☽ fantasize

Neil Lewis

☽ he couldn't stay

Robert Fischer

❀☼ million dollar man

❀☼ pov

☼❀☽ do you get deja vu?

Jim (TDS)

☼ CPR

❀☼ perfect for you

Emmett

❀☼ if there's a heaven, i'm near it

Tom (The Party)

❀ guess

[lumosatnight]

23 Fic Recs 2023!

This year has definitely been a year. I've devoured so many wonderful fics by so many amazing authors. Thank you @hprecfest for the super fun rec categories and for some fic inspiration! Here are 23 fics that I read and loved in 2023 (although some are quite a few years older) ordered by ship.

🌼 - fluff | 💔 - angst | 🔥 - smut

—

💫 DRARRY 💫

1. A post-canon fic

The Discreet Gentleman's Connection by pluto (gayrights420) [Drarry, E, 80.4k] 🌼🔥 I had the absolute pleasure of beta-ing for this fic, so when I say it is amazing, it truly is just that. Fast burn on the smut via Floo sex, slow burn on the in-person falling in love. Satisfying in all the best possible ways.

2. A fic that made me laugh

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish [Drarry, M, 4.3k] 🌼📲 Draco on a reddit forum is hilarious just on its own, but the banter and formatting really bring this fic to life. Amazingly creative, had me in stitches!

3. A comfort fic

The Eighth Tale by @letteredlettered [Drarry, E, 12.0k] 💔⏳ An oldie but a goodie. I constantly find myself coming back to this fic and having my mind blown every single time. Time travel timey-wimey angst.

4. A fic with art

Dating Draco - A Visual Game by @itsphantasmagoria [Drarry, M, Video Game] 🌼🎮 This is a fic in video game form!! Amazing art and lovely story where YOU get to make the choices for Drarry's happily ever after.

5. A favorite series

The Journal of Dreadful Things by @lilbeanz [Drarry, G, 112k, WIP] 🌼📖 Hilarious, witty, AND COMES WITH ART!! Lilbeanz draws and writes a wonderfully delightful series starting from Draco's First Year. His characterization had me in hysterics. Book 4 is starting soon!

—

💫 COMMON SHIPS 💫

6. Fic with the hottest smut

Moonstruck by @prettyremus [Wolfstar, E, 3.8k] 🔥🐺 Found this gem while scrolling through the werewolf smut tag (don't judge me). I love the switch in dynamic with Sirius taming Remus's wolf through, ahem, rough sex.

7. An unreliable narrator fic

Sea of White by @dividawrites [Harrymort, E, 8.6k] 🔥🤍 Deliciously hot, creepy, and strangely sweet. Love their dynamic here, the unrestrained lust. Harrymort "die" and lose their memories, so, of course, then they bang.

8. A fic that made me cry

Far Apart, Far Away by @unmistakablyoatmeal [Hinny, minor Drarry, T, 1.6k] 💔💍 Infidelity angst has never been this good. I love the layers of emotion in this fic. Quick punchy sections that really pulled me in.

9. A Muggle(?) AU fic

Pleasant Hope by @ac1d6urn, @sinick [Snarry, E, 41.6k] 💔⛪️ Pastor Severus!! The angst, pining, and self-discovery in this fic is superb! I love the interwoven magic and detailed world-building of this little town.

—

💫 RARE PAIRS 💫

10. A fav amongst faves

The Last Trial of Peter Pettigrew by @sleepstxtic [Prongstail, M, 20.8k] 💔 🐀 Holy moly, this fic!!!! Is this my new favorite fic?? Possibly. The concept is brilliant, so creative and nuanced. The Peter character study using outsider perspectives is genius. Seamlessly balances canon and new scenes.

11. A pre-canon fic

Careless by @tax-onomic [Luther, E, 1.5k] 🔥🪞 Lucius/Arthur my beloved rare pair!! I am captain of the Luther ship, and Tax's fic hits all the right spots. The pining, the sniping, the prickly personalities with emotional vulnerability underneath! And all in the middle of a hot smut scene. Perfect.

12. A canon-compliant fic

Scottish by thepadfoots [Chedric, G, 749] 💔🌟 Lovely Cho character study focused around her Asian identity and the boy she loved.

13. A fic rated G (more like T though)

Lion-Hearted Girl by MinnieQuill (odainath) [Minmione, G, 4.5k] 💔🦁 I know the large age gap might scare some, but their relationship feels very organic in this fic. The setting is grim, but there is always hope in the darkness!

14. A fic rated T

You're So Vane by @patriceavril [Romelina, T, 6.8k] 🌼💄Romilda is so delightfully characterized, I was smiling through the entire fic. Angelina is the perfect foil (and love interest) to Romilda's attentions.

15. A rare pair fic (less than 2000 fics on AO3)

Snakeskin by @cntrl15 [Bellastoria, E, 3.7k] 🔥👠 Talk about a rare pair! Astoria/Bellatrix only has 2 tagged fics on AO3: this fic and the drabble I wrote based on it. But read this fic, and you'll see why I felt the need to write more in this universe.

16. A fest fic

Master of None by @nanneramma [Snormac, G, 5.5k] 🌼🧘 Severus is so wonderfully cranky, and Cormac is fine AF. The surprise pairing of 2023 that I never knew I needed and now I'm obsessed with!

17. An under-rated fic

Sun, Shadow, Shade by @naomijameston [Snuna, G, 700] 🌼☀️ Post-war fluff. Sunshine Luna is the perfect match for sullen Snape. A short and sweet fic for this underrated ship.

18. A canon-divergent fic

but somebody's gotta do it by nocturn [Pangulus, T, 920] 😄🧟‍♂️ This fic will make you say WTF but also huh, okay that totally works. The concept is WILD but Lyra executes it wonderfully. Pansy drags Regulus out of the inferi lake and they flirt a little while he gets de-corpsified lol.

—

💫 POLY SHIPS 💫

19. A dark fic

In his embrace by @loneamaryllis [Snarrymort, het!Snarry, E, 48k] ⚡️👀 Dark and dirty but so so good. A Voldemort Wins AU where fem!Harry is taken as prisoner. Snape's mindset as he tries to save her (and is forced to rape her) is so twisted and mesmerizing. Mind the tags!

20. A thought-provoking fic

Icarus by @thistlecatfics [Millvansy, M, 20.0k] 💔🍾 War trauma, addiction, codependency! This fic is messy with emotions but has a strong, beating heart underneath. I am in love with Parvati as she deals with Pansy's addiction and Millicent's denial — three beautiful, imperfect girls.

21. A holiday fic

A Time, Dark and Divine by @moonflower-rose [Dronarry, E, 17.0k] 🔥⛱ HOLY FREAKING FUCK!! The sexual tension in this fic is off the freaking charts. Drarry seducing Ron while on vacation in Portugal. Sign me the fuck up!

—

💫 GEN 💫

22. A favorite fic under 5k

The Scrunchie by @saintsenara [Lightning Era Girls, G, 4.5k] 💖👭 Such a lovely look into some of the female background characters, all following the path of a single scrunchie. Lisa, Padma, Parvati, Hannah, Sally-Anne.

23. A fic with an ending I can't stop thinking about

Through the Middlegame by @sandervansunshine [Astoria & Peter, T, 6.6k] 💔♜ Devastating, heart-wrenching, tragic. 10000% would recommend. Kylee has already heard me screaming in the servers about this fic. If I could get a fic tattooed straight onto my brain, this would be it.

—

💫 BONUS RECS! 💫

A podfic

Plenitude by @wilfriede, written by eldritcher [Amelmione, M, 14 min] 💔🥀 Amazing voices, amazing music, amazing ambience. Wilfriede really brings one of my fav Hermione/Amelia Bones fics to life in this podfic!

A comic

War Prize by @mrviran [Snegulus, Reggiemort, M, Comic, WIP] ☠️🐍 The panels are awe-inspiring. I am HOOKED on this comic. The murder and the TENSION. Ughhhhh so good. I am so invested in Severus's arc!!

A self-rec (completely self-indulgent)

For I Have Found Salvation by @lumosatnight [Snarry, E, 7.1k] 🔥✝ My first time writing Snarry! Priest Kink, church sex, and blasphemous religious imagery. Priest Severus is oh-so-tempted by Teen Harry. So fun to write and even more fun to go back and read as a guilty pleasure.

—

⚡️ Want more fics to read? ⚡️

Try my rec tag: #lumosinthelibrary

Year in Reading, b-day oneshots, WLW Library

[akutasoda]

hello, aventurine with a teen!reader who has a similar past like his?

for the 1k followers event

preserving youth

synopsis - when he meets someone who has been through his struggles

includes - aventurine

warnings - gn!teen!reader, fluff, slight angst, spoilers for aventurines backstory?, all that kind of stuff, wc - 541

aventurine knew first hand how cruel and unforgiving the galaxy could be. each and every planet or ship had the potential to house a disgusting secret that normally became interwoven with other places that did the same. it was in no way pleasant or excusable but they didn't care, at the end of the day it wasn't their livelihoods being played with like some cheap kid's toy - eventually thrown away when they became bored.

aventurine aimed to travel the path of preservation to protect his people, but sometimes a small part of him also wanted to protect those that went through the same horrors he did. that seemed like a harder goal as it could be happening all over the galaxy but sometimes he wished he could help those within range, or within his knowledge.

it was no surprise that the IPC liked to pry on the weak and vulnerable, they were a respected entity and who would dare refuse them? unfortunately that's how you ended up roped into their scams, they pried on your vulnerability and before you knew it you were being forced to work under their ranks. that being said, not every IPC worker had come from unfortunate backgrounds or had been constantly passed around to the highest bidder but that's what made you stick out to aventurine.

during his youth, he had been treated as a lowly, worthless being whose value could only come from the people that payed for him. he knew the kind of people they were and more specifically the types of people that were in his position. it was only a passing glance really, you hurried past him with a stack of papers in hand but he couldn't help but spot a small mark peeking out from behind your clothes - one that he desperately wished didn't mean what hr thought it menat. it would be the second time he saw you that he realised two things: one, that mark meant what he thought it did and two, you were too young for this.

he could take a quick assumption that you were probably the age when he was being passed around and yet you had landed here - already probably experiencing what he had been through. it didn't sit right with him that it was obvious that the IPC used your unfortunate position to rope you into a life's work with them and so he'd decide to use it against them. he travelled the path of preservation and he would try anything to help preserve what little of your youth remained - something that wasn't done for him.

akutasoda's 1k event

[starvine]

☾ ⋆* kiss it better

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya reader

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: all you wanted to do was serve your people. however, when you get injured, your mission is cut short. neteyam insists upon patching you up and decides to explain his concerns for your well-being and future together.

warnings: battle stuff, guns, blood, battle injuries, medical jargon, stitches, minor swearing (?), allusions to mating/sex ig, aged-up neteyam

word count: 7.9k

notes: IT’S HERE! i’m very excited to have started writing again, and although i’m very casual about when i write, i hope to be somewhat consistent lol. enjoy this for now, i have more planned for the future! i hope you all enjoy, pls reblog/comment/etc if you feel so inclined <33

The air was tense today, thick with disciplined focus as you keep your ears alert for any incoming airships. Reeking of smoke and burning metal, a scent that is foreign and unpleasant to your nose, you remain aware of everything and anything. Gray clouds billowing and a pungent smell that cling to the back of your throat like a hand with a vice grip—nothing was natural. 

Tilting your forehead forward, you hope your visor, decorated with teeth and interwoven pieces, will shield your eyes from the wind. You hold your bow tightly, the wood smooth against your fingers as you use your other hand to guide your ikran swiftly through the air. 

“Calm, calm,” you soothe her, tapping your fingers along her strong neck. 

You’re anxious today. Not because of the imminent arrival of the Sky People, their ships ready to fire metal bullets at you at any second; you’ve dealt with that many times before. No, the reason you’re nervous is because of Neteyam. 

Today is Neteyam’s first day participating in the raid—well, his first raid on the ground with his father’s permission—rather than being a part of the aerial surveillance team. You tried to insist that you should accompany him, but, due to his wishes, you remained in the air beside his mother. 

 “Do you see anything yet?” Neytiri’s voice asks over the intercom. 

Bringing your fingers to your throat to press the responding button, you reply, “Nothing yet.” 

“I’m going to fly down to help gather some of the gear. You stay here,” she orders, raising her bow to signal that she and her ikran were descending. 

“Let us know if you spot any bogeys. We’ve got some heavy-duty gear and need as much time as possible,” Jake informs you over the intercom. 

“Roger that, sir,” you say, steering your ikran closer to where the enemy would most likely be approaching. 

Ears twitching back and forth, you attempt to pick up the whir of an aircraft amongst the orders commanded, the creaks and minor explosions occurring from the Meg-Lev train your people have intercepted, and the wind blowing past you. You hope that maybe you could track a scent, sniffing the air a couple of times to no avail. It’s all smoke and metal. The skies were calm, except for your ikran’s screeching, however, they couldn’t be for long. There was no way those demons would allow your people to escape that easily. 

“Hey,” Neteyam breathes over the intercom, a slight huff of your name. You could hear the smile on his face. “How’re things looking up there?” 

“What happened to using my code name?” you question, peering over your ikran in an attempt to find him along the ground. “I’ll tell you if I see anything. I know how to do my job, you know.” 

“Just double checking,” 

You scoff, guiding your ikran to the right. “Maybe you should focus on gathering all of the gear instead,” 

“Oh, really? Maybe you should-”

Suddenly, your ears flex forward, focused on the faint whirring of something mechanical and man-made; something that was not naturally occurring within your world. 

“Airships spotted! Everyone, move!” you shout over the intercom. You yelp out into the open air, pumping your bow in tandem with the three shouts you release to alert your fellow brothers and sisters in battle. 

Just as people begin clambering for their ikrans and direhorses, the two Scorpions start firing. The relentless pop of military guns fills your ears, causing your tail to swish frantically and your ears to perk forward. 

Using a high pitch, you signal for your ikran to dive, swooping up and under the two fighter pilots. 

“Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! I want minimal casualties today,” Jake commands over the intercom, the background full of shouts and grunts. 

“Jake, I’ve got to take out these two airships. They’re already taking down ikrans,” you spoke, peering up at the airships as you stealthily soar below. 

Just then, Neteyam responds. 

“No! Listen to my father, do not engage. I can lead the people to safety,” 

“There won’t be any people to lead if I don’t take these airships down.” 

Neteyam groans your name in warning, the sound of shouts heard from all around. “Would you listen for once?” 

Jake barks your name, frustrated and frantic. “Get out of there! Get back to the High Camp!” he orders. You begin mapping out the plan of your attack. “That is a direct order!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you respond, ignoring all that comes after. 

Your ikran shoots straight up into the air, coming close to the tail-end of the Scorpion gunship. You arch over the top of the gunship, upside down and looping over to the front side. The sun high in the sky and its beams creating a glare on the glass makes it difficult for you to spot the pilot. Upon finding his location, you draw the string of your bow taught, ready to fire. 

“Incoming! Enemy on-”

You shriek upon release. The arrow flies straight through the glass, nailing your target right in the chest. 

The gunship begins to tilt forward, preparing for its decline. As a hunter and warrior, it was your duty to pay respects to the creatures you killed in order to sustain the way of life. Kneeling over them, declaring your thanks, and wishing for their safe return to rest amongst the Great Mother was a sacred practice. However, as the gunship crashed and blew up in flames, hot and angry, you felt no thanks or remorse. They did not deserve to rest peacefully, and they didn’t even deserve to die on the Great Mother’s sacred soil. Their spirits deserved to walk alone, isolated and cold from the warm glow of the afterlife. 

“You skxawng! What the hell are you doing?” Neteyam screams. 

Looking around, you see the green back of his ikran, its rider perched on top with no visible concerns except for the fury etched on his face. 

“I got this! It’s just one more,” you insist, positioning an arrow on your bow, eyeing the last gunship. 

“May the Great Mother help you when I knock-” and with that, he’s easily ignored. 

The wind whips past you, high and soft, almost like a whisper from Eywa that she too felt the tensions of battle. You would do anything to soothe her pain. She could not endure the suffering of this war much longer. 

Tightening your grip on your ikran, her blues providing a stark contrast to the grayness of the military equipment, you attack from the rear yet again. Guns firing, you duck, placing yourself as flat as you can get against her back. However, once you approach the opening of the ship, where all of the massive guns were placed, you sit up, firing quickly. 

The scream and weak grunt you heard confirms that it was a successful hit. Loading your bow with another arrow, you soar underneath the aircraft, looping around until you have the high ground. Securing your aim, your fingers release the string until the arrow flies straight into one of the Scorpion's propellers. A small explosion soon turned into a large one, the ship dipping to its left and falling from its dominant space in the sky to the dirt. 

However, so were you.

You must’ve underestimated how close you were to the ship, your eagerness to protect your people and the Great Mother clouded your judgment. 

The sound and burst of light, as well as the force, must’ve spooked your companion as she, too, seemed to have lost her place in the sky. She tumbles towards the ground, shrieks and roars released into the open air. Jaw clenched, you tried to convince her to gain control to no avail. 

“Come on!” you shout, knuckles turning a pale blue with the tight grip you had. 

As you neared the ground, panic began to set in. Your ears lay flat against your head in an attempt to not become overwhelmed by the wind, you tried to think quickly. 

You could stay with your ikran, but you would both get injured; you could also disconnect from her and leap from the group, in hopes of only injuring yourself. 

Deciding on the latter, you had one plea for the Great Mother: 

“Please don’t let Neteyam kill me.” 

Disconnecting your kuru, you leap the rest of the way to the ground, the shock of the force of your fall causing you to fall instead of landing perfectly on your feet. The ship crashes a couple of yards in front of you, the force of the blast propelling you forward. 

Rolling and skidding along the dirt, pieces of gravel and discarded glass and metal tear at your skin. Red begins to bubble up along the surface, the violent opposite of your blue skin. 

Tumbling down a hill, you lose your grip on your bow, the wood being left behind in your trail. The burning sensation of your flesh being scraped away keeps you alert, blindly clutching at anything to break your fall. 

Eventually, you slow to a stop, landing on your stomach with a mouthful of dirt. Spitting and coughing up the soil, you take a minute to catch your breath. With a slight raise of your head, you look at the ship as the flames crackle and cause a film of sweat to break out on your skin. That hunk of metal was truly ugly against the backdrop of the forest. 

You begin to slowly sit up, a sharp pain coming from your side. A cut, not deep enough to need stitches, slowly oozes blood down your left rib, crimson staining the skin. It looks swollen, screaming to be disinfected immediately. Reaching behind you to check for any more severe wounds, you arch away from your nimble fingers just upon a light graze. The heat from the explosion must’ve irritated the skin, causing soreness and slight bubbling in some places. 

Minor scrapes along your knees and elbows from what you could see and feel, makes you thank Eywa for her protection and the benign wounds. Stumbling onto your feet, you catch sight of something unnatural. 

A small piece of metal protrudes from the side of your thigh, embedded into the flesh. Staring at the shrapnel, you’re reminded that your world doesn’t just belong to you anymore. Even if the Sky People were to disappear and return back to their planet, the scientists would remain here. Their clunky gear and massive structures would continue to reside amongst the nature of Pandora. 

Something about that notion makes your heart sink. 

You lightly touch the silvery metal, trying to gauge how deep the foreign object must be. It felt stiff and unwilling to relent to your touch, confirming that it was not something you could brush off. Taking a step forward, a broad, aching pain festers throughout your leg. It hurt less if you put less pressure on the limb, however, that would be hard to do on your journey back to the High Camp. 

Picking up your bow from the ground, arrows broken and scattered around, you slowly mount your ikran, muttering expletives to yourself at the pain that dwelled throughout your entire body. 

Neteyam was surely going to kill you. 

Upon your arrival, after an arduous flight back home, you slowly slid off your companion onto the uneven rock. Blood oozed out from around the metal, the object having dug deeper into the surface the more you moved. With one hand clutching your rib and another trying to steady the object, you hoped to stumble into a healing area before you were noticed by a Sully. 

Turns out, you’re not as stealthy as you thought. 

“She’s back! She’s back!” a high-pitched cheer sounded, a small girl bouncing towards you. Tuk’s big grin slowly faded into a look of concern and worry as she sized up your injuries. “Mom! Kiri! She’s hurt!” 

The younger girl prances over to you, lifting your arms and examining your body from front to back. You feel the small girl brush against your tail, which was agitatedly flicking back and forth. 

With a sigh of your name, you see Tuk’s mother and elder sister approach you, war paint still decorating Neytiri’s face in vibrant greens and yellows. She gasps upon spotting the dirt, blood, and bruising that has blossomed across your skin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as her eyes fill with worry. 

“We must get her to grandmother,” Kiri announces to her mother, clutching your upper arm as softly as she could without hurting you. 

“There’s no need. I can do it myself,” you try to assure her, taking a fumbling limp forward. 

“There is a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.” 

You glance down, almost as if you hadn’t noticed it at all before. It was a futile attempt, especially as you used your fingers to brace the object, preventing it from moving too much. “There is?” 

“Damn, bro!” Lo’ak exclaims, waltzing up beside you and trying his best to not laugh at your given failure. “Looks like someone got their ass handed to them by some Sky People,” 

Hissing at him, you weakly push at his chest to show him that you weren’t interested in his jokes right now. 

“Lo’ak!” his mother scolds, hitting him upside the head. 

“What?! What I’d do?!” 

Then, the two people you desperately wanted to avoid came into view: Neteyam and his father. Jake had a stern, militant look on his face—a facade that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Neteyam’s face was set into a deep frown, a look that was a delicate cross between his mother’s and father’s disappointed faces. 

“Well, would you look at the time? Looks like I better start tending to-” you attempt to walk away, only to be kept in place by Neytiri’s firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not like you’d be able to escape them as quickly or swiftly as you would typically be able to. You–apparently–had a piece of metal sticking out of your leg. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Jake scolds still dressed head to toe in his fusion of Omaticaya and Sky military gear. “Disobeying direct orders? That isn’t something I expected from you.” 

Casting your eyes downwards, you hope your flat ears and limp tail would get you out of this scolding quicker than it would’ve if he was scolding Neteyam or Lo’ak. Typically, avoiding his gaze would show that you felt regret—which, in this case, you didn’t really—and he’d let you move on. However, it’s hard to keep your eyes fixed on the ground when someone gets into your line of view. 

Neteyam crouches down, face coming into view as if he’s trying to catch your fake performance. Instead, he places two hands, worn and calloused from all of the years of fighting and defending his people, onto your cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he can view you from his natural height, allowing him to view each scrape and bruise in proper lighting. His lips twitch into a grimace, thumbs grazing over a small cut that must be on your cheek because, although there’s a faint sting, there’s no leaking blood. 

Now, everyone knew about you and Neteyam. It’s not like it was kept a secret. Wherever you went, he followed; whatever he was doing, you were right there beside him. In the years to come, you would become his mate and that was an unspoken decision between you and him. Well, there was also an unspoken rule between Neteyam and the rest of the boys his age to not even glance at you, or else he’d have their tails. However, no matter how much people smiled softly whenever you’d exchange fond glances or spare looks when you two ran off alone, it wasn’t like you publicly displayed much physical affection. Nonetheless in front of his parents. 

He unloops your visor from behind your ears, handing it to his brother without his gaze leaving your face. As soon as his hands leave you, they return just as quickly. His fingers smooth over your face, confirming that you’re breathing and here in front of him—something he’s very grateful for. Your stupidity—not so much. 

“You’re such a skxawng,” he chides, tilting your face towards his. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s not like I’m the one who took down—not one—but two whole- ow!” you yelp, stumbling forward towards the young man. 

Tuk looks at you guiltily, one finger outstretched as if she was prodding at something. 

Kiri steps forward, pushing Tuktirey out of the way in order to re-examine your back. 

“We should take her to grandmother,” she insists, “now.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to continue with your act of not being nearly as injured as you appear, but the longer you stand, the more it becomes not true. As the adrenaline wears off, the soreness and incessant throbbing grow throughout your muscles and bones. Your rib and leg are still oozing blood, warm and tacky against your skin. Neteyam loops an arm around you, careful to avoid the blisters and welts that decorate various places on your back. 

His free hand reaches for the hand that hangs limply over his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and giving them a light squeeze. “It’ll all be okay,” 

“Yeah, I know. Just ‘cause I’m walking a bit funny doesn’t mean I’m dying,” 

You could say that then, but you sure as hell can’t say that now. 

If there was one thing about Mo’at, it was that she couldn’t care less if her remedies stung like a bitch as long as they cured you thoroughly. So now, as she smears a paste along your back—the sensation as bitter and frigid as the Northernmost part of any mountain—that bites at your skin, you kind of wish you were dead. Or at least knocked out. 

This isn’t even the worst of it. 

Once the stinging fades more into a relaxing cool, Mo’at instructs you to lean backward so she can assess your torso. The older woman crouches next to you, hands hovering over the wound as if Eywa was sending her a direct message on the best way to heal you. Neteyam sits on the other side of you, clutching your hand with a grip that seems more like it’s to reassure him than you, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face. 

Neytiri stays close to her mother, observing or advising what she believes to be the next course of action—just as a tsakarem should do. Kiri stays by your feet, grinding and mashing up various plants and syrups that could be used to aid with disinfecting your wounds. Lo’ak and his father stay near the door, ready to leave if someone else should need assistance with anything to do with the war effort. However, as everyone stays well within their place, performing their necessary task, Tuk couldn’t seem to sit still. 

“Is she going to need stitches?” Tuk asks, peering over her eldest brother. 

Neteyam removes his hand from your hair, slightly readjusting the younger’s weight so she doesn’t put too much pressure on him, in turn, putting pressure on you. 

The Tsahìk doesn’t look up from your wound, eyes brightening as if Eywa had finally delivered her guidance to the woman. “No, she will just need to rest. I would advise very minimal movement for at least seven days,” the woman says, being handed a bowl of yellowish sap. 

“Seven days? But I need to be out there, it’s my duty to fight,” you plead, growing restless and inching upwards. 

Neteyam pushes you back down, delicate but firm fingers pressing against your sternum. “Down,” he murmurs. 

“It is not my fault you did not listen to orders,” the older woman retorts, using a brush-like leaf to observe the consistency of the paste before lowering it toward your injury. 

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault that I just happened to save- oh, Great Mother! Holy sh-” you yelp upon Mo’at contact. 

Neteyam presses a hand over your mouth, sending you a stern glare. “Not in front of the Tsahìk,” he hushes, palm warm against your lips. 

You groan against his hand, face twisting and back arching in pain. Unlike the gel thinly spread across your back, there was no relief from this paste. Mo’at continued to slather it all across your skin, insisting that the more you move, the more it will hurt. You squeeze Neteyam’s hand, feeling the bones shift with how strong your grip is. If you’re hurting him, you can’t tell. The look of pain on his face seems to be linked to his feelings about your injuries, your pain. Always the doting lover. 

Once Mo’at wraps the injury, using both Na’vi and human medical wraps, she places a palm over the injury, thanking the Great Mother. Then, she looks at your leg. 

Your leg was held down by Kiri throughout the excursion, as she didn’t want the shrapnel to lodge itself deeper into the skin and muscle. At the base of your leg, a piece of twine is firmly wrapped around the skin to lightly restrict blood flow. The skin was not pinched, nor did you lose feeling in your leg as you would’ve if the twine was used as a makeshift tourniquet, however, your thigh still resisted against the band. 

You haven’t cried yet, however, just with her eyes boring into your leg you feel as if you’re about to sob. 

“Please don’t take it out. I don’t- I don’t want to have to do this anymore,” you begin to blubber, looking at Neteyam as you try to sit up. 

“Shh, shh,” he placates, stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

“I’ve been hurting this whole time,” you groan, “what the hell have you been-”

Then, the last two people you want to see walk into the room: Norm and Max. 

“I grabbed them as soon as I heard,” says Spider, following close behind. 

“No. No, no, no. Get the hell away from me,” you say, instantly shooting up and trying your best to scoot away, even as Kiri still holds down your leg. 

Neteyam says your name so sweetly, so full of fondness that a chill is sent up your spine—a chill that isn’t caused by the cooling medicine or a shock of pain. “He’s here to help.”

“I don’t want him here,” you spit, speaking Na’vi to the boy sitting beside you. 

“We have no choice,” he reasons, his voice dropping an octave. “They will be much quicker with their equipment than with ours. I promise that my grandmother will heal and treat you, but we need their help to make sure that there’s no extra damage that is beyond what the eye can see.” 

You shake your head, refusing to listen to him and averting your gaze. 

His lithe fingers reach for your chin, turning you back towards him. There he goes again; always making you feel like the blushing fool, especially in front of his family. 

“I will not let them hurt you.” 

What a fucking liar. 

Taking a team of three women plus Norm to hold your leg down, Max begins to lower his tweezers toward the piece of metal. With the first tug, you begin screaming. The pressure and the resistance between Max’s tweezers and the artificial shard against your tender skin and muscle caused your free leg to kick, hands tightening at your sides and clinging onto Neteyam. The fact that your whole body was tense, each muscle spasming, probably didn’t help what was already a difficult procedure. 

“Damn, she’s strong,” Norm comments, adding more pressure in an attempt to hold your leg down. “Spider, help us out.” 

You continue to sob, reaching for Neteyam to claw at his shoulder. If you’re hurting him or breaking skin, he doesn’t tell you. Instead, he cradles you as you cry against his leg. Ripping your hand from his, you squeeze his leg, nose pressed against his thigh to hide your face. There’s no guarantee that half of the clan hasn’t heard you by now, nor that a few people have poked their heads in to see who the hell was screaming so damn loud. You were well known. There’s no way anybody wouldn’t recognize that it was you who was being surgically tortured. However, if you could save some dignity by hiding yourself against Neteyam, you would do just that. 

“I’m never letting them near my body again,” you weep, gripping tight to the blue skin beneath you. 

Neteyam rakes his fingers through your hair, hands petting any inch of skin that has brought you comfort over the years. He knows you like the back of his hands. Playing with your hair puts you to sleep, rubbing his thumb across your cheek makes you keen, following the slope of your nose makes you smile, and touching your ear makes you quiet. Using this knowledge, Neteyam’s hands roam to any expanse of skin that he can reach. He must look mad, with busy fingers and frantic eyes, but he can’t help himself. His chest hurts when he sees you like this, and if he needs to kill someone to make you feel better, he’d gladly do that. 

“It’s almost out. We’re almost done,” he assures you in a soft tone, getting close to your ear. 

Your ears, which have been laying flat and folding over periodically finally perk up and away from your skull—a sense of relief. It’s quick-lived before they fall back against your hair, but he sees it as a small win. 

“Can you dress it for me?” you plea, voice breaking painfully. 

Who is he to deny you? 

“All done!” Max cheers, placing the flat piece of shrapnel into an emesis basin.

The clang of the metal against metal causes you to abruptly sit up. Neteyam’s hand is on your shoulder, but for the first time, it’s not to push you back down. He lets you take your time viewing the sizable gash in your leg, an injury that without a doubt needs extra aid. You whimper at the sight, not necessarily at the pain, but because you knew what this means: you would be under strict supervision at the battle scene. You couldn’t be trusted to be alone, especially as you were a great friend of the Sully’s and Neteyam’s prospective mate. 

Falling back into Neteyam, the cries you let out are softer but still cause your body to shake. Neteyam rubs his cheek against yours when you hide your face in his neck, tears causing the blue skin to become slick and tacky. He readjusts your top which has moved around during all of your painful squirming, protecting your modesty. The beads land softly against your shoulder, arms holding you snuggly against him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, giving him a view of the ear that is decorated with various pieces of Omaticaya jewelry. An orange bead, delicately dangling from your lobe, was a gift from him. 

“It makes me feel wiser during battle,” you told him once before sending an arrow straight through the eye of a fish that swam around in the pond. 

He touches it lightly, reminding you that everything is alright. 

“No! She’s going to need stitches!” Tuk whimpers, a frown deeply set on her face. Even through your crying, Neteyam catches the faintest hint of a smile. 

Mo’at begins to drip water over the wound, clearing away any blood that may have leaked down your leg despite the twine restricting your blood flow. 

It’s silent besides Max, Norm, and Jake’s mumbling outside of the tent as Mo’at preps a needle and thread. Kiri, Neytiri, and Spider have since released your leg, observing you and the Tsahìk. Just as Mo’at blesses the needle and thread, Neteyam speaks up. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Mo’at looks at her grandson, her gaze strong but understanding. The white bone needle stays pinched between her two fingers, amber eyes unwavering. 

“Neteyam, let your grandmother-“ 

“I said I’ll do it.” he hushes, lip curling in order to hide a scowl. 

His mother looks at her own, a non-verbal communication occurring between their stares. Eventually, Neytiri acquiesces, standing up and taking a step away from you. 

Mo’at hands him the needle, placing a worn but beautiful hand on your leg. 

“Return here tomorrow so I can check on the wound,” she orders. You nod, eyes still teary before the older woman stands with her daughter, ready to move on to the other warriors who need their assistance. 

Once his mother and grandmother leave, Neteyam grows restless. 

“Everyone out, please.” 

Kiri scoffs at him, still seated by your feet. “You can‘t be serious,” 

“Out! Get out!” he hisses, fangs bared at his sister and the human boy beside her. “You have done nothing!” 

“I wouldn’t call holding down her leg for nothing. I’ll have bruises for the next week,” Spider dismisses, standing up with Lo’ak, who is already headed towards the exit. 

“Out!” he shouts one final time, his siblings leaving as his tail flicks back and forth with irritation. 

It isn’t until they’re gone, that Neteyam leaves your right side, scrambling and pouncing over you in order to come in contact with your left leg. 

The tent is silent as he begins his work. The process doesn’t hurt much, a gentle prick or pinch here and there; you’re not sure whether it’s because your nerves are shot and can’t detect pain anymore or because Neteyam is good at his work. It could be both. Before you know it, the wound is closed and a row of sutures stares back at you in a familiar Na’vi sewing pattern. The skin is even, nothing too uncomfortable, and although there’s bruising, it appears to be that everything will be okay. 

You reach out to touch the stitches with a shaky hand, only to be slapped away. “Uh uh, don’t touch,” he tuts, eyes focused and mouth slightly ajar in concentration. 

He grabs under your knee, bending it at the joint in order to prop it up so he can place a bandage over the sutures. 

“To protect them,” he informs you, wrapping the gauze around your thigh.

He’s very quiet throughout, a reaction you were not expecting. Neteyam has always been logical, methodical; he never steps out of line or does something rash unless it’s for the means of protecting those he loves. Always quick to action, he’s usually the first to help and the first to reprimand someone (usually Lo’ak) for their stupidity. That would be the typical reaction. However, now he looked almost forlorn. 

Once he’s done, he fully stands for the first time since you entered the tent. He begins to rummage through his grandmother’s remedies that sit in wooden jars and crystal vials, concoctions she’s mastered after years and years of being the Tsahìk. After selecting a small wooden bowl filled with clear oil, he grabs another bowl of water and a rag and sits down in front of you. Dabbing the rag in the bowl of water, he lifts the dripping cloth toward your face. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looks at you, eyes narrowing briefly before they return to their normal, large position. 

“Your face is filthy.” 

He gently holds your chin, tilting it up towards him so he can begin wiping your face. His hold is steady but his eyes look nerved, almost as if he has too much on his mind to bear. His breathing matches yours, and he dodges your gaze although his entire being crowds your line of sight. There’s no way for him to avoid you, really. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he dips the rag and wrings out all of the water, approaching your face yet again. 

“Nothing is wrong,” he replies curtly, his ears twitching quickly before returning to their previous state—a telltale sign that he’s lying. 

“Oh, so you’re just going to pretend like I know nothing about you now?” you try to joke, smile falling when you notice how he doesn’t reciprocate your humor. “Talk to me,” you urge, grabbing his wrist so he can’t try to distract you or himself by caring for your wounds. 

He sighs, looking away before he slowly looks back at you. Holding your gaze, eyes squinting and lips pursing slightly. Neteyam looks at you like you’re supposed to understand him–and you do–but it’s as if he’s expecting you to know what’s bothering him. However, the problem is that you don’t. Once he comes to that realization, he sighs, still looking into your eyes. 

“I’m upset with you.” 

And there it is. Your tail swishes uneasily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he can’t bring himself to quell his emotions for your sake. He almost lost you. 

“Why are you upset with me?” 

He shrugs, almost as if he’s embarrassed or too shy to explain his feelings. Being the eldest son and the next heir, Neteyam often felt as if he had to hide his own inhibitions or concerns in order to be a good son, a good brother, a good leader. When it was just the two of you, you would often have to do a little extra prying in order to get him to reveal what was truly occupying that pretty little head of his. Even once he admitted it, it was even harder to get him to elaborate. 

“Just drop it. You should be healing,” he dismisses, trying to distract himself by wiping your face again. 

Pushing his wrist away with your fingers, you take the cloth and throw it into the bowl of water. Holding his hands on your lap, his tail swishing timidly behind him, you make him look at you by following his gaze. “I can talk and heal. The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” 

“I wish they were,” he mutters, a braid swinging in front of his face. 

“Hey,” you tuck the strand behind his ear. He leans towards your touch, almost as if he craves it, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. “This isn’t how this works. You need to talk to me.” 

“You’ve already been in enough pain today. I don’t want to cause anymore,” 

“Quit the bullshit. I’m better now. I’ll feel worse if you don’t tell me.” 

“That’s not the way it works.” 

“Um, yes, it is.” 

“It’s not.” 

“How would you know? I can already feel my leg hurting ten times more now that you won’t communicate with me.” 

“You’re not in any more pain because of me,” he scoffs, trying to escape your grasp. 

“Ow, my leg! My leg!” you feign a whimper. He cracks a small smile, your cheeks spreading as smoothly as the war paint that still dons his face. 

Neteyam looks so beautiful when he smiles. It’s a special smile, reserved only for you; it drips of sticky honey, so sugary that sometimes you feel as if you could fall ill from its adoration. He’s soft as he looks at you, coy and all things delightful. The hands that once tried to flee your own, now reach for your wrists, petting the skin in a pattern that speaks a million languages at once. And yet, somehow, not one of those languages can truly resemble how much he loves you. He loves you a lot. 

“Please,” you whisper, “tell me what’s wrong?” 

He sighs, assenting to your pleas. With one final sweep over your face, he finally indulges you. 

“I’m not happy that you took down those ships.” 

“Well, duh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I know that, but I want to know why.” 

“You weren’t careful.” 

This causes a richer scoff to form at the back of your throat, a sound that makes his ears press against his braids. “I thought we agreed to take down the enemy at any and all costs?” 

“I know, and we did—we did make that agreement. I just,” he groans, trying to find the right words. Neteyam never had the right words when it came to expressing himself. “I was scared.” 

“Okay,” you reply softly, shuffling closer to him. “Why were you scared?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be scared?” he answers, tone mimicking the same quiet tone you used. “You’re mine—my girl, and- and they almost took what’s mine away from me.” 

“God, I just got so scared that something bad would happen to you. And when I saw you hurt, how badly you were in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it I just…” his eyes are frantic, searching all across the hut for something—anything—to provide him an answer. His hands start to tremor in your hold. “I felt helpless and so stupid. I should’ve been tougher on you, or—I don’t know—had Lo’ak or even Kiri stay with you so you didn’t have to be alone. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re incapable or anything—” he excuses, causing you to smile lightly, “—but I don’t trust them. I don‘t trust them with you.” 

Smile turning watery, you reach for his shoulder, soon deciding to hold his face instead. He leans into your palm yet again, seeking the warmth that can only emanate from your hands alone. It’s the only warmth that can rid him of any chill. 

Neteyam kisses your palm, soon rolling your hand over in his, placing his lips on each knuckle as if it provides him comfort. And it does. It provides him more comfort than he could care to admit. Placing your head in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, you place a kiss on his collarbone, lowering your lips to place another on his pec, right above his heart. The young man draws in a deep breath, holding you close to him, savoring each second, each touch. Skin against skin; heart against heart. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologize, your soft lips grazing his blue skin. He loves the feeling. “I just wanted to protect our people.” 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your forehead, a light kiss placed there. “I’m sorry for yelling.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t even yell,” you forgive, cheeks pillowing against his chest. When you lift yourself away from him, he tilts his head in confusion at your smirk. “Also, we both know Kiri would be awful on the battlefield.” 

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “True. She can’t even shoot an arrow in a straight line.” 

“Exactly! I don’t know what you were thinking when you said that. Lo’ak? Sure, whatever. But Kiri?” 

“I know, I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as if his quietness will preserve this moment between you. 

His eyes become velvet—smooth and warm—the longer he looks at you and it instantly makes you melt. His lips look saccharine, a buttery spread of a light smile decorating his face which is just the absolute cherry on top. If Eywa hadn’t taken you during battle, she sure as hell was going to take you now with how crazy Neteyam makes your heartbeat. 

He tucks your hair behind your ear, his smile growing more and more with each expanse of skin he navigates. Dancing his fingertips over your jaw and across your cheekbones, he eventually cups your cheek and you just watch. If you breathe too hard, if you shift your weight, this moment could crumble. He’s looked at you like this many times before but it’s usually in the dark, under the bioluminescent blue and purple lights of the forest, where all you can see are the shadows of his face and the warmth of his tongue and the breeze of his breath. Now, you can see everything in pure, golden hues. The way his mouth relaxes, the way his eyes absorb all they can with each quick glance, the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards unconsciously. You love it. 

“May I kiss you?” he asks quietly, thumb swiping along a stripe on your cheek. 

“Why do you ask now? You’ve done it many times before,” you wonder, eyes transfixed on the way his own mouth moves with each word he’s about to form. 

He chuckles, a sweet, melodic sound, “Just wanted to make sure you’re still down even when the sun is out.” 

This earns a loud laugh from you, a laugh that makes Neteyam’s heart squeeze and his lower stomach burn. He loves you. One day, he’ll say it. 

Once your giggles have fizzled into a content sigh, you bite your lip lightly before you release it and it returns to its normal place. Neteyam follows the movement. 

“I’m always down if it’s you.” 

“Yeah?” he smiles, breathy and lips plush.  

“Yeah.” 

With that, he seals the deal. His kiss is soft, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth right before the initial contact. It makes you feel hot all over. He’s gentle—he always is at first—and he’s so, so kind. He pulls away briefly, returning not long after as if he needs to be connected to you or else he would suffer. In a way, he would. 

Neteyam is sweet. He still tastes like the fruit you shared before the raid and also a little bit like blood—whether it’s from him or you, you don’t care; you’ll devour it desperately just like you want him to devour you. He traces that stripe on your cheek again, his new best friend, and follows it down the nape of your neck. His other hand trails up from the small of your back to the divot in between your shoulder blades. He uses his hand to pull you closer, seeking any contact from you that he can get. 

Your hands are a barrier, shielding your chest from his, and in a way, it upsets you but also pleases you. Nobody knows what would happen if you could feel his chest pressed against yours at this moment—not even you know. Your hands glide across his chest, lighting scraping and molding against the fine muscle that hides under his smooth skin. When a lithe finger accidentally catches against a nipple, his mouth drops open pliantly, his tongue searching for yours. 

“‘S scared they took my girl away from me,” he murmurs against your lips, his own following after yours after each word. 

“Never,” you promise, kissing him firmly, one hand gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. All of this kissing was beginning to make you feel as if you could float away. “I’m yours. They could never take me or have me. You know that,” 

“Mhm,” he hums, voice lilting towards the end as he presses his mouth to yours. It makes your back arch forward, seeking more of his skin, his touch. 

His hands are growing desperate now. Neteyam knows he has to be gentle, avoiding the damaged skin on your back and remaining weary of the injuries on your rib and leg, but he so badly just wants to pull you close to him and never let go. He wants to hold you, to feel you, to be with you in every single way he can imagine so passionately. But he can’t. He will have to wait for another time. 

You, on the other hand, may roam freely. Your hands travel down his chest, exploring the taught skin of his stomach. It seems he subconsciously flexes underneath your touch, something that is rather enticing. Reaching the plusher skin of his lower stomach, although there still isn’t much give, you trace the muscle gingerly, bordering right above the hem of his loincloth. The delicate touch of your fingers causes him to lightly moan into your mouth, a sound you gladly drink down just to feel its warmth in your stomach. 

Neteyam pulls away suddenly, a loss you’re greatly upset about until he relocates his lips under your ear, traveling down your neck. He hums against the skin, tongue swiping against it as if he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can, as much as he’s allowed. 

“You can’t touch me like that,” he says, using a hand to bring both of yours back toward his chest. You cradle his head instead, tracing a finger along his ear. It twitches. 

“Why not?” you question, voice airy. Neteyam nearly preens at the sound, tail wild. “You seem to like it.” 

“I do like it,” he insists, “I love it, even.” 

“Then why can’t I touch you there?” 

He places a wet, fervent kiss against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat, a moan threatening to escape past your lips. 

“Because,” another kiss, “You are not promised to me yet.” 

“I just told you that I’m yours,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he nods, trailing his kisses back toward your jaw. “However, you’re still not mine.” 

Oh. 

“I could be yours. All you have to do is ask,” you say as if it’s not something he already knows. You hold his head in place, halting his journey upwards so you can whisper in his ear: “Ask me, Neteyam.” 

His tail swishes excitedly, something that makes you smile. Great Mother, you could eat him up. 

“No,” he responds, pulling away and facing you head-on. He has a lovesick smile on his face, a grin that nobody could wipe off as long as you’re around. “I want to do it right.” 

“Yeah?” you counter. “How would you do it?”

“Well,” he hums, kissing your lips. “First, I’d get all of your favorite foods. All of those fruits you like, season everything all nice,” he begins to slowly kiss your cheeks, “and get it all ready just for you to eat.” 

“What else?” 

“Then,” his kisses travel towards your ear, “Once you’re full and comfortable, we’ll go for a walk.” He bites your ear lobe and you press yourself against him. “We’ll go to our favorite spots: we’ll look at those flowers you like, go to the river, maybe swim a little. I like the way your hair looks while wet, you look so pretty,” he sighs. “You listening?” 

“Yes,” you nod. “Go on.” 

“Then I’d bring you to our sacred tree, just so Eywa can see us and I can see you under her light. I want to see you when I ask you. I want to see you if you smile or cry or decide that I’m not the one, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” he smiles, no longer kissing you but nudging your nose with his. 

“And if you say yes—Great Mother, I hope you say yes—I promise, I’ll treat you so well. I’ll hold you the way you ask to be held, kiss you in all of the places I already know you love to be kissed, and learn all of the new places I can’t reach yet too. I want to feel you, and see the way you react. I want you to feel me, too. I want you to see me, and I want to see you,” he whispers, voicing each wish. 

You nod, slowly and then desperately. “I want to see you, too,” you promise. He smiles that big, toothy smile. “Tell me when you’ll ask me? I can’t wait for much longer. I need you.” 

His eyelids grow heavy, skin heating underneath your palm. “I need you, too,” he gasps, leaning forward to kiss you again. “It’ll be soon, just want you to heal for now.” 

“Yeah?” you smile. “Soon?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Soon.” 

ⓒ starvine 2023

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

July 10th

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1. thanks in advance :) i hope you don't mind a nsfw itmf req. can you/the community recommend any good fics with bimboification vibes? specifically with wwx as the one undergoing it. i've read several fics like this, but i'm hoping there are more i haven't found

Baby, You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet by TriviasFolly (E, 177k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Omega LSZ, Mafia, Crime, Sects are Clans, Feral WWX, Feral Omegas, Nurse WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Possessive LWJ, feminine WWX, wwx’s cannon desire to be a sugar baby/trophy wife, Breeding Kink, Mpreg) A/B/O dynamics, long fic, modern AU mafia setting, really great

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2. Hi for the next itmf I was wondering if anyone had some time travel gone wrong? Like, maybe wwx tries to go to the past but instead he only sends resentment and it ends up haunting the wwx of the past or sometimes. Thanks!

Grief and Blame, Interwoven by donutsweeper (T, 2k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Dark, discipline whip, Time Travel) LXC uses time travel and changes something to fix things but it doesn't work remotely as he'd thought it would

🔒❤️ the thing with feathers by RoseThorne  (G, 43k,wangxian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Fear, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect) link in #12

❤️ A Future Family In A Broken Past by Hauntcats (T, 121k, wangxian, time travel, not Jiang friendly, Not Cultivation World Friendly, WWX Needs a Hug, Family Dynamics, What is a good family?, Fear of emotions does not excuse abuse, happy ending of sorts, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, fix-it, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, LXC needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, except JC, He can suffer, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, not YZY friendly) has time travel that was fueled by resentful energy so more monsters are encountered in the new timeline.

Lan Yuan's War by BurningTea (G, 196k, LSZ & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, WangXian, LWJ & WQ, WIP, Time Travel, Dad LWJ, Sunshot Campaign, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Rumours, Lots of rumours about LWJ, several people worry about LWJ, CQL Verse, Mental Health Issues, LWJ is very much not okay, Time travel has consequences, Sick LWJ) has time travel that affects the golden cores and health of those who traveled through time.

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3. Hi, for the next itmf, can you suggest some fics where A-yuan and Lan Jingyi are twins

🔒❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

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4. thank you for your work !! itmf any fic where either yl!wwx gets transported to the future, or he comes back to life after his death, and his name has been cleared/he’s been missed/basically he isn’t met with hatred and killing intent. thanks again!

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX)

Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, war changes people, resulting to OOC, no pinning, Established Relationship, Mpreg, Good Uncle LQR, a little grey LWJ, a bit of JC bashing from LWJ, BAMF JYL, 16 years of yearning, mainly CQL verse but has scenes from the novel as well, LSZ is WangXian’s Child, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Canon Rewrite, Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts) might work. It isn’t time travel, rather a canon rewrite, but circumstances happen and in the years WWX is absent his name is cleared.

🔒 不忘 | Don't Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Devotion, Reunions, Feelings, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, Names, References to Canon, Modern Era, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

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5. Hi! This is for ITMF where WWX works as medical examiner or a coroner or he works in lab like in "i really want to know (who are you)" by Stratisphyre

Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

Slaughter House by Duochanfan (M, 24k, future WangXian, LXC/NMJ, NHS/JC, Light Angst, Drama, Crime Scenes, Crime Drama, Psychometric WWX, Coroner WWX, detective LWJ, Detective JC, slight romance, Amnesia, Past Kidnapping, Murder Mystery, Reference to Autopsies, dead bodies, Single Parent WWX, Modern)

Post Mortem by Cataclysmic_Calamity (E, 178k, WangXian, Psychological Horror, Modern, friends with benefits, they’re both fucked up but they love each other so much, Slow Burn Mystery, Unnegotiated Kink, Dom/sub, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Stalking, Drug Addiction, Serial Killers, in WWX’s desire to critique the ‘final girl’ trope he accidentally becomes one, Angst with a Happy Ending, meta commentary on the horror and true crime genres) medical examiner WWX, thriller/horror, stalking but not between Wangxian, extremely good writing, very worth the read

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6. sorry if this has been asked before but for im ITMF a fic where lan wangji is very overprotective of wei wuxian. preferably because wwx's death traumatized him, but id also take any other overprotective fics. thank you!!!! @stgroversfire

So Full Of Love (Wouldn’t Know Where to Start) by witchupbitch (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Blood and Violence, Idiots in Love, Humor, Mafia AU, Modern AU, Flirting, shameless WWX, Confident WWX, Explicit Language, Mutual Sexual Tension, dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Exhibitionism Sex, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings) modern AU mafia, dark Wangxian, like they're both really fucked up

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7. hello hardworking mods! i can see that you're working on a backlog, so no rush, and thanks for your hard work!! i would love to see a fic where any member of the cast is trans, and learning how to deal with second puberty - preferably ftm, and not treated like a crack fic. bonus points if its wwx and he gets totally railed, bonus bonus points if there are lovely family dynamics centred around someone being lovingly accepted.

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8. Hello good! This fandom is so big that I was wondering if fanfics were written with Lan Wangji condemned to live the same fate as his mother. Mama Lan was always a compelling mystery to me, canon LWJ was more in line with making her father's mistake, but then I thought about Mama Lan and went wild thinking "What if?" It would be a delicious avalanche of mixed feelings and strange curveballs for Wangxian to end up like this, considering their dynamic and how they are as people. I don't know what tag to use to find something like this (if it exists), so I would really appreciate your help! Thanks for your time in advance @makolashida

I haven't read any fanfics of that type but maybe dark!Wei Wuxian + bottom Lan Wangji could give some results? Maybe just bottom Lan Wangji + gusu lan sect bashing

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9. I m new to this... I don't really know how this works but... Are there any fics where Wei Ying goes to therapy and just processes his trauma? @ishipwenqingwithmyself

Better By Change by NebulusCharlie (Not Rated, 8k, WangXian, Therapy, Not JC Friendly, gaslighting JYL, Happy Wangxian, Fluffy wangxian, Boundaries, healthy mindspace) it's a modern AU, involves JC + JYL bashing, doesn't deal with canon WWX trauma like losing his core/various family deaths/war trauma

redemption lies plainly in truth by kaseyskat (T, 5k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JL & WWX, WQ & WWX, WWX & JYL, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Character Study, WWX is allowed to mourn, that's it that's the fic, Reconciliation, mentions of WWXs past) set in canon so no therapy in the modern sense but WWX gets time to process some of his grief

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks) modern AU, WWX gets a therapist in this one, no canon trauma processing but deals with modern trauma

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10. Are there any fics, where wangxian end up talking about LXC calling WWX LWJ's one mistake? Or where LWJ finds out his brother said that. Thank you for all your amazing work. I adore this blog. @winxhelina

🔒💖 When has silence saved anyone?by Vrishchika (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, post-canon, LXC  critical, family feels, angry LWJ & LSZ, LXC gets scolded) really wonderful writing, takes a critical look at LXC

Wei Ying Was Not A “MISTAKE” by Jeeny271196 (Not rated, 6k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, BAMF LWJ, confrontation, hurt/comfort, protective LWJ, not LXC friendly) LWJ snaps back at LXC

Enough! by Jeeny271196 (Not Rated, 12k, WangXian, WIP, Gusu Lan Sect Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics) WWX is the one who snaps back at LXC

break by justdoityoufucker (T, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, LXC Critical, JC Critical, Canonical Character Death, Guānyīn Temple Scene, BAMF WN, Protective WN) Wen Ning is the one who snaps back at LXC

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11. ITMF fics (non modern au) that explore WWX’s time on the street and the consequences of it please and thank you @dynmo13

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12. for itmf any fics about wei wuxians childhood in yunmeng jiang sect mostly canon but they save yunmeng jiang sect/not everyone dies and madame yu is not written as an antagonist or she has redemption arc something like that

tysm @r3n-vy

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

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13. Itmf wwx having a daughter

Jiang Xiaolian's Guide to Motherhood and Gardening by bumbledees (T, 14k, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, Crack Taken Mostly Seriously, like many of WWX's best ideas it starts as a joke!, and then i write it, canon is sad bitch let's get you some fun, purposeful baby aquisition, john mulaney voice: you know those days when you're like 'this might as well happen', that's this fic, WWX when will you learn that there are consequences to your actions, have a melon baby) sort of but not really mpreg? there's no actual pregnancy, just some WWX-typical cultivation shenanigans

sweet lotus petals, unfolding in the sun by stiltonbasket (G, 33k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, JC & WWX, Unplanned Pregnancy, Married WangXian, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Curtain Fic, wangxian are dads and it hurts so good, Medical Inaccuracies, heaps of them, Mpreg, lxc is best bro, someone save JC, wangxian dual cultivation baby, except not how you think, the radish method gets an upgrade, Reincarnation) mpreg WWX

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, 🔒[PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending)

🔒 Little Stars by Aki_no_hikari (G, 4k, WangXian, Family Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect)

The Trouble with Talismans: a Treatise on Time-Travel by Young Master Lan Xiaohui (Age 6) by stiltonbasket (G, 26k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LXC/NMJ, Time Travel, wangxian get smacked in the face with their future children, Parenthood, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, a-yuan is the best big brother, xiao-yu has a, Very bad day, baby just wants his a-niang, and for his parents to GET IT TOGETHER already, Happy Ending, Confused WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, lwj is panicking)

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14. Hi! I'm in the mood for any good recommendations for fanfics that aren't on AO3. Any favorite Tumblr posts, or anything on other sites. Smut or Fluff very welcome! But anything goes. @hikato-chan

Shattered Mirrors Master Post by @besanii

rebuttable presumption masterpost by @sarah-yyy

The requester for 14 should be sure to check out the non-AO3 fic compilations: Non-AO3 Part 1 (Twitter) | Pt.2

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15. Hey! Not sure if my prev. ask got sent so if this is a duplicate please delete. For ITMF - do you know of any fics that challenge the practice of seclusion? It's just the more I think about it the more it seems like the in-universe version of celebrities going to "rehab" at upscale resorts to avoid taking responsibility for their behavior. So I'd like to see a character (possibly lxc?) dragged back out again to clean up their own mess.

Scattered ashes and dispersed smoke series by AshayaTReldai (E, 50k, Past LXC/WWX, WangXian, SL/XXC, Past Mpreg, LXC in Seclusion, Post-LXC in Seclusion, Angst, Family systems theory and differentiation, Broken LXC, but we're going to give him the opportunity to heal, Daoism, PTSD, Abuse, Mental Coercion, Mental Abuse, JGY has a lot to answer for, Dark WWX, Dark LXC, WWX's Birthday, Angry rant, the raw truth) This is a 2 part series, canon divergence AU. Changes are big but don't actually shift the overall plot. (Changes are WWX and LXC have an arranged marriage at first, golden core goes to LXC, WWX and LXC are A-Yuan's birth parents.) That stuff isn't really important and is kind of just mentioned, the focus is on LXC facing his mistakes and actually growing as a person. Wangxian happy ending.

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16. Is there wangxian fics where the gusu classroom sees wangxian's future and shamelessness? what led to deaths framing wwx? Whodunnit and why? @tjrc18

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, First Love, Love Confessions, Fluff and Humor, accidental time travel due to one husband malfunctioning array, teen wangxian meet adult wangxian, Happy Ending, adding extra chapter, in this household we hate JGS, in which WWX love library pavilion, (in a way) Yiling Laozu x Hanguang Jun, Denial, Mutual Pining)

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17. fics where wwx has wings. or a fic where wwx only has a (raven?) wing and lwj saw it and fell in love if I'm not mistaken @quwieiidkd

you'll love me at once (the way you did once upon a dream) by sweetlolixo (T, 18k, WangXian, Dark Fairytale, Inspired by Maleficent (2014), Wingfic, Sleeping Beauty with a twist, Maleficent WWX, Prince LWJ, Older WWX, Younger LWJ, young prince lwj flirts with MILF wwx that's it that's the fic, just kidding there is also, Angst with a Happy Ending, True Love's Kiss, Three Chaotic Fairies NHS NMJ and JGY, A Fairytale Iteration of "Lan Zhan you like Mian Mian?!") maleficent AU WWX

the sleeper's gift by iliacquer (T, 6k, WangXian, Implied/Referenced Torture, Disability, A curse within a curse within a curse, Wingfic, Sleeping Beauty Retelling, Maleficent WWX, Reincarnation, Sometimes love lasts multiple lifetimes I guess, True Love's Kiss) another maleficent AU but more intricate, cursed LWJ and WWX

Two is a Pair, Three is a Murder by cosmicworry14 (E, 6k, WangXian, Wingfic, winged!wwx, demonic bird wwx, Bird/Human Hybrids, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Possessive WWX, Animal Instincts, Courting Rituals, Blood and Gore, Dark) winged WWX due to burial mounds

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

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨, 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

They said fate worked in mysterious ways; the strings of destiny plucked and pulled and snapped at the leisure of those they controlled, but not you. The delicacy in which you handled the woven web was forever unseen and unprecedented, and your patience was to be rewarded in a way you least expected.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ʚɞ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ʚɞ 4.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ʚɞ Fluff, angst and emotional conflict, protective Bucky, perceived unrequited feelings, big confessions ჻჻჻ TROPES: And they were roommates, oblivious best friends to lovers, my own take on soulmates, mutual pining

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ʚɞ Something that I have not attempted before now.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ʚɞ What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish ʚɞ Only by RY X ʚɞ Let's Hurt Tonight by OneRepublic ʚɞ illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ʚɞ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗚𝟰 — Roommates — Masterlist ʚɞ @sebastianstanbingo 𝗕𝟭 — Idiots to Lovers — Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

It had been this way for as long as you could remember. 

For years, you crushed hard on Bucky — the man that had been your rock, your partner in crime since childhood. So rare it was to have a connection from so long ago, let alone be as formidable as the two of you were. Interwoven and weaved together stronger than steel. 

Time had wound you both so close together that wherever one went, the other followed; always joined at the hip. 

It was only natural that in the end, you found an apartment together, becoming roommates and best friends — facing the challenges of life together. 

Through the time that you spent with Bucky, day in and day out for all of those years and up to now, your affections and attempts at flirting with the man that held your heart were brushed off or they flew over his head completely. 

Bucky was oblivious like that. For all of his charm, his wit and intelligence, the man could be thick. 

And that was how, after psyching yourself up for weeks, you landed in the dating scene. It was a long shot, but you figured if Bucky wouldn’t (or couldn’t) pick up what you were putting down, you were at least going and getting out there — even if your heart and soul was already taken by the man that lay haphazardly sprawled over your bed, staring at you with a disapproving scowl. 

“Nope, no, you– Why don’t you wear those jeans?” Bucky huffed, exasperated after you threw the umpteenth pair of dress pants over your shoulder, only for them to land directly on his handsome face. “Boo, c’mon,” he groaned as he pulled the fabric off of his face. “You’re gonna look amazing no matter what.”

At the use of your nickname reserved only for him, you looked over your shoulder and frowned. “I have to look good. I have to.”

Bucky sighed and rolled off the bed, his stature broad and muscled as ever. The tattoos that covered his arms and hands distracted your train of worry, and you stared as he neared; more artistry visible from the collar of his shirt to spread up one side of his neck. 

“C’mere,” he said, and you felt his hands grab ahold of yours. The touch he provided you ground you back on earth; the proximity reassuring, more than any words would be able to replicate. 

You could feel his eyes as he searched your body, the subtle way he picked up your cues or anxiety and dread, and you felt that there was no way you could meet his gaze — the intensity of it burned your skin while you stared determinedly down at his hands, observing with a keen eye how his deft fingers felt running over the skin of your palms, and how his rough, callused thumbs ran over your knuckles. 

“Honey.” His deep voice was softer than silk. “Can you look at me?”

You took a deep breath to steel yourself. From his hands, you looked up into his eyes — they swam with untold emotion, raw and unbridled in his adoration, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn that was how he would look at a lover. That thought did nothing to quell the roiling nausea in the pit of your stomach.

“There y’are, my pretty girl,” he cooed, smiling. “What’s got you all upset, huh?”

That it’s not you I’m going on a date with, you answered in your mind. Before that thought could be spoken aloud, you replied, “I’m just nervous.” 

The nervous waver in your voice made you grimace, and you cursed. 

Bucky sighed. “That’s normal, Boo—you’re gonna knock ‘em dead. They’re not gonna know what’s hit ‘em.” 

An ache, intense and painful, bloomed within your chest, and it consumed your heart whole. From the safety of your mind, you screamed out for him to just see; to know what you were thinking. 

The courage to speak up had long ago waned and worn thin, vanishing with the days that passed.

“Okay,” you whispered, and you took your hands from his to turn your back on him. The litany of cries that built up in your throat only blocked by the tears that threatened to beat them — Bucky was looking at you with the adoration of a best friend watching their partner in crime strike out and try something new, you reminded yourself. 

A heavy, poignant silence filled the room while you shuffled around your closet for that perfect outfit, but you did your best to ignore it — the internal war to determinedly keep your shoulders straight and your breathing even was close to impossible, but you put every last ounce of effort into it. 

You weren’t to see the way Bucky’s eyes clouded over, or how low his shoulders slumped in defeat; the way his heart cracked just a little bit more behind you. 

His heart knew, and so did yours. It was only a matter of time, they whispered — unseen, but oh so wise.

The next day, you awoke with the sun — golden rays peaked through the blinds of your window. You yawned and sat up to look around your bedroom and the state it was left in from the night before. It had been rough, the date far less than ideal or any semblance of fun, but the sanctuary of your space healed what sadness you felt. 

Your bed was strewn with soft, comfortable pillows and blankets. The bookshelves along one wall were full to the brim with books and knick knacks you’d accumulated over the years. 

One of which in particular stood out. The smooth, clear glass of the statue shone in the morning light, but the structure was unaffected by the golden glow in its beauty — a pair of jellyfish, intertwined while they danced, stood proud at the front of one of the larger shelves. 

Right next to it sat a framed photograph of Bucky and you. It was taken when you first moved into the apartment. 

Bucky stood behind you, his head next to yours while his arms wrapped around your middle to hug you tight — the grin that pulled at his lips was priceless with its show of joy. Brown hair covered his forehead in stray strands that stuck to his forehead, and the rest flowed down his neck. 

You could see the unpacked boxes behind the two of you in the background — it had been a scorching day and Bucky insisted on being the one to bring them all in, much to your annoyance. You remembered making him the biggest drink to help him feel better once he collapsed onto the couch in what was now your living room. 

The memory was one of your favourites; it never failed to make you smile. And if you could still feel the ghost of his lips on your cheek after he said, “We did it, honey, we fuckin’ did it,” you weren’t going to share that with anyone. 

Your gaze shifted to yourself in the photo — exhaustion was evident in the bags under your eyes, after so many late nights from stress and packing, Bucky never failed in his mission to cheer you up. Then, you looked at your mouth, and you found yourself imitating the blinding smile you flashed at the camera. 

Longing pulled at your heart, the ache of it far too real and material to ignore. 

The sudden sound of pans moving in the kitchen caught your attention, followed by the low hum of the fridge while it was opened and closed, then the sizzle of a frying pan over the cooker. You looked at the clock on your bedside drawers and saw it was still early — the reminiscent memories felt like they had taken hours from your day. 

“Breakfast,” you mumbled sleepily. The covers shifted as you sat up and rubbed your eyes from the sleep that formed overnight. 

“And if the sun starts setting,” a deep voice sang from the kitchen, “The sky goes cold, then if the clouds get heavy and start to fall.”

You froze — the world continued on its axis as though it hadn’t left you behind, reeling to comprehend what you were hearing. “Bucky?” you mouthed confusedly, and you strained your ears to hear the rest of what he was singing.

“I really need somebody to call my own, I wanna be somebody to someone,” he continued quietly. “And if you feel like night is falling, I wanna be the one you're calling; 'cause I believe that you could lead the way.”

Did Bucky really just–? The song died away just as you heard footsteps approaching your door from the hallway. “Shit.” You schooled your expression into something you hoped was neutral after the disorientating disbelief of what you heard. 

The door handle rattled gently as Bucky gripped it on the other side, then he knocked softly. “Boo? You awake?” It creaked open. “I’m makin’ breakfast–”

“Hey,” you rasped, still sleep-addled. “I’ll be out in a bit—thanks, Buck.”

Bucky peered around the now open door, and his expression lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Hey, you,” he greeted, and he stepped into your room to lean on the door frame. “How was last night, honey? You got back pretty late.”

“You waited up for me?” 

He nodded. “‘Course I did—I didn’t wanna step in on the happy glow after a date, so I just made sure you got to bed alright, that’s all. You’re not exactly a quiet one,” he teased with a wink.

Heat crept up your neck at his thoughtfulness and playful comment, but you powered on. “Oh– Oh, well, it was alright, I guess,” you offered. 

Bucky raised a brow and inclined his head, willing you to go on. 

“Actually, I ended up–” You hesitated, clearing your throat. There was no way of knowing how he would react to what happened, and it made you nervous for what he would say — always so protective, he was. 

“There was a reason for that,” they whispered while they watched from above.

“I ended up, uh– Walking off, you know, away from them.”

The billowing silence that filled the room after your admission faltered your explanation and you fell quiet, unable to explain anymore of what happened. 

Bucky stood frozen in the doorway. “I’m sorry—I, uh– I can’t have heard you right, Boo. Say that again?”

In one breath, you said, “I walked off—away from them—because they wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I got sick of it.”

He advanced slowly, footsteps muffled and quiet over the floor. “What?”

“I know and I’m sorry–”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me!” Bucky exclaimed, his bright eyes wide. He gestured at himself and said, “I would have come and got you—you know that I would do anything for you!” The panic in his voice truly didn’t fit the situation and you stared at him, dumbstruck by the fear in his voice. “I– I can’t believe you didn’t call–”

He seemed lost for words as he ran his hands through his hair. “I would have run–”

“Bucky, please,” you rushed, holding a hand out towards his heaving chest to soothe him. “Please, it’s okay. I’m alright. Besides, I have a date tonight with someone better—well, I hope they are.” 

The sharp stare that he gave you at the reveal of your plans shocked you to your core. It was full of hurt; a sadness that you would give anything to never see again. “What–?”

He shook his head, the soft strands of his hair covering his face for a brief moment. “Nothin’, honey. I’m just glad you’re home.” There was a pause as he turned back towards the hallway; a flash of something in his eyes, but what, you could not fathom. “C’mon you, breakfast.” 

There was another heavy, sombre silence as you watched Bucky retreat towards the kitchen. 

The change in Bucky’s attitude made you frown with worry. He was the stronger one of the two of you, that you knew for certain — always steadfast and strong, unwavering in his determination, and this outburst made no sense. He never, ever reacted this way before to any news of a potential date or night out, and the fact that he started now was far too confusing and overwhelming to comprehend. 

“To hell with this,” you muttered, and you threw off the covers to get up and get dressed for the battle that awaited you — to get to the bottom of this, you realised, you’d need a warm drink, and some of the breakfast he was preparing. 

Rather than dressing in your own clothes, you threw one of Bucky’s shirts over your undergarments and smiled softly as the worn, soft fabric brushed against your skin — a calculated move. 

The strong smell of your favourite warm drink wafted down the hallway, enticing you onwards towards the kitchen, where the clang of pots and pans sounded. You slowly padded towards the counter to fetch it, but when Bucky saw you approach from around the corner, he briefly hesitated. “What time do you go–? To your date tonight, I mean,” he asked before he quickly turned away from you. 

You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, where his hair fell loose and long down his neck. “Uh– It’s at six, I think.” The warmth of the drink made you feel a little better while you sipped at it. “I can check in a bit, if you want.”

Bucky hummed and flipped a pancake. “And what are you two doin’?”

The mug made a quiet thump when you placed it down on the counter next to you. “They’re taking me to a Christmas fair—the market in the park?”

“I know the one,” he mumbled, and he didn’t elaborate or continue. 

You stared at his broad back, watching as his shoulders flexed and relaxed beneath his shirt while he worked resolutely on preparing breakfast. Suspicion lurked in the corners of your mind — why was he suddenly so interested? 

An infinitesimal flicker of hope from his driven curiosity sparked itself to life in your stomach, and you tried your hardest to stomp it out, though it proved difficult. Quietly, you asked, “Are you asking me all this because you’re curious, or–?”

There was no reply — only the sound of the pan in his hand shuffling over the burner and the simmer of pancake batter. 

You cleared your throat and stepped closer to him. “Buck–?”

“Nothing.”

“What–?” you stammered, and you placed a hand on the back of his shoulder. Your heart seized like a vice had fastened around it when he stiffened under the soft touch. “Bucky, what’s wrong? You’re acting strange—has something happened?”

“No,” Bucky said tightly, and he shrugged off your hand. That alone had you close to tears. “It’s almost ready, go get–”

“Bucky.” 

Stormy blue eyes met yours, and you were shocked to see such a mix of fierce emotions swimming in the depths of his normally stoic gaze. “What?” he snapped.

“Talk to me,” you urged, “What’s wrong?”

Bucky turned back to the stove top, determinedly continuing on with his cooking. “It– It’s nothin’, I promise. Can you pick a movie to watch while we eat?”

The walls he built to protect himself from outsiders were rapidly falling into place against you, blocking you from all of what you knew and loved. The pain of such a realisation made you back off; tears in your eyes as you stepped back from his presence to lean against the counter. 

There were no triggers that would make him act so brash, not from what you could parse or define from the past day or night; not any that you witnessed or heard.

“Okay,” you said shortly, and you frowned at him while you walked away. 

The two mugs, one of them yours and the other Bucky’s, were warm against your palms while you carried them into the living room. Steam curled in the air under your nose, and you breathed in the spiced scent of Bucky’s drink. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the Christmas tree in the corner of the room as it twinkled, the lights winking and dancing in ignorance of the pain that filled your heart.

Now out of Bucky’s eyeline, you turned and stared at where he would be standing at the stove top. The heat of your stare was weak against the walls he built; unable to pierce through the foundations of his anxieties, nor barrel through them like a wrecking ball to expose the cause. 

To see Bucky in such a state of distress plucked at the strings of your heart, and you couldn’t help but feel as though you were to blame — the thought was absurd, but it did not stop the burning broil of shame and anger in your stomach. “Nope, no,” you murmured, squaring your shoulders and balling your hands into fists. “I won’t let this go.”

Your feet carried you towards the kitchen, blissfully ignorant of the way your heart pounded in your chest; a rhythm you were sure that couldn’t last.  

Bucky was leaning on the counter, his tattooed hands either side of the stove top, and his fingers, a few adorned with shining, silver rings, were still on the counter. His head hung low between his shoulders that shook minutely from aborted breaths.

“Bugs?” He didn’t move; the nickname did not even stir a reaction.

“I know you’re hurting,” you continued cautiously, and you stepped closer, replacing your hand on his shoulder to rub up and down his back. “Talk to me—let me help.”

“You can’t,” Bucky croaked, his voice strained and oh so pained — like glass was lodged in his throat. “Just– Just go into the living room. I’ll bring the food in a minute.”

“No. No, Buck.” You stepped closer, plastering your front to his side. “Don’t push me out, honey, please.”

Something shattered in his expression, and his bottom lip trembled — a sight you never wanted to see again. And he broke. “Oh, sweetheart,” you whispered, and you pulled him closer to place your forehead against his temple, so your breath fanned over his stubbled cheek. “What’s happened?”

The urge to protect and soothe well in practice now, and you felt the muscles in his face move, as though he was saying something. You couldn’t hear it over the blood roaring in your ears from adrenaline. “I didn’t catch that, honey,” you said softly, stepping impossibly closer. “What was that?”

The next words that fell from Bucky’s mouth tore your still beating heart from your chest. “Please get off me.”

You flinched and stepped back. A vicious, all-consuming ache in your chest took hold, and you stared, wide-eyed and tearful, at the side of Bucky’s head. “Why are you acting like this?” you pressed, still staring hard at him — the way he was breaking apart before you was as tragic as a car accident but you could not look away. “What’s happened to you? Did you have a nightmare–? Did someone say something?”

Bucky’s tattooed, callused hand moved to wipe his eyes, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just– Please,” he implored, glancing at you then back down at the pan on the stove. “Go get a movie or a show goin’—I don’t care which.”

The frustration boiled over. “Like hell I will,” you snapped. “Not when my best friend is pushing me out—I won’t leave you to wallow, Bucky.”

He groaned and hung his head. “You and your fuckin’ stubbornness, I swear–” 

“You swear what, James?”

The look he shot you was full of a bitterness that did not belong on his handsome face. “Don’t do that–”

“Let me help you,” you interrupted, and you felt the claws of desperation sinking deep, gauging marks on your frail heart; the strength of it obvious in your shaky voice. “Please. I just want you to be–”

For a single second, you swore you saw Bucky’s body shift and turn inwards, protecting himself, but when you blinked a budding trail of tears back and it was gone — replaced by his posturing and an expression you could not decipher in your franticness. 

It was inevitable that as best friends that the two of you would fight, argue, even disagree heatedly. There had been many times in the past you both had made up and returned to being like you always were, joined at the hip and inseparable, but something broke. 

The damage felt well beyond what you thought you could repair, the finality of his hurt the final nail in the coffin, and hell… 

There was, not for a moment, where you would not go down without a fight. You held his stare fiercely and started to demand, “What–” 

And to your absolute surprise, he held up his hand to stop you and your tirade. The audible click of your jaw as it shut against the words that threatened to spill over echoed around the kitchen.  

Bucky stared into your face, his stormy eyes flickering between your own. “You wanna know what I want?” The anger in his tone was something you had never heard from him; always so softly spoken with you, he had never raised his voice when he addressed you. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’m worried about you. You never, ever act like this and it’s scaring me, Bucky—it’s scaring me, you’re scaring me!”

The silence that followed your words and admittance of fear reverberated off of the kitchen walls, figuratively gauging the paint and cupboards and tearing it all to pieces. 

Bucky opened his mouth, his lips parting in a grimace. “Boo– Fuck.” His hands combed through his hair, the tattoos on his fingers peeking through the strands; the rings glinted from the downlights above him. “Fuck.”

Raw, pure emotion pounded through your veins, unfiltered and unwanted — he was hurting, and here you were, selfishly digging to find the cause. 

The blue of his eyes turned grey while tears built along his own lashes. 

Your heart was in your throat, forcing its way up to land in your hands, an offering to him. 

Take it, it’s yours. 

“Please, please tell me how to help– I can’t let you hurt anymore,” you begged quietly, looking into his face. You stretched out a hand, and Bucky took it. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t tell you,” he rasped, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Not now—I can’t do it.”

You frowned at him. “It’s okay, Buck—tell me what’s wrong so I can help–”

“Because–” Bucky hissed, cutting you off abruptly. Even louder, he continued, “Because all I have ever fuckin’ wanted was you!”

The claxon-loud silence rang so sharply in your ears that you flinched. 

Never before had you heard Bucky shout — never before had you seen the tears stream down his cheeks to collect at his collarbones, staining the collar of his shirt. 

Never before did you think that you would hear the words you dreamed of; not now, not ever. 

Your lips moved before your mind could catch up. “You– You want me?”

Bucky looked at you, really looked at you, and you realised that he was staring at you with something akin to wonder, a deep fondness like you were the stars in the sky; the lights on a tree at Christmas time — the very same one in the living room. 

“I’ve wanted you for so fuckin’ long,” he answered finally. “I’ve just been too much of a fuckin’ coward to say it.”

Blinking back tears, you screwed up your face with a self-loathing that burned hotter than a wildfire. “So, every time I went on a date with someone else–”

“You didn’t know,” Bucky whispered. “How could you have known if I didn’t say shit? How could you have known that I thought you were the one for me if I kept my mouth fuckin’ shut ‘cause I was scared?”

Tears tracked down your cheeks freely, the restraint vanishing as fast as your composure, and you swallowed thickly. ��I didn’t know–” You coughed from the sudden parchedness in your throat. “Why–? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He didn’t answer; you rambled on. “I– I wish I knew, I have kept it hidden– Oh, god, Bucky, I’m so–”

Your words — an apology you felt was desperately needed — were cut off by Bucky’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face, the pads of his thumbs brushing your cheeks to wipe away your tears. 

It was a chaste press of his lips on yours, but it was enough to steal your breath from your lungs. 

He pulled back from your lips but rested his forehead against yours. Blue eyes bore into yours, once so filled with an unknown agony; now elated, weightless at the confession. The pads of his thumbs continued to brush over your cheekbones, and in the silence, your thoughts reeled.

“I’ve had a crush on you for so long,” you whispered brokenly, barely holding in a sob. “Bucky, I– I wish you told me—I tried to tell you–”

“I’m sorry, Boo—I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Bucky said softly, and he sniffed. “I didn’t– I should have said somethin’.”

You stared at him, then nodded gently. “Yeah,” you breathed, a half hysterical sound. “You fucking should have, you big, dumb idiot.” 

“Well yeah, okay.” Bucky shrugged. “I earned that one.”

The two of you surged forward, kissing with a fervour unseen and you couldn’t stop the way your heart and spirits lifted. How what felt like a helium balloon had been tied around your middle to sweep you off your feet, when, in reality, it was truly just your best friend, the very same one that you had harboured a crush on for a lifetime. 

Bucky was the first to pull away, his breath heavy and hot on your lips. “Why don’t I take you out?” he asked, smirking. “There’s a Christmas fair, and I wanna see the way my girl’s eyes light up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning widely at him. “But first? Pancakes.”

“The time had finally come,” they whispered, victorious and proud of the endgame — their smiles remaining unseen, but they were shared, nonetheless.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[clare-875]

Time (Levi x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Levi x Reader Summary: No matter how much time passes, love remains (post-war Levi) Warnings: Fluff, some angst Notes: The above GIF does NOT belong to me [AOT Masterlist] _____

Levi turns to you as you look beyond your windows to the sunset that dyes the blue sky orange. The falling sun illuminates your figure and he sees the pause in your movements as you finish drying the dishes for the day. You turn to him and it doesn't matter how much time has passed, he still feels the thrumming of his heart beat faster at your unwavering gaze. Your skin may have lost itself to the etches of time and life, and your hair might now be greyer as it was depleted of its youth, but your eyes, your smile and your beauty, were all the same. You move from the kitchen and join him by his side, sitting slowly on the chair next to his as he holds out a hand to you. You take it instantly. His grasp melds within yours perfectly, so natural and familiar over the decades you've felt the same sensation; the same love.

Your gaze moves from your interwoven hands to the man you have adored for all of this time. You watch the glint of his grey eyes, seeping deep with warmth and affection, it still makes the heat rise to your face. You see scars littered on his form fade with time, see the lines and indentations of his age. But through it all, you merely see in all simplicity, that he is so perfect; he is still so handsome and strong and yours. Levi meets your gaze. He is still in utter wonderment at how you could look at him so unfaltering even after the time that has passed and the injuries that had caused permanent damage during the final fight for freedom. He wonders how he was so fortunate to have found you, to have had you love him for as long as he can remember. You smile, and it makes Levi reminisce.

It makes him remember the days spent "back then."

He remembers you, wide eyes gleaming as you turned to him atop your horse, laughing as you called to him to hurry up. "Come on Levi, since when were you so slow?" You would merely see his irritated glare at your teasing words but unbeknownst to you, his thoughts mingled with those of your beauty and your grace; how lucky he was to still have you by his side. His fears were hidden but they were true. Life as Scouts was never concrete, death could so easily take you from him, just as it could take him from you. Levi craved the lingering peace, but it felt so out of reach and so far away. So, despite the dwindling dream of you and him, he allowed himself to live in the contentment of the moment as you galloped upon an open field, calling his name. He allowed himself to watch as your eyes enlightened in your brief joy, bringing about the only sight he would ever need; you, happy, safe and alive.

He remembers quiet nights amid shared chambers, how he explored your body and you explored his. It was new to both of you, but you could only envision yourself with him, and Levi with you. He remembers glancing at the dark ceiling afterwards as you slept encased by his side. He remembers thoughts that loitered about his head; of his fears and doubts and of you. You. When Levi looks down you are sleeping peacefully at his side, his arm wrapped loosely around you. Only once had Levi been grateful for his insomnia, and it was in this moment; the moment he saw you content and trusting the man humanity deemed the strongest soldier. He feels your warmth and he feels your love even in the silence; even in the absence of your bright eyes. He feels his heart thrum to life subconsciously as he gazes down at you, forever grateful for whatever being had allowed him of you; had allowed one blessing in this cruel world.

He begged they did not take you away.

He remembers seeing you drenched in grief, entangled within the confines of love persevering in the absence of love returned. He remembers your distant eyes and your downcast form; it almost broke him too. He remembers your tears and the hurt that you tried to hide from him, scared for him to see your anguish at the loss you both face each day. He remembers the constricting of his heart. He had held you when you threatened to shatter, and you had finally relented to the comfort he never knew he could give. But he found himself doing what you would do in his moments of distress. The two of you stood as a pillar for the other, when one threatened to fall the other would be there to guide them back up with silent love and murmured words. You were so unspeakably grateful, but he wondered if you knew how much he was grateful for your presence in the moments he hid the despair heavy in his heart; the way you just knew, and provided him with a strength, unmatched.

He remembers the rush of the air and the fear he hid carefully behind a masked facade. He remembers the years when his youth allowed his agile movements, and though in such wretched circumstances, Levi almost missed the weightless feeling of flying through the air. How many times had he torn through the napes of Titans? How many times had he stared death in the face; how many times had he seen it take his subordinates and comrades from him? He remembers the grip you had on his heart as he would also witness you, risking your life for humanity's sake. If demise wasn't so imminent he would look to your graceful form all day, but it wasn't a world that could spare any moment of peace. How many times had the both of you saved the other from death? How many times had his heart rate spiked at every close call? How many times had you returned to his embrace; Levi was forever grateful he never met the time when you didn't.

He remembered the day he could finally call you his, quiet vows binding the eternal love you shared. It was serene and there was a scarcity in the number of guests present to witness a moment of vulnerability from humanity's strongest. He saw you, adorned in a simple white dress, hair pulled up perfectly. He swore you were an angel put on earth just for him as he watched you walk carefully towards him until your hands were intertwined. It was rare, but you saw a tear slip from his eye as you fought your own tears that threatened to spill. His gaze was gentle, a kind of softness that could only be built upon the years of knowing and loving him. Levi remembers your eyes, brimming with love, smile glowing under the dim light of the sky above. It was a moment of normalcy; as though he was merely a man getting married to the person he loved, and there was no world out there devoid of hope or serenity.

So much has happened since then.

So much loss, revelation, war. But through it all, somehow, the dwindling dream persevered. You and him, together and at peace; it was all he ever wanted. It was the life he craved within the walls; it was what he found on the other side. It wouldn't matter how much time passed or how much he and your youth were lost to time. You were beautiful and you always would be to him. He never knew that there could be hope in his dull and macabre life, but you brought it to him every day he was alive. Now the sense of normalcy he craved, the life he wanted so desperately was his every day. Even as the years brought you both close to a distant but inevitable goodbye, all he knew was you were all he needed; you were all he held onto.

You and him, forever; no amount of time could change that.

[absolutebl]

Rules: List 10 of your comfort shows

tagged by @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle (thanks doll)

I rarely pass along tags but you should do this one and tag me if you do so I can see, comfort watches are my absolute FAVORITE.

This is a BL blog and I've watched most of them, so I will be picking BL. But I will only be picking BL I am rewatching for comfort right NOW.

Some of these may surprise. Ready?

My Top 10 Comfort BL's right NOW

1 kiss x kiss x kiss - perfect scandal (short)

My favorite of this series because it's basically office romance sexy bits we all wanted from Old Fashion Cupcake.

2 Jun & Jun

his show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smile every moment I'm watching. This is very much MY style of BL.

3 Love is Science (BL cut)

Mark and Ouwen gotta be one of my all time favorite side dishes. LIS? is a noona romance with added mature side couple as well as these two, mostly interwoven. It’s a big buy in just for Mark & Ouwen but WORTH IT, and some kind soul uploaded a BL cut to YT. Everything is a touch quirky but the BL boys are beautiful, earnest, and high heat. It's one of Taiwan's favorite dynamics: the bisexual himbo meets the confident gay, but they are just LOVELY, plus tiny queer family at the end.

4 2 Moons 3

What can I say, it's utter trash but there is something about the main couple I love. A Thai pulp that felt like it came out 5 yrs ago with many of the flaws inherent to that time and studio system, including manufactured angst and convoluted plot, but an ultimately sweet main couple that (as a pairing) feels a bit more modern and is satisfying to watch. This will probably go down in history as one of the few BLs where I genuinely didn’t care about any of the side couples.

5 Love Class 2

But only "my couple." ( the mature student and the TA). I still hold that they probably should’ve had their own series.

6 Big Dragon

I didn't love this when it first aired but I am coming around to it more on the rewatch. (I may even up its score from 7 to 8 if the eventual movie sticks the landing). This is a pairing that proved itself to be a lot more sophisticated than I expected with nods at kink in a more respectful way than Mame could ever dream, plus excellent chemistry.

7 Why R U? Korea

The Korean remake of Why RU? is BOTH bizarro land, and EXACTLY what I expected. There is something comforting in watching the Cliff's notes version of a show I enjoyed before just in a different BL style. I don't know why I like this one so much, but I really do.

8 Takara & Amagi

I gnawed on my knuckles and squealed a lot with this show first time around. Now I still love it but I'm more calm. It is beyond charming: soft and gentle, packed with cuteness and high school angst, thirst, & yearning.

9 About Youth

A truly lovely little coming of age high school BL with a classic YA low drama but high angst and an earnest depth.

Clearly I'm having a bit of a high school phase because I've been thinking of doing this one next:

10 My School President

Yes, we’ve seen it all before, but I still ADORED this. And there is a lot to be said for the classics being re-executed perfectly. Who let my BL be this wholesome and funny?

[lullabyes22-blog]

Arcane Fanfic Scenarios

Fic scenarios that will probs never get written but are fun to imagine:

Bobby Pins and Angel Wings: Five times Jinx and Ekko nearly kissed - and the one time they did. Bittersweet snippets of childhood games and cozy rooftop chats, told in flashback form. All interwoven with Jinx and Ekko going all-out during a shoot-out in the present day.

Category: Angst, Fluff, Violence.

Ships: Jinx x Ekko

Some Like it Hot: Crack oneshot. Silco makes a guest appearance on Hot Ones and dishes out the complexities of revolution and the struggles of running the drug trade and being a single father - all while absolutely devouring the ghost peppers.

Y'all. This is Zaun. You expect them not to have spicy food?

Ends with Sean Evans going utterly non-verbal after trying one of Zaun's own homebrewed concoctions... while Silco chugs a glass of yogurt and smiles slyly for the cameras.

And then gets the hiccups<3

Category: Crack, Humor, Politics.

Ships: Zaun x Spicy cuisine.

Arcane Meets Isekai: Character-x-Reader themed Choose Your Own Adventure where reader is flung into the chaotic and magical world of Runeterra, and ends up simultaneously stealing the hearts of a shyly brilliant scientist (Viktor) and a ruthless Undercity revolutionary (Silco). Shenanigans ensue. Multiple endings and wild scenarios. Heimerdinger's poro was hurt in the making of this story - and will be hurt again.

Category: Angst, Fluff, Crack, Smut.

Ships: Primarily Viktor x Reader and Silco x Reader. But there can be so much more.

Empires Rise and Fall: Silco and Mel and up brokering a marriage pact to keep their cities united. It's an unexpected match made in Heaven - with a dash of Hell. Also a warlord mother-in-law who refuses to keep her nose out of the marital chamber. And a step-daughter creeping like a golem in the rafters...

Drabbles of the angsty, fluffy, smutty and political variety. Plus a honeymoon in Noxus. Complete with near abductions and survived assassination attempts.

"Mawwiage. That bwessed awwangement. That dweam within a dweam..."

Category: Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Ships: Silco x Mel, Silco x Power, Mel x Politics.

Through a Glass Darkly: Extremely dark fic. Silco's life post-drowning. Details everything from his recovery, to his rise as a kingpin-on-the-make, to the development of Shimmer, to his alliance with Singed, and his plans for payback. All while he watches Vander from afar with his new family, and plots to destroy both.

Also features plenty of near run-ins with baby Powder - and a sense of fated inevitability. 

The shark was always lying in wait.

Unbeknownst to him, so was fatherhood.

Category: Angst, Gore.

Ships: Silco x Vander

Snakes and Ladders: A retelling of Forward but Never Forget/XOXO from Mel's PoV. Plenty of MelJay cuteness, flashbacks of her life as a Noxian heiress, the grim legacy of Ambessa's lessons, her childhood games with Kino, and a darkly decadent slice of Mel × Silco, as her elusive arch-ally lures her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of snakes and ladders that is Zaun...

Category: Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Ships: Mel x Jayce, Mel x Silco.

Redux: Multichapter monstrosity. A time travel AU where Jinx, twenty seven years old, is embroiled in an ongoing battle with Piltover - and with her sister Vi. Tired, disillusioned, and with only her ghosts for company, she reminisces bittersweetly about her girlhood days with Silco. Then she breaks into Ekko's workshop and steals his infamous watch, ready to tamper with it and go back all the way to the beginning, before the Day of Ash.

This time she'll make sure they all live: her parents, Vander, Vi, Silco, Ekko, Benzo, Mylo and Claggor.

Safe together.

Long story short: she miscalculates and ends up at the midway point before Vander drowns Silco in the Pilt. Now Jinx has to keep her wits and hide her secrets, as she struggles to survive in a much deadlier and more volatile Zaun. All while she ingratiates herself into their revolutionary circle, and attempts to heal the rift between its two leaders, before it can widen further.

Easier said than done when both men begin taking an interest in Jinx for their own mercenary agenda. And by the end, will slit each others' throats to see said agenda fulfilled. 

Dammit.

Where is that Boy Savior when you need him?

Written as a darkly comical fic from Jinx's POV. Back-to-the-Future flavored adventures. Full of booms, oopsie-loopsies, and political commentary.

All our girl wants is to undo the jinx before it jinxes everyone. Instead, she ends up getting baby Powder quite literally 'unalived,' causing heaps of destruction, and accidentally becoming a mentor figure to young Vi. Meanwhile, as Silco's peer rather than his beloved daughter, she can't help but be confronted with glaring flaws in her pedestalized Papa's ideology. All while young Silco, convinced she's either a spy in their midst, or his very own Lady of the Lake sent to illuminate the rightness of Zaun's path, finds his extremist tendencies widening by a mile. Much like Vander's violent streak and his determination to nip Silco's plans in the bud...

A fix-it fic gone off the rails. Don't time travel, folks.

Oh, and there's a sweet Timebomb twist by the end<3

Category: Angst, Horror, Fluff, Comedy, Mood Whiplash Galore.

Ships: Ekko x Jinx, Silco x Vander, Silco x Revolution, Jinx x Chaos.

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Chapter 37

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: None! Enjoy!

Words: 3547

A/N: I have added a small part from the book Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman, and all credit goes to the original writer.

Lots of love, thank you for the support

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashionstyle-blog @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragons-flare @fangirl125reader @roseidol @frieschan @popcatx0 @liz67900 @exfolitae @plexcaffeinate @strawblueberrys @massivelyfullenthusiast @iimichie

(open)

Previous:

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

Namjoon looked at you gently, his eyes caring. The alpha reached for a book he had been reading for a while now, Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman.

The packalpha kept you close as you layed sweetly tucked away with Jimin and Jungkook on each side of you. The youngest alpha layed in front of you, his eyes sweet and caring on your form.

The young man wasn't able to go to sleep; he was far too worried about you to truly rest. Even when your scent has lifted by now and you don't seem as upset anymore, he was still worried in the back of his mind.

Instead, you just seemed tired and yawny and definitely had enough for the day. They all knew well why this happened and that it would be for the best if you would get to rest up for a while longer.

And so, when your hand reached up and nudged against Namjoon's, looking up at the packalpha with those eyes he learned to adore over time. Looking up at him in hope, he couldn't help but coo at you.

„Aigoo, aren't you just the cutest baby?" He said under his breath, smiling softly so that his dimples showed, letting his much bigger hand cover yours.

You squeezed his fingers slightly, letting your interwoven fingers rest next to you as Namjoon got into reading, his calming timber filling the large room.

"The two systems of thought can best be understood as separate and complementary modes of processing information.

System 1 operates automatically and quickly, without explicit attention or conscious effort or awareness. It operates on the basis of heuristics, the mental shortcuts that allow us to process and respond to the world with remarkable efficiency.

System 2, by contrast, is slow and effortful. It operates with deliberate attention, logical analysis, and conscious reasoning. Although we can voluntarily direct our attention and choose to engage System 2, in most instances, we rely on System 1.

The two systems work in tandem, but they do not work in harmony. System 1 often leads us astray because of its tendency to produce easy, quick, and emotionally pleasing responses that we accept without questioning.

System 2, by contrast, is capable of correcting the errors of System 1, but it takes time and effort to do so."

The packalpha's voice was gentle, calming your eyes as you watched Jungkook's rising and falling chest.

You rested calmly, the oldest of the three alphas settling you down even further. All of the plush and comfortable blankets and fabrics you were tucked away into felt comfortable on your skin.

You didn't understand everything Namjoon was reading to you about, but you found comfort in his presence, and while poetry was sometimes complicated with the language for you, you liked it a lot when he would read for you. And so you listened closely.

„Another key aspect of the two systems of thought is that they are influenced by different types of motivation. System 1 is motivated by the desire for immediate gratification and pleasure, whereas System 2 is motivated by the desire for accuracy and logic.

This means that our mental processes are often influenced by our goals and emotions, which can lead to biases and errors in our thinking and decision-making. It is important to be aware of these biases and to use System 2 to correct for them when possible.”

„Oppa?” You asked softly, playing with the packalpha's fingers as the man looked over to you, the book in hand that was borrowed from the library.

While the alpha owned stacks upon stacks of books, full bookcases in his room until he couldn't get any more, just stacking the stories onto themselves on the floor or any space available.

He has enjoyed going to the libraries since forever. He used to go there to study growing up, but he always loved reading, and the relationship developed as he grew older.

The man didn't get to go that often to see new stories as much as he wished he could, but whenever he could, he left with a bunch to read, even though he knew he wouldn't have enough time to read everything.

He loved visiting bookstores, especially whenever they went to different countries. Sometimes, his packmates would get angry at him for his suitcase going over the weight limit (even though he packed less to keep space for the books he would bring home! ).

„Hm?” He hummed softly, looking at you with soft eyes. He leaned closer to brush your hair behind your ear, smiling at you.

„Do you like cupcakes?" You asked almost in a whisper, your grip tightening onto his fingers.

Even when the mall trip didn't go as well as everyone hoped it might, you remember the sweet time you shared with Jimin earlier this morning when you and him baked.

The almond cupcakes with butter cream that you so carefully decorated and prepared with the sweet help of the alpha were still waiting in the fridge.

You weren't sure if any of the alphas had seen them yet or even had a bite or taste of them, but you really hoped that they would like them. They would, right?

„Of course I do, little pup, do you?” The packalpha wasn't sure where the question came from, but he watched you lovingly.

You nodded. The times when you got to have a sweet treat weren't many, but the last time you tasted a cupcake, probably in elementary school in a baking class, was a nice memory you kept.

„M-Me and Jimin-Oppa made cupcakes for every-one." You whispered softly, having Jungkook's sleepy eyes open wider, soon creasing as he smiled, his teeth showing.

Namjoon followed suit, his dimples on full display as he leaned over, leaving sweet pecks on your forehead.

„Really? Awh, babybun!” The youngest gushed, his arms wrapping you closer to his chest, having Jimin grumble lightly from his deep sleep.

The alpha slept calmly, with occasional soft snores leaving him. He felt content with you in his arms, your back right against his chest as he breathed calmly.

The third youngest made sure you were kept warm and cuddly, as during sleep his body naturally turned warmer as a natural reaction to your omega sleepy scent in close proximity for a longer time.

„That's so sweet of you, pup. Should alphas have a taste now?” The packalpha asked gently, not sure if that was what you wanted.

You nodded bashfully; you really wanted to see their reaction. Before you could say anything, Jimin woke up, lightly rising up as he blinked away his sleep.

„Hyung, you didn't tell me about making cupcakes with babybun!” Jungkook grumbled; he wanted to be the first one to cook with you. Though the eldest would surely be even more jealous,..

Jimin hummed, too sleepy to realise what he was necessarily saying, as he ruffled up his hair, looking over at the alpha, who sported a not too deeply meant frown.

To be truthful, the youngest alpha was still far too excited about the promised sweet treats to get really upset at his hyung for keeping away the exciting news, and he wasn't too upset in general either.

„Come on, bun bun, let's go!” The youngest said happily, picking you up quickly before Jimin could realise that you were suddenly out of his arms; he was already on his way.

The packalpha soon followed, chuckling at Jimin, who grumbled out a soft: What? as he watched you be carried away to the kitchen, closing the book and putting it away.

The two alphas who currently stood in the kitchen, Taehyung and Yoongi, preparing spring rolls, looked over, both smiling at seeing your still slightly dazed, ruffled-up state.

Both of the men had aprons on; the older was in charge of frying and preparing the few different fillings, while the younger helped with folding the spring rolls and making the side dishes.

„Hi kitty.” Yoongi said gently, his gummy smile on full display, as he turned back around to take out the crispy spring rolls.

They made three types, one vegetarian and the other two with meat. The first batch they prepared was already finished, with the filling consisting of cabbage, carrots, cilantro, garlic, and shallots with sesame oil and soy sauce, sugar, and a little rice vinegar and sriracha.

Taehyung was good with the folding; the rice paper never folded over itself, and he was clever in making sure to not place any of them too close to one another so when they would stick to one another.

„Babycheeks, do you want to have a taste? We are still making two more types; will you tell alphas which is your favourite?” You nodded sweetly, going over to the alpha, who smiled widely at you.

He picked up the still warm roll with chopsticks, dipping it into a sauce before he fed it to you, smiling as he saw you chew.

It was crispy but chewy, the filling delicious, and the sauce made the flavours pop even more. You nodded vigorously as you chewed, happy to have tasted something so nice.

„Is it a good kitten?” Yoongi asked gently, stirring the pan with the filling for another batch. This time it had shrimp and ground pork in it, along with fish sauce and some other things like cabbage and carrots.

„It's really tasty, oppa!” You exclaimed, your voice uplifted and happy, as you swallowed before speaking. You were very excited for dinner.

„Princess? Where did you go? ” Jimin's raspy voice from sleep mumbled, the alpha coming over to hug you close, letting his chin rest upon your head.

You hugged the alpha back, your arms wrapping around his waist. He kept you close, letting his scent go over you even more than had already happened.

„Hyung, the cupcakes!” Jungkook hoped to see them already, wanting to have a taste.

„Cupcakes?” Taehyung turned around from spooning the filling into the softening rice paper, his eyes filled with questions and a soft smile on his face. Yoongi looked over his shoulder too, but made sure to pay attention to the frying process.

"Yeah, pup and Jimin-ah made cupcakes for everyone this morning, right?” You nodded in response, agreeing with Namjoon's words. The alpha that helped you hummed softly, agreeing.

„You kept it secret, Hyung!" Tae gasped, acting as if Jimin had betrayed him. The older alpha chuckled.

„You don't have to eat them, Tae-ah." At his words, the younger gasped in offence, abandoning the now freshly folded spring roll and turning around, bewildered eyes on the older.

„Hyung!” 

„I'm just joking; don't stress yourself; you'll get white hair."

„You're older; if anyone, you'll be the one with white hair!"

As Jimin went to disagree, your soft giggles interrupted them instead, smiling at them.

„Oppa, look!” You said gently, holding a tray full of the baked cupcakes. Jungkook was already holding one as he chewed on it, and Namjoon was just taking one himself.

Before the two, playfully arguing alphas could realise what was happening, Yoongi himself walked over, praising your work. 

„They look really tasty, my kitten. Can I have one too?” He asked you gently, looking at the sprinkles and edible flowers you decorated the carefully done butter cream on top. 

„Of course oppa!” You said, the man smiling even wider at your answer, leaning over to give you a caring forehead kiss, letting his hands caress your cheeks before he took one of the corner ones too. 

„Bunny you have to bake more often, these are delicious!” Jungkook gushed, happily humming as he chewed, very pleased with the sweet treat. 

The youngest was used to keeping a strict diet in check, but he would always make an exception for you. Gosh, he would do anything if he would get to have such sweet treats everyday. 

It was fluffy, the batter rose so well, and the buttercream was airy and creamy, and overall a great mix of sweet and sour. 

„Oh wow...” Namjoon whispered, tasting the cupcake. Both Jimin and Taehyung bounded over by then, each grabbing one themselves. 

The younger hummed loudly, nodding at the taste, agreeing with everyone. 

„You're so clever babycheeks! Alpha is very proud.” He said softly, letting you set the tray onto the dining table before he hugged you close, his chin going over your head as he gently rubbed your arms. 

You smiled bashfully, not used to getting so many compliments. Just then Jin came inside, freshly showered with his hair only towel dried. 

The eldest packmember's cheeks were tinted pink and he wore comfortable clothes. He was quick to notice everyone in the room eating the sweet treat, looking for the source himself. Before he got to ask though, Jungkook already bounded over. 

„Hyung, have one too! Babybun and Jimin hyung made cupcakes, they are so good!” 

„Really? Aigoo, you're so sweet cub, making a sweet treat for everyone?” He gushed, crouching slightly before you as he pecked your forehead, Taehyung's arms still wrapped around you. 

„Oppa helped a-a l-lot...” You whispered softly, feeling bad that they were constantly complimenting you, but the alpha who helped you so much wasn't as praised. 

„No, no my princess. I only helped with the mixing, you did everything yourself!” Jimin was quick to let you know, as he smiled at you. The cupcakes were really tasty...

„Is that so? Aren't you just the most clever, little pup. Alpha is very proud of you.” The packalpha said gently, pouring himself a cup of water as he gently watched over you, leaning against the counter. 

Seokjin was quick to take one himself, and when he got the first bite of the sweet heaven, his eyes widened, quickly finishing the cupcake in a few bites. 

„Peaches it's really tasty! Let's bake more often baby, did you have fun?” At your smiley nod, he gently combed through your hair, already planning the different cakes and treats he would make with you. 

The alphas had you take a seat at the dining table, talking to you as they prepared all of the cutlery and plates, glasses and various dishes. 

„...Of course you can come with us little kitten, we wouldn't mind. You'll just have to make sure to stick close, okay?” You said an okay, looking forward to when they would take you to their group photoshoot tomorrow. 

The packalpha knew that it would require them being very careful, considering you would most likely be entering a slightly busy workspace, but they would always be close by to make sure you were okay. 

You would get a VIP pass, and would stick close, and surely you would be okay. Maybe, if you would feel like it, they could take a group photo with you too... 

When they would make an announcement, it might come in handy, to have a truly well photographed group picture with the whole pack to post online. 

They haven't really talked about when the news would be released to the public, they would have to discuss it with their managers too and set on a precise date.

Namjoon wasn't truly keen on making a structured, email-like message that would come from HYBE directly to the ARMY. Maybe mentioning it in a podcast or a radio show would be smarter and less in everyone's face.

Even when they hoped with every fibre of their being, there were bound to be people disagreeing with this, and so they needed to be careful with the backlash, especially the one purely directed at you.

He could only imagine how stressful this would be for you, and so as a well-structured pack, they knew it would be best for you to have as much time as needed.

They had to figure out more things beforehand anyway; for example, the den was important for everyone, and it would be sweet and precious to have a nice and calm Christmas and New Year too.

The pack has already planned a few upcoming trips and events with you; some they have discussed more, some left only in the back of their minds as an idea to share in the future.

And Jin had a small idea like this at the back of his head for a little while by now, and so, today while you were away at the mall and in the morning with Jimin, the oldest alpha found a little gap in his busy schedule for it.

He had voice training and dance practices pretty much the entire day and got home earlier this afternoon, but before then, he took a short trip to a few clothing boutiques, hoping to find something he was looking for.

The alpha was planning to buy you a swimsuit, but since he wasn't sure of your exact measurements, after a short discussion with the store assistant, he left the few luxury stores with different sizes and styles, hoping at least one of these would be comfortable enough for you to wear with no worries.

Jin didn't know what colours or patterns you would go for; heck, he didn't even know if you would like to go swimming with them. But surely, since you wanted to go to Hawaii to see the sea turtles, you wouldn't mind the water?

And so, the alpha was left with many decisions to face, but in the end, he chose enough of everything so he hoped to get it all covered.

He could imagine you being way too frightened to try swimwear on in the try-on rooms, and so his best bet was to save the receipts and return any that you wouldn't like and wouldn't fit right.

As you all took a seat at the table, a freshly purchased peach juice they knew you liked and wouldn't upset your tummy in a tall glass before you, all of the pack members dug in.

You had a few neatly placed spring rolls on your plate, along with some side dishes like kim-chi or the sweet radish Namjoon plated for you.

„It's really nice, oppa!” You gasped, having the second oldest who sat next to you show a gummy smile, the man saying a soft thank you.

Truth be told, Yoongi was on his knees for you.

„...And what about the Harry Potter series?” You shook your head at Jimin's question, the man's eyes widening.

„We have to watch it, princess! I think you would love it!” He gasped, and Jungkook and Hoseok, who'd come over to the table as soon as the dinner was served, nodded at his thought.

„How about we watch one of the movies tonight, Sunny Bub?" He asked you gently, taking another fried roll into his chopsticks before he placed it on your table, noticing that you only had about two left.

You nodded happily, smiling widely with your eyes creasing slightly.

„Okay...” You said softly, looking forward to the movie. The dinner continued, with everyone enjoying the well-prepared meal.

„Cub?” You looked up from drinking, your eyes meeting Jin's gaze for a little second before you set the glass down, the alpha's sweet eyes watching over you. You hummed in question, listening.

„Would you like to go swimming with alphas tomorrow? We don't have to if you don't want to,-" though, the older man was interrupted by your vigorous nodding and excited gaze.

You didn't swim in years; honestly, you weren't too good at it, but there was always something about it that seemed so fun and calming to you, unless you weren't in too much of a deep water, of course.

"B-But, oppa, I don't have a swi-msuit..." You mumbled, only now remembering.

„It's okay, baby, I went to look for some this morning. Would you like to see them?” You gasped quietly before you nodded happily, sliding off of your chair before you hurried over to the oldest alpha.

Jin took your hand in his, and the other pack members smiled sweetly at your excitement as they started to clean up the table, happy that your mood had lifted even after the terrible afternoon.

„Are we going swimming in the morning then?” Taehyung asked. They would have to leave by ten in the morning at the latest to go for the photoshoot, and they would most likely come back home late in the evening.

„I think so, yeah..." Namjoon said patiently, loading the dishwasher with the others.

„I'm not going to swim in the ice cold morning hell no-” Yoongi went to grumble. Why would he go swimming when he could be sleeping?

„But Hyung, have you seen Sunny's face? She is so excited!” Hoseok gasped, looking at the older man in disbelief. That would break your heart!

Yoongi sighed, closing his eyes for a little while. Sometimes, he would have to sacrifice his sleep for something—or rather, someone—more important.

„...fine.” 

The alpha grumbled, shaking his head as he left to go to his room and shower, already expecting them to rest once again together. You would probably fall asleep during the movie, as he could imagine.

Truly, he loved to rest and nap with you on any occasion. You were naturally sleepy and cuddly, and so the alpha that was able to fall asleep anywhere loved to keep you company while you rested.

Yoongi has truly gone soft for an omega—something he didn't think could ever happen to him.

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

Next:

[akazzzaa]

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

You get to live the life Kotoha deserved.

Summary- You and Douma create a bond and he likes you so he decides to keep you. Hes never been able to keep a human he likes for this long. Douma experiences emotions.

Genre- Angst // Fluff

Warning- Implied death

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky, Douma's path crossed with that of a young artist named Y/N. Y/N, with her soulful eyes and creative spirit, was drawn to Douma like a moth to a flame. Unaware of his demonic nature, Y/N found herself falling deeply in love with him.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Douma and Y/N's connection deepened. They shared laughter, dreams, and the beauty of each passing day.

Yet, as the seasons changed, so did the world around them. Douma noticed the subtle signs of aging in Y/N—fine lines etching her face and the strands of silver interwoven in her hair. The realization struck him like a gentle gust of wind, bringing a chill to his immortal heart. He, who had remained unchanged for centuries, was now witnessing the inevitable march of time in the one he loved.

For the first time, fear and sadness gripped Douma as he grappled with the weight of his immortality. The contrast between their destinies became increasingly apparent, like the stark difference between the fading colours of autumn leaves and the everlasting green of a pine tree.

Y/N, oblivious to Douma's internal struggle, continued to paint her visions of love and life. Douma, torn between revealing his secret and shielding Y/N from the pain he foresaw, chose to silently endure the agony of his heart breaking.

One day, as winter's frost settled upon the temple, Douma took Y/N's hands in his, looking deep into her eyes. "You may not have eternity, but I have this moment with you," he whispered, his breath forming a mist in the cold air.

As the years passed, Y/N aged gracefully, leaving Douma to witness the ephemeral beauty of a human life. In the final moments of Y/N's life, she smiled at Douma, surrounded by the memories they had created together. As her hand slipped away, Douma, left alone once again, grieving the passing of a love that had bloomed like a delicate flower, fleeting but infinitely cherished.

And so, Douma continued his eternal journey, carrying the bittersweet tale of a love that transcended time, eternally etched in the depths of his heart and soul.

[anonymousredactedconfessions]

Sorry if this is long, but I just want to get this off my chest in a space where people realise that despite the love you can have for this world and its characters, there’s things you can also be unhappy with and just need to vent about.

I’ve been a fan of Erik’s stuff for years, and at first it was lovely dovey boyfriend roleplay with a little plot, and then grew into something more. Something deeper with lore and plot and complexities. Now it feels like it’s reverted back to simple boyfriend roleplay. And if that’s all Erik has the motivation for right now, fair enough. But I just feel like the videos are so half-hearted these days. Like this channel is an afterthought for him.

Now I understand that he’s probably got a lot going on in his life, as he’s hinted at before, but I would rather get less videos where he gets to spend more time on creating the complex stories we love rather than churning out half-hearted content that I’m losing interest in.

Erik is the first YouTube creator whose patreon I signed up for to support him, as I genuinely liked everything he was doing, but this past year or so it feels like things are lacking. The characters feel 2D. It’s all fluff and barely any angst or serious conversations/action/drama. The listener characters feel like empty shells with no goals of their own (with the exception of a few), there’s not much happening in a lot of the popular characters’ lives, yet people keep voting for them (David, Milo, Asher, Gavin, Guy etc) in polls and we get the same videos over and over instead of giving attention to the more complex (and arguably more interesting at this point in time) characters like Anton, James, Aaron, Elliot, Geordi, Morgan, Hush, etc.

Everything just feels so fluffy and samey - and I could get that from any other boyfriend role play channel. I miss the interwoven plot lines and drama. Where couples had their conflicts and worked through things together. Now every relationship feels too perfect.

I’m sticking around because I hope that when Erik has more time and things calm down for him that the videos will improve. To me, they’re not what they used to be, and I miss Erik’s videos from the early days of the channel. Every so often a video will drop and it’ll instantly pull me back in because it was so well written and kept me engaged with the story and characters, but those videos are few and far between these days 😔

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